by SM Olivier
It was hard on Beth losing both of her connections, in a way. Steven through death and Cora through grief. She was now essentially a single mother. Beth never wanted children to begin with. Not after she had seen how gifted children were treated in the institute, the place Horatio, Will, and Greg had created. Greg had died because of it, and Will had been reformed since then, but her time there had scarred her. She had carried Nadia because Cora was unable to have children. Up until this point, Cora and Steven had been her sole caregivers. They had recently adopted Patrick because she was just warming up to the idea of children. Now she was alone.
“The girls need some stuff too,” Rachel, my other best friend stated. “Ella would probably like her art supplies replenished, and Nadia likes those chapter books.”
“I would like to get some of my own clothing,” Jemmy said looking down despairingly at her clothing. Jemmy loved to stay up to date with the trends and was our fashion-conscious friend.
Our new wardrobe consisted of black, black, and more black. We had the option of cargo pants, shorts, tank tops, t-shirts and long sleeve tees. Our shoes were black combat boots or black sneakers. We had been issued them upon arrival. We were also told once our duty day was complete, we could wear our civvies (civilian clothing).
We didn’t have that many recreational vehicles at our disposable, and we didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, so we had never signed up for a vehicle. Jemmy and Rachel had hitched rides into town, but their rides had never wanted to go shopping that they wanted to do, they had just been happy to get out.
“Okay, so big shopping day for all of us,” Jaxson said excitedly.
“So much for assimilating with the masses,” Remy teased Jace.
Jace tried to look stern, but I could see he liked the idea too. When I shared his bed at night the sheets and blankets had been the only thing he complained about. There was no way he would trust us to pick out the right stuff.
“Are you coming, Gavin?” Jemmy asked hopefully.
Gavin gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but Sierra and I already had plans to meet up with the guys. We’re so close to getting a part of the simulation complete. If we get it done by this weekend, we hopefully use it in training by Friday.”
“Oh,” Jemmy gave him a crestfallen look before she pasted on a fake smile. “Maybe we can get you something. Is there anything we can get you guys?”
Gavin looked uncomfortable for a moment. “I can give you my card, but I would love some new bedding as well, some hot fries, and maybe some sweats and t-shirts. Sierra, did you want anything? I’ll pay.”
“Bedding will be great,” she said as she looked at Jemmy and Gavin hesitantly.
Jemmy gritted her teeth as she smiled once more. “It’s cool. I’ll get it. Would you like some snacks or clothes?”
I had to admire her for trying. I knew it was killing her to be so nice to the girl she thought was swooping in and taking her man. I wondered if it would make a difference if I told her now about Sierra being their connection.
“Umm, sure,” Sierra shrugged as she shifted in her seat, looking at us all. “They don’t have any chocolate covered pretzels in the shoppette. Something to lounge around in would be great too!”
“Okay, done,” Jemmy said brightly.
Gavin reached into his wallet and pulled out his credit card. “Here, Jemmy. Thanks.”
Jemmy stood up, barely containing her rage and tears. “I said I will get it. Work on your computer program with her, and I’ll get you your stuff.”
She picked up her tray and stomped off.
I looked over at Jaxson and projected my thoughts to him. We need to talk to her.
We? Do you have a mouse in your pocket? he responded but then sighed. Kidding, kidding. How about after we go shopping tomorrow. She’s always happier when she has some retail therapy.
Okay, tomorrow, I agreed.
“I’ll talk to her,” Drake whispered in my ear. He was always so observant. It didn’t surprise me that he saw the furtive glances Jaxson and I had been exchanging.
I gave him a grateful smile. “I should probably let Gavin know.”
Chapter 2
After lunch, we had training. Each day they tried to focus on a different task. We had to go to the shooting range, do strength and core training, and learn hand-to-hand combat techniques. They taught survival, evasion, resistance, and escape (SERE) training tactics, too. Right now, I couldn’t see the bigger picture. We were gifted. I felt like we were learning a lot, and I was probably in the best shape of my life, but I felt like their training wasn’t effective to our gifted missions.
I felt like over half of the people training there looked down on us. Remy, Jace, Terrance, and Troy had taken to training easily, but the rest of us struggled in an area or two. They resented the fact that they had done this for years and struggled to even get hired by Paul’s company, and then we came along.
Rachel, Jaxson, Jemmy, and I were in high school. Some of the men on the team had children in our classes. They didn’t think we had the life experience or maturity to fight with them. Paul asked us to refrain from using our gifts until we were accepted by many of the people. I’m sure they were accustomed to some neat parlor tricks from their friends and family. They had yet to see us in action.
I was at the point where I believed we couldn’t earn their respect until they saw us in action. I knew I wasn’t alone in my beliefs either. A select handful of Paul’s C.O.s (they were the equivalent of a commanding officer) knew our capabilities. They had watched our tapes. They were the only ones that seemed to respect us.
Today was another sparring day. I enjoyed these days. They typically paired me with Jemmy, Sierra, Dawn, or Rachel, and even though I was small, I was fast and flexible. Rachel was quick as well, but she didn’t have the power or flexibility I had. Thanks to Troy, I had gotten private lessons from him before we landed here. I had relied on his expertise. He had studied several martial art forms for over eighteen years.
