"And again. Hit harder," Atlas barked at me. Sweat dripped down my forehead as I let out a frustrated sigh and slammed my fist into the punching bag again.
You're probably wondering what was going on — so was I. Atlas had kept his word: he woke me up early and practically carried me into the training room.
Since it was just the two of us, I could train in a sports bra and shorts without worrying about Atlas losing his temper over another man looking at me. He pushed me to my limits and beyond. No breaks, constant drills, and a body aching in protest — yet Atlas still demanded more. Right now, he had me pounding away at the punching bag, forcing me to keep it up for twenty straight minutes. As he stood in the corner, yelling at me to hit harder, I couldn't help wishing he were the punching bag instead. That would've been far more satisfying.
