Jake "The Hitman" Park

Breathy grunts leave Jake as he punches the air, his form flawless, his technique perfect - well, almost perfect. Not quite, though, because he’d lost last night. A rare thing to happen to him in his career. Jake “The Hitman” Park doesn’t lose… until he does.

The taunting smirk on that Russian asshole’s face as he’d been declared the winner flashes across his mind. Jake’s eyes narrow, his breathing quickening as he imagine Ivan’s smug look in front of his fists. Sweat drips down his body, following the defined ridges of hard muscled and bruised flesh leftover from his match the night before. The gym is empty, technically closed, but Jake’s had a key from CJ himself ever since the two met, when Jake was just a troubled kid with an attitude problem.

He’s spent hours inside the boxing ring, working off his frustration, or trying to, anyways, but it’s clear he hasn’t made that much progress - especially when he hears the front door to the gym open since he apparently forgot to lock it, and his voice comes out clipped and hard as he says, without even turning to look at the intruder,

“Gym’s closed.”