“Okay folks,” Henderson, one of our instructors, said jovially as he came onto the mats where we were stretching, clapping his hands. He was a good instructor, it was his side kick Bradford (everyone went by their last names here) I didn’t care for. He was a lower man in the pecking order, and he had major little-man syndrome going on. “Sparring day. Who’s our first victim?” Laughter rang out. “I mean, contenders today?”
The training room was large. It reminded me of my old high school gymnasium on steroids. There were multiple stairs leading to an upper level where a state of the art indoor track was located. The gym had basketball hoops retracted up to the ceilings. There were bleachers on the right and left-hand side of the room. The front of the gym had weight and lifting equipment. The rear, where we entered had speed bags, heavy bags, and sparring equipment.
The training groups were separated for ease of training. They tried to not have too many of us in the one area at any given time, despite the size of the area we were now occupying. Our training group consisted of approximately forty of us. It was clear, that even in here we were the outsiders. We were on one side of the training mats, while the majority of the others were on the other side. “Ricci, Ricci,” a few people started chanting.
I looked over at Troy and noticed that he had his game face on. He had this focused look on his face, and the normal humor that lingered in his eyes and mouth was gone. He had been doing this for years. The sparring ring was his second home.
Henderson chuckled. “Okay back by popular demand, Ricci and…” He scanned the crowd. “Butler.”
Butler muttered under his breath. His friends laughed at his remark. Troy had already gained his respect with the group. Many of the people liked him here. Most of them even asked him for pointers. The few that didn’t, resented him for what he represented—the new guy in town, showing them up. Butler was the former, not the latter.
Butler stood up. Physically they were built nearly the same. The match should have bee
n even. Troy wrapped his hands and removed his shirt. I could hear some of the girls shout out catcalls. I refrained from glaring at them.
Look all you want ladies, he’s mine, I thought spitefully.
Some people laughed while some of the guys made it a point to remove their shirts as well. They didn’t want to be shown up by Troy. They purposely flexed and posed for the girls.
Most of the girls were 21 to 24 years old. They were single and didn’t have any family responsibilities. The males outnumbered the females ten to one. There was only a handful of them that were married, and even less had husbands and children here. In this line of work, it was hard to juggle this type of career and a family.
The girls generally gravitated towards each other. For women that graduated four to six years ago, they still acted like a high school clique. Jemmy, Dawn, Sierra, Rachel, and I were clearly not allowed in the clique. There were only a few females that hadn’t shunned us or treated us like children.
I took a seat in between Remy and Noah, ready for the show. I took my hair tie off my wrist to tie it back. Remy patted the seat in front of his opened legs and I scooted over into it. He ran his fingers through my hair, and I resisted the urge to groan. It didn’t last long enough before he was braiding my hair.
His six-year-old sister had died when he was fourteen. We had both been caretakers to our younger siblings. He confided in me that she had went through a princess stage and wanted her hair braided, so Molly (his cousin and Jace’s ex) had taught him how to braid. I understood now why he had fixated on my hair early on in our relationship. It was a way of calming him. After he had confessed to me about his past, he started braiding my hair as well.
Ella and Nadia had my giant wrapped around their fingers now, too. There was nothing sexier than a big, burly man braiding a seven-year-old girl’s hair. Ella would no longer let me braid her hair, and since they were two peas in a pod, Nadia wouldn’t let me braid it any longer either. I still did the intricate things to their hair, but braiding was Remy’s job now.
I stayed between his legs after he was finished and pulled my knees up to my chest, ready to watch the sparring match.
Troy was quick, flexible, and powerful. A great combination for any fighter. We weren’t allowed to hit with full force for training purposes, but we still felt pain afterwards.
Troy was great at figuring out each one of his opponent’s strength and weaknesses. Of course, he attacked their weaknesses. He was trying to teach me how to read my opponent as well. I knew from watching Butler spar previously that he was a hot head. He fought with emotion. Troy would get in his head and push him. The angrier he got, the sloppier he got. The sloppier he got, the less hits he landed successfully.
The matches were three, two-minute rounds. Each hit was worth a point. Level of difficulty and head shots gained you two extra points. If you left the ring you got points deducted. If you left the ring more than three times, you were disqualified.
Just as predicted Troy continually evaded Butler’s hits, and Butler started getting irritated. Troy continued to play defense until Butler started to visibly clench his fist more (his tell). Then like a cobra, Troy struck. He was in his normal defensive stance with his left leg back and his front leg slightly bent up front. His hands were up protecting his face and abdomen. He struck out with his left leg landing a solid roundhouse kick to Butler’s side, and before Butler could go on the defense, Troy landed a back-spin kick to Butler’s head. He had scored four points in less than two seconds.
I heard good-natured groans from Butler’s friends, but our little group and a few of his fans cheered him on. That only irritated Butler more, so he got even messier in his movements. By the end of the first round Troy had twelve points to Butler’s three.
