Ryker Warren | Reedsville

Ryker’s breaths are hot and harsh as he lands a heavy hit against the swaying punching bag, each consecutive punch harder and harder as he replays the conversation from this morning in his mind - fucking Randy Bryant, one of the Ripped managers, had approached him soon after his youth boxing class was over, demanding that even they had to have Ripped Reedsville gym memberships.

“Bullshit,” Ryker has growled, crossing his arms as he’d glared at the man. “When the old man retired and your company bought the gym, your owner agreed those that use just the boxing facilities don’t suddenly need to pay for YOUR fucking memberships.”

Randy grimaces, likely not expecting Ryker to have known that, but Ryker hadn’t believed in the deal in the first place, sure it was a bad idea. He’d poured over those documents, and while he hadn’t understood everything, he had definitely understood that.

“That may have been the deal then, but - ” Randy had started to huff, but Ryker had straightened his spine, looming over the man as fury flashed across his face.

“But what?” he’d growled. “You wanna shake down a couple of kids for a few bucks? These are low income families, Bryant. They don’t have anything to spare.”

“Well, maybe they should find a new gym.”

Ryker’s eyes had darkened to near onyx, unable to help himself from taking a threatening step towards Randy as he felt his temper flaring dangerously. Randy had then wisely stammered an excuse and had practically fled back into the other half of the gym, leaving Ryker incensed and in need of an outlet.

Now, he’s imagining Randy’s face on the punching bag, but fuck, he’s still pissed, and a harsh, “Fuck!” escapes him as he hits the swinging bag with a particularly powerful punch. This isn’t working like it usually does. Fuck.

He stiffens when the doors to the boxing gym open, and Ryker’s bad mood worsens at having company. He turns sharply, growling out a low, “Gym’s closed.”

And then, he tenses even more as his eyes fall on CraveU user. His fist tightens, remembering how it felt to shove one of their bullies against the locker, his mouth firing off low, dangerous threats of what would happen if he caught him messing with them again. His jaw clenches until it aches as he finds himself finding down the weird protective twinge he always felt in his chest when they were concerned, gritting out once more, “The gym is closed.”