Chapter 25 Griffin
Griffin
Rage slams me against the padding of the makeshift room we have in the training barn with a snarl.
“Fuck,” I wheeze out, as all the air is knocked out of me.
“Rage, that’s enough,” Mirabelle calls.
Rage moves instantly, shifting his weight off of me without a second glance before he jogs over to where Mirabelle is seated, on a stack of crates.
She’s wearing a pretty long-sleeved blouse and leggings that hug her hips in a way that should be illegal. All new clothes the beta kid has bought her.
As much as I doubted him at first, Rowan definitely seems to have proven he’s capable of taking care of her.
And of training us.
Rage drops to a knee between her legs, bowing his head, and she immediately starts petting him and running her hands through his hair.
She offers me a little finger wave when she notices the way I’m staring at her.
I offer her a grin that’s probably a little tight around the edges as I push myself up. It’s getting harder and harder to control my jealousy the longer I’m on the drugs we’re forced to take.
The doses Rowan gives us are apparently less than what the others are used to because their supply has been cut off or something like that, but they still impact my ability to think clearly.
“Good job, Griffin,” Rowan calls, glancing up from a notebook as he finishes writing something down. He carries that thing everywhere with him now.
I don’t have any idea what he actually writes, but he’s a damn good coach. Notices the things I don’t, when I’m too deep into the fight. It’s surprising, considering the fact he’s such a scrawny kid with no fighting abilities, compared to the three of us.
“Since we’re working on your endurance, Ash, you’re up next,” Rowan continues.
Ash steps into the ring, his gaze darting between me and where I was looking.
“Jealous?” Ash huffs, getting in my face immediately.
“What the hell is your deal?” I mutter, narrowing my eyes at him. “It’s not like you’re a fucking saint either. I see the way you look at her when you think no one else is looking.”
“Oh, I know you’re watching. I want all you fuckers to see,” he says, his lips peeling back into a toothy smile.
“You’re crazy,” I growl back at him. “We’re supposed to be working together.”
“Yeah, working together,” he says, throwing a lazy punch that I easily dodge. “But she’s not work. And I don’t want to fucking share, but at least I have the guts to admit it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap back, returning his punch with a far more powerful one of my own.
It’s powerful, but it’s sloppy. He’s pissing me off, and he knows it. My gaze keeps darting to Mirabelle’s wide-eyed, innocent expression. She doesn’t know what this tentative truce between us has been doing to us.
We’ve got such a limited time with her. Most of it is spent working our asses off to make sure we’re strong enough for the fights coming up soon.
That makes the not-quite-platonic but not-quite-more-than-that touches and soft-spoken words she gives us not enough to soothe the burning fires in the three of us.
I can see it in the way we spar with each other. In the restless way we do everything.
“Oh, I know plenty,” he grunts before kicking his leg out and taking advantage of my distraction.
Before I know it, all the wind is knocked out of me all over again as I slam back into the mat beneath me.
Ash wastes no time before pinning me down underneath him, forcing me to block the punch aimed for my face. The blow reverberates up and down my forearm, making my wrist and elbow joints a little numb from the impact.
Better that than my face, I guess.
“Damn,” I breathe out, blocking another one of his blows. “You know your shit.”
He pauses at my words for a split second before throwing another punch, but the split second of hesitation gives me enough time to prepare.
I end up grabbing his wrist and pulling, using the momentum to flip us. My forearm presses against his neck, and my heavier weight lands squarely on top of him.
“But I do too,” I say, flashing him a triumphant grin. “Checkmate.”
The lines around his eyes tighten as his lips curl up in a snarl.
“Fuck off,” he grunts. “Why the fuck are you so strong?”
I shrug as I get off of him, leaning back on my hands as I sit on the mats.
The wraps around my hands and knuckles are getting sweaty after all the sparring.
Maybe I could get Mirabelle to change them for me. I’ll take any excuse I can to get her hands on me.
“I think there’s a reason this hellhole of a farm bought me,” I say, rolling my aching shoulders back. “I’m good at what I do. Been doing this for a long time.”
“Oh yeah? How long?”
“Since I was sixteen. I’m twenty-eight now, so twelve years.”
“You’re twenty-eight?” He asks, raising a brow in surprise.
“Yeah, why?”
“When’s your birthday?”
“October 12th, why?”
He flashes me a toothy grin. “Just had to double check. I’m older than you, which means you’ve gotta listen to me and stop giving me so much shit.”
“That’s probably the most childish thing I’ve ever fucking heard,” I say, rolling my eyes.
He lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Yeah, you’re probably right. So how’d you get into fighting when you were a kid?”
“Started fighting casually to earn my family some money, but once my dad figured out how big of a cash cow I was, I couldn’t stop anymore.”
“Sounds like your dad’s a real piece of work,” he huffs.
“Yeah. You can say that again. Apparently, he sold me to get rid of his gambling debts. Can you believe that shit? Sold his eldest son so he could feed his addiction.”
He flashes me a long, sidelong look before giving me a quick and jerky nod.
“Yeah. My parents were addicts too. No idea whether they’re still alive.”
There’s a tightness to his shoulders. One that’s not put there by the crazy conditioning Rowan puts us through before we even touch the sparring mats.
“They sell you too?”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “A friend of mine got in some trouble and wanted some backup ‘cause he was apparently dealing with some crazy shit. We were kidnapped. Never saw the guy again.”
“Damn, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It is what it is.”
“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.”
“Just cause it sucks doesn’t mean you’ve gotta say sorry,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Sounds like we’ve got more in common than I thought we did.”
“Guess we do,” I say, offering him a nod.
“I learned quick that no one was coming to save me,” he says, resting his chin on his leg. “So I learned how to save myself.”
