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Back to the Wall
Back to the Wall
Back to the Wall
Ebook119 pages1 hour

Back to the Wall

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Still hurt and wounded after an aggression, Alyssa is determined in getting stronger and being able to fend for herself.
She needs a trainer, but in the Eternal Gym she will find something more.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherMarianne Lowe
Release dateJul 17, 2020
ISBN9781005868598
Back to the Wall

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    Book preview

    Back to the Wall - Marianne Lowe

    Marianne Lowe

    Back to The Wall

    Copyright © 2020 by Marianne Lowe

    All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

    First edition

    This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

    Find out more at reedsy.com

    Contents

    Chapter 1: Still alive

    Chapter 2: Gunpowder and lead

    Chapter 3: Lithium flower

    Chapter 4: Protection

    Chapter 5: Someone special

    Chapter 6: It makes you stronger

    Also by Marianne Lowe

    Chapter 1: Still alive

    Chapter Separator

    11 days after the attack

    The streets were empty, autumn climes chilling the air and forcing the rare bystander to burrow deep in their coat.

    Alyssa hurried her pace, her breaths already panted, as she shifted the bag on her shoulder to better distribute its heft. A strand of hair escaped her the edge of the hoodie. She swept it behind her ear, pulling the collar of her sweater to cover her face.

    As she passed by the stores, she couldn’t help but listen to the jumbled words blaring from the televisions on display.

    More than a week after the attack, the Alyssa Merkov’ case… -still searching for the man who had attacked the heiress of Merkov Incorporated-

    We’re now on with a member of the heiress’s inner circle. Tell us, how did you find the poor girl? Was she distraught? Do you think she will recover or will the trauma haunt her?

    She had always been the flirty type, you know what I mean…

    Witnesses report that Merkov had been drinking before leaving the disco in Fifth Ave-

    -drinking to forget the recent break up with the baseball champion-

    What would you expect? A girl dressed that way? Have you seen how scandalous her dress was the night of the-

    Alyssa didn’t realize she had been strangling the strap until her nail dug painfully into her palm.

    Words assaulted her, suffocating, giving no quarter until she found herself running until they faded in the distance.

    Who was the girl all the paparazzi and journalist were talking about? Who was that poor little girl, sniffling and weeping in the darkness of her room?

    She despised that girl, couldn’t stand to see her bloodied and bruised face in the mirror every morning.

    She was Alyssa Merkov.

    She was strong, brilliant… brave.

    A genius of her time.

    Still, even geniuses were judged by how many drinks they had on nights out, by how high the hem of a cocktail dress, the plunge of a neckline, the height of heeled shoes.

    The cut on her cheek burned when a traitorous tear escaped the iron cage of her eyelashes. Alyssa scrubbed it away angrily, picking up her pace.

    She wasn’t a weak, helpless victim, nor a slut that deserved to be attacked in a filthy alley by someone passing themselves off as a pathetic excuse of the male sex.

    She was accustomed to the limelight, but having her romantic relationship, dress and drinking habits dissected and disparaged like that, like she was the one standing in court before an arbiter and jury, instead of her attacker…

    That made her want to scream, to rip someone’s heart out. With her bare hands.

    But she hadn’t either the strength nor killing instinct to indulge that desire. Her total inability to fight back or block her assailant that night stood as painfully reminder of that.

    Which was precisely the reason why she now stood before the double door of the Eternal Gym, a duffle bag slung over a shoulder and a determined look chiseled on her face.

    She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t weak.

    She was going to show them.

    * * *

    …And here’s the women’s locker room. It’s small, but there’s a couple of showers and I make sure it’s clean. We don’t have many women come around, not sure why…

    Alyssa looked around and smiled at Mark.

    His little gym wasn’t exactly a female-friendly environment.

    The few pieces of body building and cardio equipment took up a corner of the main hall, while a ring and several punching bags monopolized the vast majority of the space.

    Not that it mattered. Had her goal been working out some or losing a few pounds, she would have gone with a different gym. No. Her goal was to become the kind of person noone would ever victimize again.

    Mark’ s place was the ultimate venue to achieve that.

    Her lifelong friend was one of the most skilled fighters in town. His innumerable medals and regional titles blanketed the walls of the modest gym he had managed to open a few years ago.

    There was no one else she could entrust in her current fragile state to rebuild her and her shambled life after the ordeal.

    Alyssa… Are you sure you’re ready to train? he asked, after a moment of hesitation. Maybe it’s best if you fully recover first? It’s been just a couple of weeks, after all.

    In didn’t pass her notice, Mark’s eyes trailing the bruises still covering her arm and neck, the healing cut on her scalp and the gauze covering half of her face. However, she refused to meet his gaze, fearing she would see in her friend’s eyes the same pity she’d seen in everyone’s since that fateful night.

    I’m fine Mark. If I sit another day in my room with nothing to do but relive that shit over and over, I will go insane and kill somebody.

    Or myself , a nasty part of her brain whispered, but she quickly silenced it with a shudder.

    Anticipating her friend’s reservations, Alyssa bumped his shoulder playfully and stepped inside the locker room.

    Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to change into my training gear. See you in a few, coach .

    * * *

    Unsurprisingly, she was the only woman at the gym.

    Correction: she was nearly the only customer at the gym, as well.

    Middle of the week day wasn’t exactly gym rush hour for typical working people and students. She had chosen that unorthodox training schedule exactly for that reason— to be left alone.

    She wasn’t entirely alone, however. A somewhat short but exquisitely muscled guy was busying himself by apparently trying to tear a hanging punching bag from its anchor with the sheer force of his kicks and punches.

    He ignored her, not even bothering with a glance when she started running on the treadmill, much to her relief.

    After a while though, Alyssa realized the sweater she’d thrown on to keep Mark from initiating further commentary on her battered body wasn’t the best workout attire.

    She was sweating like a pig under the heavy garment, and the hoodie covering her head was irritating the still tender scar that cut through her temple and scalp.

    At the hospital, it had been necessary to shave the right side of her head to stitch it, so she had settled on a new hairstyle. She now sported a side undercut that left a wavy strand to cover the other half of her head and face.

    After a minute or two of internal debate, she jumped off the treadmill and looked around.

    The other customer was still torturing his punching bag, his massive back to her. On the other side of a glass door, an old man was training Kevin, Mark’s child, in some kind of martial art, both of them focused on their lesson.

    In a swift, decisive motion, Alyssa removed her sweatshirt and hoodie in one go, a sigh of relief escaping her lips and a shiver running along her hot, damp skin. She didn’t let her eyes drop to the purple and bluish bruises that dotted her upper arms, teasing from the sleeves of her oversized t-shirt.

    The healing cut on her scalp and her bandaged arm still itched but she ignored them, the same way she hoped the other occupant of the gym would ignore her current state.

    For a split moment, as she settled onto the leg press, she thought she felt the burn of eyes on her, but when she turned, the other man hadn’t moved.

    She felt a little ridiculous. What if he saw her bruises and bandages? It wasn’t

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