He curls my fingers into a fist, testing his handiwork, then catches my gaze. “Good?”
I nod, rotating my wrist a little. “Yup.”
He grabs two target mitts from the cubby and slips them on as he steps into the middle of the room. “Don’t worry about technique right now. Just let it out.”
Then he slaps the mitts together and holds them up at face-height.
I don’t need him to tell me twice. I do exactly what he said, letting rage pour out of me as my fist flies out over and over. He moves around the room a bit, and I stalk him like a fucking predator, my knees bent as I drive power from my legs like he taught me. The sharp sound of my fist hitting the mitts fills the room, punctuating the heavy beat of the music.
I’m not sure how much time passes. My world narrows down to the black circles in the middle of the red mitts, to the feel of breath passing in and out of my lungs, to the satisfying burn in my muscles.
I picture Gideon Constantine.
I picture his wife.
I picture Natalie.
And I don’t hold back a single fucking bit.
Finally, when I pause between hits, Ryland steps back out of range, dropping his hands down by his sides. “Feel better?”
Sweat drips down my temple, and I can feel it trickling down my spine too. I’m breathing harder than I realized, my heartbeat thundering in my chest. I wipe my forehead with the back of my arm, sucking in a deep drag of air. When I blow it out, I realize that I do feel a little lighter.
“Good.” He smiles. It’s not something he does as often as Theo, and it transforms his whole face, easing the tight lines of his features. “I told you not to worry about technique, but you still kept really good form. Those hits were solid. That’s great. It means you’re absorbing this all well enough to start doing it unconsciously.” He slips off one mitt and shakes out his hand. “That, combined with your natural fighting abilities, will definitely give you a leg up in a confrontation.”
I smirk. “By ‘natural fighting abilities,’ you mean ‘uncontrollable rage,’ right?”
He chuckles, walking over to shove the mitts back into the cubby. “Hey, whatever gets the job done.”
I follow him, and he turns around to help me with my wrap, unwinding it from my wrist and knuckles before setting it aside. Then he pulls a gun from the waistband of his pants.
“Okay, time to work on disarming.” He removes the magazine and clears the chamber, then gestures for me to return to the middle of the room. “This shit isn’t easy, and comes with risks of its own, so only try this if you have no other options, all right?”
I nod, my stomach twisting a little as he raises the weapon. I just saw him get rid of all the bullets, but it’s still slightly terrifying to stare down the barrel of a gun.
Breaking it down into small steps, he shows me how to dart my hand out and deflect the weapon, then twist the barrel to break his grip. He has to make several modifications because I can only do it one-handed, but he’s patient with me, stopping to show me a new technique when something doesn’t work.
Once we work out the best way to disarm someone one-handed, h
e makes me drill it over and over.
“Can I ask you something?” I glance up at him as he resets his position, raising the gun and pointing it at me.
“Sure.”
My stomach tightens. “That thing back there with Marcus’s parents. You told me you’re glad I said something. That they needed to hear it. But I don’t understand why they haven’t heard it before. After the shit they’ve put you through, the shit they signed you up for, why do any of you still have anything to do with your parents?”
Ryland sighs, lowering the gun a little. “I don’t know. Well, with Theo, I think he sticks around because he’s worried about his mom. With his dad gone, his uncle manipulates her and intimidates her, trying to get his hooks into every aspect of their business. Theo does what he can to help her stand up to that.”
I nod, remembering how Theo had to go deal with his uncle once. I also remember him telling me that he didn’t want to be part of the family business, and I wonder if the only reason he hasn’t cut ties entirely is because of fear of what would happen to his mother if he did. If he wasn’t around to look out for her, what might his uncle try to do?
“And for you and Marcus?” I prod, catching Ryland’s gaze.
His jaw clenches. “It probably sounds fucking stupid to someone like you. But in this life? In this world? Kids are taught from a young age that they’re conduits for their parents, part of a family line that must be honored. Sacrifices have to be made to protect the family name, and to grow its power and standing.”
I frown. “That’s so fucked up though. That makes it sound like they’re doing all of this for you, for the next generation. But if it’s for you, then you should be able to choose what you want to do, not be forced into things.”
I glance down at the gun, realizing we’ve gotten distracted from our training. Lightning fast, my hand whips out, catching the weapon and shoving it to one side, twisting the barrel to break his grip at the same time I step forward and mimic head-butting him.