Troy came over to us with a smile and a wink to me as I handed him my water bottle.
“You don’t need to make it look easy,” Noah joked, slapping Troy on the back.
Troy shrugged with a cocky grin as Henderson blew his whistle for the next round. Troy won in a land slide. Butler was decent, but he was nowhere near Troy’s level. When Troy was done, he plopped down beside me. I gave him a smile and squeezed one of his sweat-soaked biceps.
“Good job, Tiger,” I joked.
He waggled his eyebrows at me, and I couldn’t help but giggle.
They generally liked to stagger the female fights in between the male fights. They weren’t as fun to watch, but there were a few girls that clearly trained for years. Those were the matches I enjoyed watching. So far, I had only sparred the other gifted girls.
It was clear that was going to change today as Bradford looked over at us girls gleefully, a malevolent expression on his face. He resented us, and I still couldn’t figure out why he did. He was an instructor. We didn’t threaten his spot on any teams.
“Let’s see how our Little Rock Star does against…” Bradford looked around the room. It wasn’t a term of endearment. It was far from it. He used it in a disparaging tone. “Adams.”
I was a small girl. I was five-one at most. Adams was an average girl at five feet-five or so. She was also built. She was one of the girls that had trained in martial arts for years and arguably the best female fighter here. I knew I could put up a good fight, but I highly doubted I could beat her. She also had a huge crush on Troy, and Troy had told her he wasn’t interested in her as kindly as he could. She hadn’t taken the rejection that well. I had a sneaking suspicion that she had a hand in making that video go viral. I think she wanted to embarrass me, but it hadn’t worked; instead, I had gotten compliments on the video.
Last week, the youtube video had circulated with me, Ben, and the band at our Halloween party. Jemmy and Rachel had planned the event, so needless to say, our small intimate gathering had turned into the party of the year. I hadn’t realized someone had posted the video and it had gone viral. Once again, my aspirations of being in a band again were being put on the back burner.
“Wear her out,” Troy leaned in and whispered to me. “She lacks endurance. Take the small hits until she tires.”
I smiled my thanks at him before wrapping my hands and sticking my mouth guard in. I walked out onto the mat and took my position in the middle. Adams took her spot and gave me a smug smirk. She didn’t think I had a chance of beating her either.
It was clear by Bradford’s look that he was trying to set me up to fail. He gave Adams a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder.
“Let’s go, Blake,” Rachel yelled her encouragement. She was clearly rebelling against the social etiquette here. She refused to conform and call me by my last name. Here, everyone was called by their call signs or last names. They were too entrenched with their military training, despite the fact they no longer served.
I gave her a half-hearted smile before Adams and I fist bumped each other and the whistle was blown. I immediately used my speed to my advantage and struck her side with a roundhouse kick before I darted back out of her reach. I continued to wait for the next opening, hoping to tire her out as I danced out of her reach. I feigned in and out a few times, making her strike air and waste precious energy.
She was all about the flash and trying to get the higher points as she made contact to my side with a double round house kick and an axe kick to my shoulder. My shoulder was sore, but I managed to land some double jabs to her abdomen and two more round house kicks.
I was surprised when the first round ended with us being tied. I could tell from her cheering box, they were surprised as well when they saw the score posted above us.
“You’re doing great, Princess,” Troy smiled at me as he handed me a water bottle.
“She keeps dropping her guard on her right side,” Remy said quietly. “Watch for it and land your double roundhouse kick.”
“She keeps aiming for your face, too,” Terrance added. “Keep your guard up.”
We were allowed to land kicks to the head if they weren’t full contact or direct hits. I had narrowly missed a few of her kic
ks directed to my head. They were worth more points, but I was funny about aiming there, myself. I had a thing about people’s faces. I didn’t like hitting people in the head, because I hated when people made head shots on me.
“Thanks guys,” I smiled as the whistle blew, indicating the end of our break. They gave me a fist bump, and I went back into the ring.
I could see that Adams was already getting tired. It was in her eyes. The guys’ confidence in me bolstered my spirit, and I tried to remember everything they told me. She was beautiful to watch, but she came in the ring over confident and feeling the need to show off. I saw the glances she had sent Troy’s way. It was times like this I wish I could tell her she was wasting her time. Our connections meant more to us than any fleeing attraction.
Adams was a pretty girl and shared an Italian heritage on her mother’s side with Troy. She had the same olive complexion, had dark hair, and eyes with outrageously long eyelashes. Troy had given her the cold shoulder and tried to remain friendly with her, but she just wasn’t getting it. She continued to pursue him.
Honestly, I didn’t get it. There were plenty of available men here. A lot of them even pursued her, but I guess she liked the hunt and not the chase. She liked hunting her men, and the more they ran, the more she wanted them, apparently. The guys that chased her weren’t challenging enough for her, I guess.
I went too far in my musings and hadn’t been paying much attention, when suddenly, Adams landed a hard roundhouse kick and a spinning hook kick. I felt my teeth jar in my mouth as she connected with my face. I spun away from her to keep her out of reach as I tried to center myself again and refocus.