by Willow Dean
Base is nothing like what I envisioned. I expected cement walls and concrete bunkers to complement the super-secret military, spy vibe.
Instead, I’m greeted with something more akin to a high-tech university. Hidden in plain sight, the pristine white walls and shiny steel foundations are dotted with large, feature length glass windows. Each pane fully reinforced and looking out onto lush gardens and busy courtyards.
Having taken the enrollment tests, I received my timetable from Lachlan and got rewarded with a day off from college.
Yay me!
Apparently, Census operatives are also stationed in the college and various other areas of expertise. Allowing them to easily manipulate things on our behalf.
As the saying goes, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know.
Quite honestly, I’m rather thankful for the slight reprieve so that I can at least try and get my head around my new schedule. It’s going to take a while, that’s for sure.
Not only will I be attending college full time, but I’ll also have lessons on base, after college, that run into the early evening.
It came as a stark realisation to know how much time the guys had sacrificed out of their own studies, to stay at home and look after me. Especially when I received my timetable and noticed that all of us have the same sessions.
Every evening is taken up with training, apart from Friday’s and the weekend. During my rehab, each of the guys had spent at least three out of five nights with me, meaning they had only managed to attend a maximum of two sessions per week.
Guilt gnaws at my insides, yet it warms me to know that they gave up so much of their own time just to help someone that they’d only just met. Even though I may have lost my real family, I’ve fallen straight into another one, who I know would go to the ends of the earth for me.
Most people here -like the college populace- give us dirty looks and seem to think that our dynamic is unusual and wrong.
I may not have spoken to these people, but for a training facility full of budding intelligence officers, you wouldn’t have thought that a newbie like me could just walk in and read their emotions like an open book.
Most of their faces are a picture of disgust. The curious glances that keep being thrown our way practically scream, that girl is sleeping her way around the team.
Don’t ask me how a look says all that, I don’t know. Let’s just put it down to experience.
Either way, they can talk all they want, but our relationship is purely platonic. Right now, I can’t even bear to contemplate the thought of dating.
The thought of it is so far away that I don’t know whether it’s actually even reachable again. At least not until I am able to deal with the damage that was caused by everything that’s happened so far.
Confiding in me one evening, the guys each explained their reasons for not dating as well. The first reason being their line of work. The other, more obvious reason, is the mental scars they all seem to carry.
Trying to find someone who is willing to navigate their emotions and understand their pain without prying is troublesome. Micah having been the only exception to that.
Having dated a few girls, he soon gave up when he found that they distanced themselves for one reason or another. Most times it was because they felt neglected and weren’t keen on the group dynamic, with the guys needing for space from outsiders.
With how much time the guys spent together, Micah’s girlfriends soon became paranoid about what Micah and the guys were up to. Especially seeing as how closed off Micah can be when talking about himself or his brothers.
I’m not sure how well it would turn out for any of them now anyway with a new addition to the family. Particularly one of the opposite sex.
My team are a very touchy-feely bunch and tend to show a lot of physical affection towards each other. They defer to physical comfort as their safety blanket, one that helps to keep them grounded and in the present, most likely as a way to extract and protect themselves from their past.
Of course, I’m now included in that circle too. Meaning, their over-protectiveness and affectionate nature is now extended to me as well. That definitely won’t go down well with potential suitors.
Sure, they act possessive and overact a little when it comes to my safety. Okay...maybe a lot, but that’s only because they care. From what I’ve witnessed so far though, it’s usually only specific circumstances that trigger such an extensive, and sometimes overbearing response.
My best guess is that they react that way because of their triggers. Not too dissimilar to PTSD I suppose. Still, I couldn’t say for definite seeing as none of them have opened up to me enough for that. Yet.
I don’t think that they even realize that they do it, but every so often, they’ll drop tidbits of information about their pasts into normal conversations. It’s like their brain is on autopilot. Desperate for them to share the burden that they’ve carried for so long.
It’s obvious that they don’t like to talk about what happened to them, and they definitely don’t trust easily. From the little snippets they let slip though, I gather that they have all either lost their family to awful circumstances, or never experienced a true, loving family environment before.
Jax is by far the most open and in tune with his emotions. Still, he doesn’t talk about his past. Despite that, from what Jax has hinted at, they’ve all started to open up a bit more to one another since I arrived.
Albeit only small amounts, it’s certainly a start. Someday, they’ll open up to each other and maybe even with me. But until that day, they- No…we will continue to help and support one another.
Together, we’ll deal with our invisible demons and keep our heads above water.
“This is too strenuous of a session for Lila just yet. I’m going to talk with Lachlan,” Aus grumbles.
I grab his arm as he goes to stride back out of the gym, giving him a pointed look, of which he returns a furious glare.
“I was given the all clear, Aus. I am fine. If this were any of the guys, you wouldn’t act like this. Don’t treat me like a feeble little girl. Please,” I chastise gently.
Looking down at me, his gaze softens as he takes a deep breath and nods in submission. Releasing my grip, I pat his arm and continue walking further into the room, unsure of where to look first.
