My father sold me to the Mafia King-Chapter 142/Broken and Sold

Chapter 142

Julie’s Point of View

I slammed the door behind me with an impulsive force, as if trying to lock the entire world out. My chest was tightening around that cold metallic lump that refused to budge; I tried to summon tears to ease the pressure, but my eyes were dry and bloodshot.

My gaze fell on the breakfast trolley parked in the corner of the room, cold and forgotten since morning. I lunged toward it with a primal hunger I had never known in myself before. It wasn’t the taste of the food I sought; I was stuffing my mouth with consecutive bites as if trying to plug the emotional void widening inside me.

I swallowed the food with a lump in my throat, my hands trembling as I held the fork, until I finished everything without ever feeling full.

I moved through the room with staggered steps, stripped off my clothes violently, and pulled on my workout gear. I tied my hair up, feeling my skin prickle with every movement. I needed to move, to escape the prison of my thoughts.

I went down to Max’s room. I didn’t knock; I entered directly with that blunt manner I seemed to have unintentionally inherited from Robert.

Max was drowned in sleep, his features relaxed for the first time in a long while.

He opened his heavy eyes with difficulty, staring at me blankly before muttering in a hoarse voice: "What... Julie?"

I stood over him, my body rigid as a stake: "Get up, let’s go train."

Max exhaled wearily, placing his hand on his forehead: "I need rest now... I worked all night, my body is wrecked."

I took a step closer, my tone sharp, teetering on the edge of a breakdown: "Get up now. I can’t be alone... I need to be with you."

He sat up, the signs of a sudden awakening starting to chase the drowse from his face: "What happened?"

I said stolidly, avoiding his eyes: "Get up and I’ll tell you."

He pushed the blanket off his bare chest making me avert my eyes slightly then pulled on his shirt and dressed quickly while watching my obvious tension. He sighed, saying: "Fine, you stubborn girl, let’s go."

When we reached the gym, the smell of sweat filled the air. A few men were lifting weights, the sound of iron clashing against the floor echoing through the space.

Max stopped at the entrance, glancing around with clear concern: "Julie, this isn’t the right time... the gym isn’t empty now, look."

I fixed my gaze on the punching bag at the end of the hall, feeling my heartbeat thumping in my ears. I didn’t turn toward any of them; my fists were clenching involuntarily. I said in a cutting tone: "I don’t care who’s here... I told you, let’s train."

Max’s worry wasn’t hidden from me; he was watching my contorted facial features and my tightly clamped jaw, but I gave him no room for objection. I stepped inside with firm strides, leaving everything behind except the desire to turn that pain into a physical effort that would exhaust my soul.

I ignored the curious stares of the men in the gym, feeling the heat of rage boiling in my veins like a caustic substance.

Max pulled on the thick leather pads and slid his hands into them slowly. He stood before me in a fighting stance, and I saw the reflection of anxiety in his eyes as he watched my shoulders tremble.

He said in a low voice: "Julie, breathe... strength doesn’t come from tension."

I didn’t answer him. I lunged forward and delivered the first punch with my left; it collided hard with the leather, producing a sharp crack. I didn’t wait; I followed it with a lightning-fast right that shook Max’s powerful arm.

I felt the recoil of the strike hitting my knuckles, but it was a delicious pain that liberated something suppressed in my chest.

"Faster!" Max shouted, backing up a step to absorb my hysterical momentum. "Use your waist, don’t just hit with your arm!"

I began delivering successive strikes, left and right. I was panting, beads of sweat sliding from my temple and stinging my eyes, but I didn’t stop. I saw Stuart’s face in front of the pads; I saw Robert’s coldness, and the ugliness of this place.

I screamed with every strike, emptying my spite until I kicked the pad with my leg so hard it made Max stagger slightly.

Max lowered his hands suddenly and stopped moving, saying as he watched my chest heave violently: "Enough... tell me now, what happened?"

I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my trembling hand and said in a parched voice: "He came, Max... my father came to take me home. He came to buy me from Robert."

Max asked curiously, "Why didn’t you go with him?" I said, brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead, "I didn’t accept... and even if I did, Robert wouldn’t have let me. I didn’t want to look weak in front of them."

Max’s eyes widened in shock, so I continued with a bitter smile etched on my swollen lips: "And I punched him... I shattered my father’s dignity with one punch right in front of Robert."

Max tightened his grip on the pads again, the muscles in his forearm bulging as he raised them to my face level: "Then let’s turn this rage into a real weapon... show me how you’d punch anyone who tried to touch you."

Max raised his eyebrows in challenge, gesturing with his hand toward his broad chest: "Come on, kick here once... let’s see if you’re actually gaining flexibility."

I took a deep breath, feeling the tension in my thigh muscles. I focused all my power into my left foot and launched a swift kick toward his chest.

He positioned the leather pad at the last moment to absorb the shock, but his body didn’t budge. He said in an evaluative tone: "Good kick, but it needs more power... come on, try again."

I charged all my anger this time; I tightened every muscle in my body until I felt the hardness of my leg. When my kick landed, it struck the pad with a force that made Max take a step back, letting out an audible exhale. He adjusted his stance and said with admiration: "That’s what I’m talking about!"

I wiped the sweat from my brow, saying through my gasps: "Come on, Max... I want you to fight me."