Sins of Aiden

27

CHAPTER 27

AIDEN MARTINEZ

When I walked into the locker room this morning, already agitated, and finding Lucas balls deep inside Madelyn, I knew this was going to be a long, fuck ass day.

Tense as I was and feeling my hackles rise at the sight, I walked in while Madelyn was plowing Lucas away from her like she could fix the damage that was already fucking done. That dumb ass blond didn't even notice me walking in and continued thrusting until he got the memo that now wasn't the fucking time.

This is not the first nor the last time I've seen Lucas' bare ass in my line of sight, and as much as I don't give a fuck what he does in his spare time—I can't fucking express with words right now how much it graits me seeing his hairy ass.

"Oh, my fucking god. Lucas! Put me down!" Madelyn screeches, and I hear a humph and a thump colliding together as footsteps are banged onto the floor.

I don't even spare them a second glance because I don't have the fucking energy for this clown show. I drop my worn duffel bag onto the bench, the heavy fabric thudding against the wood with a thump. As I begin to unpack my things, I can hear the frantic rustling behind me as they desperately scramble to gather their scattered clothes.

I view red lace panties peeking out from underneath the bench in my peripheral vision.

The sound of metal scraping against metal fills the air as I yank my gray locker open—the door squeaking in protest as I use way too much force to make it snap against the other lockers beside it.

There's a permanent dent resting in the patterned metal from how much it's been slammed open. I'm surprised the door hasn't been yanked off its hinges yet.

"Don't stop on my account," I rumble from underneath my breath—the words dripping with sarcasm and not really intended for someone to hear. Because again, I just fucking want to have some tension released from the back of my spine.

The commotion behind me only intensifies—punctuated by a muffled curse that rings out, followed by the evident sound of someone hopping on one foot.

"Lucas!" Madelyn snaps, her voice laced with frustration. "My panties! Gimme my panties!"

"Damn," Lucas grunts from somewhere behind me, his tone exasperated. "I don't know where they are."

"Well, look!"

"I've been looking!"

A breath.

Thump-grunt.

Then—

"Here, woman."

I can almost imagine the eye-roll that must accompany his thick-skull words.

I pull my wraps down from the top shelf of the locker, letting them tumble onto the bench beside me. I pull off my hoodie by gripping it at the back collar, feeling the rush of cool air against my heated skin as I prepare to let off some steam. I flex my tense muscles. The air in the room has always carried the scents of sweat, blood, and metal, a familiar ambiance I've been accustomed to for my entire life. And something that keeps me steady, constant, in the reality that keeps me drifting further away.

A loud crash reverberates behind me as someone collides forcefully with a metal locker—the sound sharp, jarring, and overall getting on my nerves.

"Ow!"

"Good."

More rustling is heard. Clink-clank.

Thud.