This is insane!
All around me is a massive gymnasium that’s nearly the size of two football pitches. Foam mats cover the majority of floor space, only letting up for the fighting ring and running tracks in the middle half of the room.
The back quarter is filled with various exercise machines, lined up in neat rows. Punching bags, speedballs, pads and mannequins line the wall to the left and weapons line the wall to the right, with stacks of free weights in front.
Most of the free wall space is lined with industrial sized mirrors. A few people litter the mats in front of the mirrors practicing self-defense, utilizing both hand to hand techniques and weapons.
My excitement swells at the endless opportunities available. I hope we get to use all the equipment in here at some point. Especially the inside climbing wall I spotted in another huge gymnasium down the hall, one that just so happens to include an abseiling wall and paintball arena too.
It looks awesome!
Following my team towards the raised ring in the middle of the room that’s surrounded by a large group of people, hollering and shouting, a fierce battle between two guys plays out. Once we get closer, I’m shocked to find the larger of the two caught in a headlock. Completely at the smaller man’s mercy.
He continues to thrash around, trying to use his weight to dislodge his opponent with absolutely no luck at all. His lips begin to turn a hazy blue color and it’s clear he’ll lose consciousness unless he forfeits soon.
Not a second after that thought crosses my mind, he taps out. At least he tries too. The other guy blatantly disregards the action and continues to maintain his hold, paying no heed to his opponents submission.
His taps start to get more frantic and still, they remain ignored. Anger at his complete and utter disregard of his opponent yielding makes my blood boil. Unconsciously stepping forward, I find myself pushing through the crowd.
The guys hadn’t noticed me move away until I was already lost in the crowd. I can hear them shouting my name behind me, cursing up a storm at each person that gets in their way.
Eventually, I make it ringside and jump the ropes. Grabbing the guy’s arm and releasing his hold, I move to throw him over my shoulder. Mid throw, he let’s go of the big guy completely and manages to slip my grip.
Rolling to his feet, we both drop into a crouch, watching each other. Not willing to give him my back, I make sure he stays in my sights as I move over the larger guy and place my hand on his shoulder.
Still on the floor, he coughs and splutters, taking in hoarse breaths and gulping for air. “You okay, man? Can you stand?”
“Fuck off. I don’t need your help bitch,” he growls, rolling his shoulder and shucking my hand off. Getting up to his feet unsteadily, he throws a nasty glare my way and leaves the ring.
Charming.
I roll my eyes at his aggression and disregard. Can’t he just pleasantly thank me for the assist?!
Men.
Throughout the whole exchange, my eyes remained glued to the smug bastard on the other side of the ring. His dull blue eyes appraising me all the same.
About my height, he has short blonde hair with two black streaks running through it on either side of his head, from back to front. I can’t help but snort at the fact that he looks like a skunk, and apparently, has the attitude of one too.
Sporting a healthy tan, he wears a black tank top and green basketball shorts. His muscles are well defined but not bulked. Small and weed-like if anything.
Tip number one, looks can be deceiving.
If I hadn’t already seen him in action, I would have thought there wasn’t much to him and that, ladies and gentlemen, is precisely why you never judge a book by its cover!
In the worst case scenarios, it can be the difference between life and death.
“You going to be his replacement, Sweetheart?” He drawls, sending an unpleasant shiver down my spine.
“Was there any need for that display? He clearly tapped out,” I answer flippantly, paying no heed to his taunt.
Tip number two, never get emotional in a fight.
You’ll never win if emotion is involved. Keep your wits sharp and your temper dull, as the saying goes.
Or did I read that from a book?
The guy merely shrugs his shoulders, maintaining his eye contact with me. “You won’t get offered a way out in the field, so why train that way?”
He has a point.
“Touché.” Cocking my head to the side, I assess his posture to try and decide what move he’s going to make next.
Oh yeah, there’s no doubt he’s going to come at me. I ruined his fun. Now it’s his turn for payback.
Is it juvenile? Yes. Do people like him care? No. It’s all about prostrating and asserting dominance to them. That’s the games his type likes to play.
Wannabe alpha assholes, that’s all they are.
Before I can even blink, he’s right up in my face. I didn’t even see him move! One second he’s on the other side of the ring, the next he’s standing directly in front of me, reaching out to grab my shirt.
Shifting back, I dodge his grip and spin away. Ending up on the opposite side of the ring, I turn back to face him, which gives me a perfect view of the guys as they reach the ropes. Each of them flushed red with anger and worry.
Unfortunately, his keen eye also notices my distraction. Propelling himself forward, he starts towards me again. I drop and roll out of his reach, raising into a crouch so I can watch his movements as he darts back and forth.
He’s quick and agile, easily halting his forward momentum to change direction. What he doesn’t realize though, is that his fighting style has some very obvious tells.
One of them being the double bounce he does on his toes just before he switches to use his left foot to push off towards me, giving me ample time to dodge.
Scowling, he turns and pushes off towards me again. This time, he drops his right shoulder slightly, perfectly demonstrating his second tell.
