The knock on the door makes us bump heads. Cole yanks the sheets off and pulls his shirt on. “Well… that felt great,” he says. “You have a hard head.” He throws my clothes to me.
“So I’ve heard.” I smirk at him.
I get dressed in a flash and call Zeus onto the bed. He smells the sheets and makes that awful sound he makes when he eats too fast. I rush into my room, bracing myself for the visitor, and peek around the doorjamb.
Cole opens the door and Bruno stands there with his arms crossed, holding a small, paper-bagged lunch. He looks ridiculous.
“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be or did you forget already?” Bruno asks. He frowns at Cole.
“What are you doing here?” Cole says.
“Your building’s on lockdown, so I’ll stay here with her. But unfortunately for you—you’re still mandated to show up, sucker!” Bruno waves hello and I wave back as I cross back into Cole’s room. Please don’t notice my rumpled clothes or frazzled expression.
“Fine. Just give me five minutes, and I’m outta here.” He throws on his uniform, straps on his guns, and all but sprints out the door with Zeus scampering behind him. With Cole gone, Bruno and I have some business to take care of.
“Morning,” Bruno says. “What do you say we get some training out of the way?”
“Sounds perfect,” I say as I pull my hair back into a ponytail.
“Okay, let’s start with a warm-up and then we can get down to business.” He drops his bag in the doorway and pulls out two long wraps. He opens his large hands and begins to weave them intricately through his fingers. When he finishes, he pulls out two more. I remove my ring and place it on the counter, away from the sink. I hope he didn’t notice.
“Let me show you something. First of all, if you want to protect your hands and wrists from an injury, you’ll have to wrap them a certain way. When we’re done with that we’re going at it full force—no holding back. If you can’t hang with us big boys, we have a serious problem.”
I hold out my hands, spreading my fingers as he loops the cloth through. When he’s done, both hands are tightly wrapped. I turn them over and admire them.
“You mean I’ll have a serious problem?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“I hope I remember how to do this.”
“What’s that old quote they used to say?” He snaps his fingers. “Oh, ‘practice makes perfect.’ And we’ll be doing it over and over until it’s ingrained into your brain and then it will become second nature.”
And so we begin doing push-ups, jumping jacks, and sprints across the room. Next, he shows me how to punch. He drills me like a soldier. “Jab, cross, uppercut,” he says over and over.
My arms feel like Jell-O, so he decides to show me some kicks. I learn front kicks and back kicks. I feel like an anchor has been attached to each of my limbs by the end.
“Well, you aren’t barfing today, so that’s good,” he says with a smile.
“This is true, but I still feel weak. I just want to get stronger.”
“Then you’re in good hands. I’ve been training since I was sixteen. I live and breathe this stuff.” He starts to unravel his hands. “In our training, we don’t use wraps anymore—too unrealistic. But for you, it’s wise to start with them until you get used to the grind.”
“Works for me. The last thing I need are broken wrists.” I follow his cue and begin to unroll my wraps as well. They fall to the floor, snakelike, in a pile.
“I think you’re doing just fine. Give yourself some credit.”
“I can’t. Not yet.”
He takes a drink of water and offers me some. It’s quiet long enough to hear the pop, pop, popping echoing through the streets outside. I run to the window and look but can’t see anything but heavily armored tanks parked out front and guards directing limited personnel through the checkpoint.
When I get out of the shower, I feel refreshed. I brush my hair and place my ring back on my left hand where it belongs. Training makes me feel capable. It gives me what little confidence I need to survive, to feel good about myself, and grow stronger. And I need to grow stronger if I ever want to break free.
But just when I feel content, a loud banging on Cole’s door reverberates through my being. Bruno jumps up, startled, and cracks it open. I hear the terrifying, high pitch of a familiar voice and panic rises in my throat. Could it be? Why would he come here after we made a deal?
I sit on my mattress and hug my legs while waiting for the inevitable appearance of Wilson. And he doesn’t disappoint.
He struts in like a king, looking immaculate in his fresh-pressed, stiff uniform. His knee-high boots shine with a new coat of polish. He scans the room, resting his callous eyes on me.