Girl, Remade by Blake Pierce

Author:Blake Pierce [Pierce, Blake]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blake Pierce
Published: 2024-02-29T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ella's hand rested on the grimy door handle of Iron Horse Gym, her grip firm despite the film of grime on the metal. With a determined push, she swung the door wide and stepped into the maw of the old brick building, its ambiance a time capsule of physical exertion from days long past. Ripley fell into step behind her as they crossed the threshold, their presence an immediate anomaly in this testosterone-fueled relic.

The gym was a forest of rusted iron and tattered equipment; free weights clanged with the resonance of hard work, while benches bore the scars of countless reps. The air was thick with the musk of sweat, and the brick walls absorbed the echoes of grunts and the slap of leather gloves against punching bags. Men, their vests clinging to their bodies like second skins, paused mid-lift to eye the two women with curiosity bordering on suspicion.

‘Can I help you ladies?’ A voice cut through the symphony of strain. A personal trainer, Ella guessed. He approached with a towel slung over his shoulder. His hair was shorn close to the scalp and his skin tanned from hours under UV lights masquerading as sunlight.

‘We're looking for Frank Harlowe,’ Ella said. ‘Is he around?’

‘Frank? What do you want with him?’ The trainer's brow furrowed, likely a gatekeeper assessing the intent of those who sought entry.

'We're with the FBI.' Ella flipped open her badge. 'It's part of an ongoing investigation. We can't say anymore.'

‘Hmmm,’ he said after a pause. ‘Frank is upstairs. He's leading a Bodypump class.’

‘Then that's where we're going,’ Ella replied. She motioned to Ripley, and together they made their way toward the stairwell, the creak of each step underfoot echoing the anticipation tightening in Ella's chest. The trainer watched them ascend with a curious eye before taking a few steps closer to the stairwell, probably to eavesdrop, Ella guessed.

The rhythmic clank of iron and the grunts of exertion grew louder as Ella and Ripley emerged at the top of the staircase. The room before them was awash with the sweat and focus of hard physical labor, a stark gymnasium where old-school metal met flesh. And there, orchestrating this symphony of strength, stood Frank Harlowe, a colossus among mere mortals.

‘Five more reps, then we're out,’ he bellowed, his voice booming over the eclectic mix of gasps and the thud of weights hitting the floor. ‘Embrace the hurt. Pain's good. It teaches you things.’

Ella turned to her partner. 'Pain's good. It teaches you things,' she repeated. 'You know where that's from?'

'Sadly, yes,' Ripley said.

Ella's gaze locked onto the man who seemed to command gravity itself, each weight lifted with a primal ease that bespoke a power humbling to witness. Frank Harlowe was a fusion of muscle and art, his giant form wrapped in a tapestry of vivid tattoos that climbed his neck and crowned his skull. A glint of gold adorned one ear, each earring shimmering in the light.

‘Looks like we found our guy,’ Ripley muttered.

Ella's intrusion into Frank's domain did not go unnoticed.

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