“Medieval?” He snorts. “Trouble, you don’t know the first thing about torture. I survived torture training my junior year—that’s torture.”
I trip over my own feet. “Did you just say torture training?”
“Yep.”
“And that’s legal?” I ask, horrified at the thought of some sixteen-year-old kid being put through torture training.
“It’s completely voluntary,” he says.
“I’m not sure what would be worse—that you voluntarily signed up for torture training, or that they forced you to do it.”
Seriously. What kind of person volunteers to get tortured?
Hunter is stranger that I thought.
Though, now I understand him a little better. His method of torturing me is training me to death.
“It’s not as bad as you think.” He comes to a stop in the front yard of the house, facing me. “The torture isn’t physical, it’s mental.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
He rubs at the scruff on his chin. “I guess not.”
Hunter always waits until after training to shower, like I do. And every morning, he has a bit of scruff on his face. I try to ignore how attractive he looks with a five o’clock shadow. If he went to school like that, the girls would be all over him.
If Hunter weren’t such a pain in the butt, I’d probably have a crush on the guy.
I guess it’s a good thing that he is a pain then. Because if I ever had a crush on Hunter, that would make things super complicated.
Hunter and I begin our training on the front lawn, like we do every morning. But this morning, Hunter is being particularly hard on me.
He’s been teaching me how to disarm somebody, how to block a punch, and how to get away from somebody if they try to grab me from behind. So far, I’m not very good at getting away.
Hunter is strong—a lot stronger than me. And like he said, he’s been training since he was twelve. He has many years of experience on me. I don’t get why he thinks I’m going to be able to learn this stuff in a week.
I get it—it’s important for me to learn. I know because I was the one who was almost killed. But I still think he’s being too hard on me. This stuff takes time. When I told him that, he simply replied that I don’t have time to learn slowly. He says I have to learn now—that I can’t afford to take my time.
After failing to get away from him three times and getting ‘fake’ shot in the head twice, Hunter is in a particularly foul mood. And his bad mood is completely directed at me.
“Cove, you have to learn this,” he says, giving me the same speech he’s given me morning after morning.
I know it’s serious when he called me ‘Cove’ and not ‘Trouble.’
“And you have to give me time to learn this,” I counter. It’s the same argument, morning after morning.
“This isn’t a joke.” He takes a step closer, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s trying to intimidate me. And maybe it would intimidate me if I didn’t know that Hunter would never hurt me—at least not on purpose.
I stand up straighter, not backing down. “I didn’t say it was a joke. But you need to chill a little bit. You’re pushing me hard. I need time to learn this. I’m not going to magically get good overnight.”
“I yell because I care.” His shoulders sag and he takes a step back. “I’m sorry, Cove.”
“It’s okay.” I pat his shoulder. “I promise I’ll try extra hard on Monday.”
He glares. “You should try extra hard every day.”
I try to force a grin. “I am trying. Sorry.”
He sighs. “Let’s practice blocking a punch again.”
I nod, getting into position. I spread my legs slightly, putting my feet into the positioning that Hunter taught me is best, and then I told up my hands.
“You know, in a real fight you won’t have time to think about the position you’re getting into,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what practice is for? So I can learn—muscle memory and all that.”
He nods, his breath coming out in a huff. “I swear, you were sent into my life to torture me.”
I laugh. “Funny. I think the same thing about you.”
He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he swings a punch at me. I barely block it in time. He gives me a pointed look and swings another punch—I block.
“Ouch.” I shake my hand out. “You’re a little aggressive this morning.”
He doesn’t respond. He just swings another punch. And another. And another.
I’m proud of myself for blocking him. I’m nowhere near perfect at it, but I’m better than I was on Tuesday morning during training.
I stand up a little straighter as I continue blocking punches.
Hunter swings at me and I block. I’m about to get my hand back into position when he swings another punch. I reach out to block him, but I’m too late. His fist connects with my shoulder.
I call out, grabbing on my shoulder. “Oh my gosh, Hunter. That freaking hurt.”
“It wouldn’t hurt if you had just blocked it,” he says, his voice hard.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re a real pain, Hunter Duran.”
He shrugs.
I pull up the sleeve on my shirt to get a look at my shoulder. There is already a bruise starting to form.
“Great.” I huff.
His eyes soften. “Cove, I’m sorry.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. I’m done with training for the day. We can pick back up on Monday.”
Turning on my heel, I storm off—maybe a little dramatic, but Hunter has made me mad.
Being cooped up with him in this cabin is getting to me. I need a break, and not just from training. I need a break from Hunter.
There is nothing you can do about it.
I rub at the bruise on my arm, glaring at Hunter. He lowers his head, averting his gaze.
At least he has the audacity to look guilty, as he should.
When we go to sit down at the table in the dining hall, I literally wince from the pain in my thighs. I feel like I’ve done a few hundred squats.
Memo to self: skip leg day.
If only Hunter would let me skip leg day, that would be great.
“You okay, Cove?” Hunter smirks.
I glare at him.
Laura sits down on the other side of me, capturing my attention from Hunter.
“Hey, Cove.” Laura grins, waving a hand at me. “I have hardly seen you this week at all. You haven’t been to any of the parties.”
I wish I could go to the parties. It’s just… every night, I end up falling asleep by eight o’clock just because I’m exhausted. I doubt tonight is going to be any different. If I could, I’d be taking a nap right now.
“I guess I’ve just been busy. First week of school and all that.” I take a bite of my pasta, suddenly grateful for that mile I ran this morning. It’s nice to not have to watch what I eat so much.
“Are you going to be hanging out this weekend?” Laura asks.
With a mouth full of pasta, I look to Hunter for the answer. I’m not sure why, but it’s almost instinctual. Probably because anything that I do, Hunter is forced to do it. Laura notices and also looks at Hunter.