Recognition flares up within me as I recall snippets of his previous fight with prince charming. Knowing he’s going for a feint, instead of dodging, I move to meet him.
Throwing a hook towards his temple, it forces him to drop his stance and guard his side at the last second, causing him to forgo his attack.
We both pull back and circle around each other again, calmly assessing one another for any openings. Lulling him into a false sense of security, I stumble. An evil glint enters his eye at the perceived mistake, just before his fist heads straight towards my face.
I wait patiently until the last possible second after he’s thrown his weight into the punch to slip back. Spinning, I extend my leg and hook kick him straight across the back of the head.
My heel cracks against his skill as his punch barely skims my back. Stumbling to the side, he shakes off the shot and rights himself as a feral look sweeps across his face.
Well, someone clearly doesn’t like losing. He’s likely not used to being matched fairly either.
Tough shit little man, come dance with me. I’ll teach you a lesson or two.
We continue to trade and block punches for a good while, neither of us giving any reprieve.
Sometime during our tip-toe dancing, we switch positions in the ring again. This time, I can hear the guys screaming my name behind me as I try desperately to block them out, needing every ounce of concentration I can get.
Usually I would be riding the thrill of the fight alright about now, but with each hit I throw, my legs start to shake a little bit more. I swallow thickly as my breath seesaws in and out of my chest.
Before the incident, I could have easily subdued someone of his build, quite easily might I add. Currently though, I lack the strength and stamina to do that. I’ve knocked bigger men than him on their asses before, and if I’d have kicked him with the strength I had before all this shit happened, he would have been KO’d in one hit.
And no…I’m not being arrogant. Just factual.
The thought of my now apparent lack of lethality, bugs the hell out of me and ends up costing me too.
Clearing the space between us, he takes advantage of my momentary distraction. Pulling myself out of my head takes a split second, yet it’s still long enough to prevent me from getting out of range of his next blow.
Dropping down, I cover my face as he aims a hit towards my head. It’ll hurt like hell but I refuse to go down.
Just as the hit is about to connect, he’s tackled from the side. Aus goes crashing to the floor with him as Micah places himself in front of me.
Aus grapples with the guy as Rick tries to haul them apart with great difficulty.
“Enough!” The harsh order does nothing to separate the two men. Both of them lost to the blood lust. “Break. It. Up!” The new voice cracks with intensity, doing its job splendidly.
Halting mid punch, Aus hovers over the guy as they glare at one another, breathing heavily. Rick steps back as they let go of each other and get to their feet.
Slowly moving apart, they continue to throw death glares at one another as I look around for the owner of the voice. Seeing a parting in the crowd, I wait for who I can only assume is the trainer to walk through to the front. The dude is massive and-
“You?!” I bellow. Launching myself at him, I clear the ropes with ease as adrenaline floods my system.
What’s he doing here?! Was I actually taken after all? Is this all just a setup? Are the guys in on it too?
My heart races as confusion and fear tears away at my insides. All of it is quickly overshadowed by the tingle of unbridled fury in my limbs that has my vision wavering.
Reaching him, I hook
him square in the jaw. Yet, despite the force of the impact, he barely moves. Grabbing my arm with insane speed, he spins me, twisting my arm behind my back and pinning me to his chest. I snarl and thrash, trying to get free so I can beat his butt-ass ugly head to a pulp.
That’s the least this fucker deserves.
Fear never reaches me and neither does rational thought. I’m no longer human. Simply a vessel overflowing with anger and pain, with a desire to inflict as much agony and terror as I can.
I will have my revenge and it will be bloody and sweet.
“Well, that is certainly no way to welcome your superior is it now, little spitfire,” the tenderness in his voice causes me to falter. His voice is deep, but oddly, it’s not menacing in the slightest. Just authoritative. Nowhere near as rough or chilling as before. If anything, it has a gentle, almost soothing quality to it.
Looking up, my vision clears slightly to welcome in the sight of a room full of onlookers. Everyone must have stopped whatever they were doing to watch us. Each one of them, deathly silent.
Stiffening slightly, he tightens his grip on me and drops his voice low enough so that only I can hear. “I heard about what my brother did to you and an apology isn’t nearly enough to make up for what you lost. However, I am not him. You are not the only one who wants to see him suffer a merciless and excruciating death,” he sneers.
Glancing over to the guys, I notice how tense their posture is. Yet, not one of them even twitches or tries to make any movement to come over. Jax’s taut shoulders relax at the man’s words, but I know he can’t have heard them. Maybe Jax can lip read too?
Wait, did he just say brother?!
Turning around, he partially releases his grip so that I can take a proper look at him. His dark chocolate eyes look down at me with warmth and kindness. Eyes. Plural.
His face is completely unmarred and he’s actually fairly decent looking. Still, he’s as large in stature as his brother -which is overwhelming in itself- and has the same brown hair, albeit a little longer in length.
Fortunately, his breath smells of mint and his teeth all appear to be exactly where they should be.
Thank the gods for small mercies.