Navy's Sons: Bullied by Quadruplet Stepbrothers novel Chapter 32

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brought me here? So I can do some stretching? I’m not sure if that’s helping the anger brewing in my chest.

I barely have the time to complain when he steps forward and stops in front of me. I flinch slightly when he raises a hand, but all he does is lift my arm by the wrist, guiding it gently into a stretch. My first instinct is to slap his hand away, but the look on his face doesn’t show anything playful or mocking. He looks calm, focused even. Like he’s not here to mess with me.

So I let him.

He adjusts the angle of my elbow and tilts my shoulder until the tension spreads just right along the muscles in my back. I exhale slowly. My body still feels like it’s made of sandbags, but at least it’s moving.

“Hold it for ten,” he instructs, eyes scanning my posture. “Don’t lock your knee.”

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I shift slightly, trying to follow his instructions. He circles behind me without a word and places his hands on my waist, steadying my hips before nudging me into a forward bend. The stretch bites down my hamstrings, but not in a painful way. Just enough to remind me I’m alive.

This is crazy. I am doing a warm-up stretching session with Evren Aldair. I feel like I’m in a fever dream.

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“Breathe through it,” he says near my ear. “Let your spine lengthen.”

I do as I’m told. Evren’s hands carefully guide me again. He touches the backs of my arms to correct how they hang. Then he kneels beside me to adjust the angle of my feet, tapping my ankle until I move it into place. There’s no teasing, no smirk, no comment about how stiff I am. He’s just quiet, almost like a coach who is putting his athlete into shape.

And weirdly, that helps calm the raging emotions within me.

By the time we finish stretching, my blood feels like it’s finally moving through my limbs again, I don’t feel better, not really. But I feel a little more grounded. Like I’m not about to fall apart like I was five minutes ago.

Once I finish my stretches, he tosses a pair of boxing gloves at my chest. I catch them clumsily.

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He’s already climbing back into the ring. “Put those on,” he says, then gestures for me to join him.

I glance at the gloves and then back to him, dumbfounded. “W-What do you want me to do?” I stare up at him again, confused.

Evren stands in the center of the ring, rolling his shoulders once, ng08:56 the glances down at me. He’s also wearing a pair of h

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gloves now.

“Put on the gloves and get in, Tabitha. Tonight, you get to throw every punch you want at me.”

“What?” I gasp.

“You heard me.”

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The gloves feel heavier in my hands. I can’t tell if it’s the leather or the weight of the invitation. I think back to high school- how many times I dreamed of this. Of finally hitting back. Of standing up for myself. I wanted to wipe the smug looks off the Aldair brothers’ faces. I wanted to stop feeling so damn small.

But now that the moment’s here, I hesitate.

“Are you going to hit me back?” I instinctively step back. Evren is a tall man, not to mention his muscles tell me that whoever is unlucky enough to receive his punch is probably going to hit the ground before they even realize what happened.

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Evren raises an eyebrow. “I don’t get satisfaction from punching helpless girls like you.”

That stings more than it should. Something inside me snaps.

I shove the gloves on, stomp forward, and scramble under the 59ges. My hands are shaking by the time I rise to my f inside6

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the ring.

“Say that again,” I growl.

He folds his arms over his chest and stares with an intensity that dares me to back down. There’s something smug curling at the corner of his lips. Just enough to make my blood boil.

“I said,” he replies slowly, like he’s talking to a toddler, “you

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wouldn’t last five seconds in a real fight. But go on. Prove me wrong.”

My vision flashes white for a second. I don’t know if it’s rage or shame, but something in me rises so fast it feels like it might rip through my chest.

“You arrogant piece of-” The rest doesn’t even make it out of my mouth. I launch forward and swing, letting the fury finish the sentence for me.

He easily blocks it with one arm, barely moving. “That’s right. Keep going. Bring it on. Show me how angry you are.

Fine. He asked for it.

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I square my stance and throw another punch, this time with more force. Evren steps to the side and lets it miss him by an inch. I follow up with a right hook, and he lifts his arm to deflect B/Blis expression doesn’t change. He’s not even trying hit mes

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back. He’s just watching me as I unleash my anger at him, almost hysterically.

“Faster,” he barks.

I grit my teeth and go again. I throw a jab, follow it with a cross, then twist into a left hook. I don’t care that I’m sloppy. I don’t care that my footwork is off. My arms burn and my fists ache, but I keep moving. I swing at his ribs, and he knocks my wrist away. I try to fake a jab and follow with an uppercut, but he ducks.

My chest is heaving, but I don’t stop. Every strike I land on his arms or gloves feels like peeling away a layer of frustration. Every miss makes me angrier.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he taunts, fanning my anger even more.

I snarl under my breath and launch at him again. He catches my punch mid-air, twists my wrist slightly, and uses the motion to push me back. I stumble, but I stay on my feet.

1. His breathing is calm but mine isn’t. I

Im off his face.

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