Chapter 125

Asher’s POV

“You’re going to give that poor bag a concussion,” Zade teases, leaning back against the garage wall like he’s auditioning for “World’s Chillest Wolfbrother.” He’s propped up in his driveway-turned-mini boxing ring, the faded yellow lines reminding me that this place was supposed to be a full-on gym. Instead, it’s been our makeshift anger-management zone since shit hit the fan.

I ignore him and drive in anyway, shutting off the engine and stomping over to the heavy bag. My mind’s a war zone—equal parts horniness and rage—and the bag’s my only current target. “It’s just a punching bag,” I growl, socking it with more force than necessary. The sound echoes off the cinderblock walls.

Zade ducks as a glove-sized dent pops up on the bag’s side. “Should I ask where Melanie is right now, or is that a disaster waiting to happen?” he ventures, arms spreading wide like he’s embracing the whole mess.

I wipe sweat off my brow—Hydration be damned, I have