"Well, we're both well versed in Krav Maga and a few other martial arts," Axel tells him. "We can train her."
Everett laughs while leaning back in his chair. He's laughing so hard his chair almost flips over backward. "Yeah, sure, we can do that. I forgot that we're here to simply pass on the hard-earned skills you picked up in—"
"Enough, Everett," Axel interrupts him.
"What the hell are you two talking about, and what is Krav Maga?" I ask, looking at the two of them.
Everett stands up from his chair and rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. The arrogant smirk playing across his face tells me nothing good will come out of the next few minutes. What I do know is, neither one of them better come anywhere near me right now.
They position themselves in the center of the clear space between where I’m sitting and the office furniture setup.
Axel mimics Everett’s moves and rolls his sleeves up too. They both untuck their shirts and release the top two buttons before circling around each other like two angry dogs. I want to laugh at what I’m watching. Are they serious right now? After a long minute of staring each other down, the wrestling begins. Neither of them are making physical contact, but at the same time, they are clearly displaying what they would do to a person if the situation were to arise. It's a type of martial arts I'm not familiar with, nor have I ever seen. It does, however, look like the objective is death rather than pain.
I lean back into my seat, feeling only mildly intrigued. All I see are two good-looking men fighting. If that's what they do for enjoyment, I have no issue watching. I won't be participating, however.
Breathlessly, they separate and walk to opposite corners of the room, both holding their hands on their hips. "That's Krav Maga," Axel says. "It's the most intense form of martial arts—it's what some other countries use as their hand-to-hand combat technique."
"You didn’t touch each other," I say, laughing a bit.
"If we did, it wouldn’t be pretty, and avoidance is just as important as the art of striking," Axel says.
"So, who won?" I continue.
"Neither of us won. It was just to show you the idea." He’s looking at me like I’m ridiculous for asking, and I’m returning the look at him for pretending to fight with Everett, especially after the shit I’ve seen these last couple of days.
"So, you want to train me to fight like that, but just in make believe form?" I confirm, now having trouble holding my laugher in.
"It can't hurt," Everett interrupts.
I stand from the couch, feeling a little loopy and off-balance. "I thought you wanted me to help you fuck with people’s minds. I wasn't aware you needed me to beat the shit out of these ‘criminals’ too," I tell them, walking toward the only exit I know of.
"Whoa! Hang on now," Axel says. "Fighting is never our intention. Protection is, though."
"Great. Well, have fun protecting yourselves," I say, entering the dark hallway.
They let me go.
They let me make it all the way to the exit.
They let me leave.
The moment the cold hits my bare flesh and the wounds running along my face, I realize I'm back to nothing. I'm back to having no real identity, no money, no family, and no friends. Though, if I have to choose between all of that and having my face dented in on a daily basis, I'd rather be a bum on a street.
Outside of the hotel, I find the black SUV we were in last night, or at least it looks the same. I walk up to the passenger window, recognizing Chuck. Does he just sit here all day waiting for their call? Whatever. I begin to walk past the SUV, but not too far before hearing my name.
"Harley!" I inhale the cold wind through my nose and turn toward the open window, taking a couple of steps closer. "Where would you like to go?" Chuck asks.
"I'm not working with them anymore, so you don't have to drive me anywhere, but thank you anyway," I tell him.
Chuck shrugs his shoulders. "They have their days, Harley. This job doesn't come without a hefty price tag, and most of the time, the bad days outweigh the good. How about I pretend like I don't know you quit, and I take you where you want to go?"
I look at Chuck for a long second, and without further hesitation, I open the passenger door and slide in. The window we were speaking through closes and he shifts the vehicle out of park. "They told me to take you where you wanted to go," he confesses. "You're too valuable to lose."
"Damn it,Chuck," I groan. Chuck flashes a set of caring eyes in my direction, along with a charming smile. Getting a better look at him in the daylight, I see he’s closer to middle age than my age. Maybe this is what the veterans of Axel’s business do—drive people around all day. Makes tons of sense.
"How the hell am I valuable? Look at my face. Do you see what their last convict did to me? Now they want to train me in some twisted martial arts shit? I'm below average in height and weight, which doesn't exactly give me a good foot to stand on when it comes to fighting people."
"Buckle up, kid," he tells me.
I peel the seatbelt away from the door and wrap it around my body, clicking it into place. "You’re not going to convince me to stay," I tell him. "You're wasting your time. I should never have applied for their job, or whatever they want to call it."
Chuck pulls away from the curb and merges into the traffic. "You didn't apply for the job, Harley," he says.
"What are you talking about? I knocked on the door, inquiring about the free room and board."
Chuck laughs under his breath and takes a turn onto a narrow side street. "Do Axel and Everett strike you as the type to put out a ‘help wanted’ sign?"
This should have crossed my mind. At any point in the past few days, I should have focused on the thought of this being a trap. It crossed my mind, but desperation was too overbearing to face the truth. "Why did they bait me in? How did they know I needed a job? Or, better yet, how the hell did they know me at all?"
"Hun, I'm happy to help you and bring you to and fro, but I'm not their mouths," Chuck says, through a smoker’s laugh.
"Unbelievable." Kind of. They know way more about me that I gave them credit for. I spent too long with them and said too much. "Are they with the government?" Please, God, tell me no.
"So, anyway ... with that out of the way, is there somewhere you'd like to go?"
"Chuck!" I snap.
"Harley, everything is going to be okay. Believe me." I don’t believe him any more than I believe Axel or Everett. Desperation has fucking blinded me to everything I’ve avoided this past year. I should have known that as soon as I was evicted I’d have a million eyes waiting for my position of vulnerability. "Just tell me where you want to go."
I look down at my hands, observing the purple and blue bruises encircling my knuckles from when I tried to fight back. "The prison, please."
"Pardon me?" he asks, glancing in my direction with a raised brow.
"The prison," I repeat. "I have a friend I need to visit."
"Harley, this isn't my business, but that's no place for you to be. Don't you think?"
I glance away from my clenched hands and over to Chuck. "You're absolutely right. I have no business being there." I look away, facing the dark window. "Take me there, please."
Chuck doesn't argue or ask any further questions. Instead, he drives in the direction of the prison. Every few moments, he peers down at his smart watch where messages keep popping up—messages I can't see from here. Axel must have taps on where we are, or he has the SUV tapped. I figured, seeing as he let me walk out of the warehouse so easily.
We pull up to the prison and I remove my seatbelt. "Thanks for the ride," I tell him.
"I'll be waiting here for you," he responds, before unlocking the doors. I figured it wouldn’t be that easy to get rid of him.