#Chapter 543: Loss Of Self

Enzo The heavy punching bag sailed through the air like it weighed nothing as I delivered a powerful roundhouse kick, the dull thud of the impact reverberating through my bones. Sweat beaded on my brow, trickling down my temples, but I paid it no mind. The adrenaline coursing through my veins propelled me forward, each strike sharper, more precise than the last. Training had always been my escape, a way to quiet the relentless storm of thoughts swirling in my mind. And lately, that storm had been raging like a hurricane. With each punishing blow against the unyielding leather punching bag, I replayed the events of the past few weeks in my head. No sooner had we escaped Mila’s clutches and rebuilt the mess we had made did we uncover more layers to the utter bullshit that had become our lives. The discovery of the warehouse where it seemed as though something sinister was going on inside, the drugged wolf and its terrified eyes, our tenuous deal with Ronan—it all felt like pi