“I mean, you’ve been successful so far.”
“Yeah, but that’s only ‘cause I work fast and play dirty. I know I’m the weakest out of the three of us, and in most of the matchups I get, they put me with some pretty beefy motherfuckers,” he shrugs.
“You’ll learn what you’ve gotta do to survive in the ring when you get there.
Nothing quite like it, being stuck in a fucking pit with hundreds of people screaming at you. ”
I try to imagine what the fights him and Rage have been through look like, piecing together an idea based on the network of scars they have on their bodies. I’ve done a lot of fighting, but there’s obviously something different about these fights.
There’s a level of pure violence I’m not used to.
“That’s enough of a break,” Rowan calls, waving us over.
I let out a huff as my muscles scream out at me in protest as I jog over to the corner of the barn where Rowan, Mirabelle and Rage are.
“Good work, guys,” Rowan says to all of us. His gaze stops on me, and he gives me a nod of approval. “Your stamina has improved. That’s great.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking a deep inhale.
Even though the space is full of our alpha scents, Mirabelle’s sweet strawberry shortcake perfume still sings above them all. I swear, being in her presence is more relaxing than a physical massage.
Though I wouldn’t be opposed to having her massage me to get all the knots and tension out.
Fucking hell, I shouldn’t be thinking about her and knots in the same sentence.
“Come ‘ere, Shortcake,” Ash says to Mirabelle as he leans on one crate.
Mirabelle hops off the one she’s sitting on immediately following Ash’s command.
My heart pounds as jealousy pumps through my veins. She follows his directions so naturally.
Rage lets out a soft growl as Mirabelle moves away from him, but she just offers him a reassuring smile, and the guy stops instantly.
It’s honestly crazy to see how good of a handle she has over him and his emotions. I’ve heard stories of what he was like before Mirabelle came into the picture, and it honestly doesn’t compute.
Not when he’s so... obedient now. I wouldn’t quite call him docile.
The bruises that’re going to form on my back from being slammed into the mats repeatedly during our sparring session would say otherwise. The guy’s a fierce fighter.
But he listens to Mirabelle. And sometimes to Rowan.
“Hi,” Mirabelle says softly, stepping between Ash’s open legs with a smile. “Your fights are always so short. You move so quickly.”
“It’s ‘cause unlike these other meatheads, I actually use my brain,” Ash chuckles, his voice low as he rests his hands against her hips.
“Hey,” I growl, narrowing my eyes at him. “You lost that fucking sparring match, bird-for-brains.”
He shoots me a toothy grin over Mirabelle’s shoulder, and I swear, if Rowan weren’t scowling at us all already, he’d fucking stick his tongue out. The fucker enjoys riling everyone up.
Asshole.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Rowan says, flipping to a different page in the notebook he carries around with him everywhere. “We’ve gotta go over the plans for this weekend. The big fight is coming up. Are you all feeling ready?”
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Ash answers for us, tugging Mirabelle closer to his body as he rests his chin on her shoulder.
He’s smart enough not to scent mark her in front of Rage and I. I think that’d make us freak the fuck out. But the fucker definitely gets close.
“I’m going to have to give you all doses of the booster drug,” Rowan says, pursing his lips together. “Pretty big ones.”
My expression instantly sours, right along with my eucalyptus scent.
“I know you don’t like it,” Rowan says, letting out a soft cough at my overwhelming dominance. “But all the other fighters you’ll be up against have been taking doses much higher than you for a very long time. It’ll put you at a major disadvantage if you don’t take them. Plus, it’ll be suspicious.”
His words don’t do much to set me at ease. I hate the way those drugs make me feel. And now he’s telling me he has to give us more?
“Where’re you going?” Ash growls, tugging Mirabelle back against his chest.
“Don’t be selfish,” she says, pushing a single hand against Ash’s chest as she narrows her eyes at him.
“Kittens got claws,” he huffs. His hands flex along her hips once before his hands fall to his side.
To my surprise, Mirabelle steps away from him and towards me.
Well, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Mirabelle has a way about her of knowing exactly who needs her at any point in time.
I think it’s the one thing that’s kept us from tearing each other’s heads off during these joint training sessions.
Mirabelle truly doesn’t have a favorite out of the three of us.
Four of us, actually. It’s obvious to anyone with eyeballs that Mirabelle cares for the beta kid, too.
“You’re thinking a lot,” Mirabelle murmurs, stepping in front of me and reaching up to gently press her thumb against my brows to smooth them out, uncaring of how sweaty I am.
“I am,” I say, my voice low as I inhale deeply.
If I ever get out of here, I’m heading straight to a fucking bakery and ordering a whole strawberry shortcake. I don’t know if I’ve ever done that before, ordered a whole fucking cake for myself.
There’s a first time for everything, I guess, and one can hope.
“I’m sorry you have to take those drugs,” she breathes.
“Don’t apologize for shit that’s not your fault,” Ash snaps.
“Don’t fucking talk to her like that, man,” I growl, tugging her into my chest.
She lets out a sharp inhale as her hands brace against my chest.
Ash’s jaw works as his gaze darts from my snarling face to Mirabelle’s tiny form, tucked into my chest.
“Fine,” he sighs. “Sorry, Shortcake, shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that he actually apologized. Considering the way he insists on pointing out whenever someone utters the word “sorry” when he thinks they don’t mean it, it’s safe to assume he really feels bad.
“Okay, guys, enough with the bickering. We’ve got to plan for the actual fight,” Rowan says, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“Stay with me for a bit, sweetheart?” I murmur into Mirabelle’s hair, my arms still loosely wrapped around her.
“Of course!” She says, smiling brightly up at me.
I swallow hard. Her smile is dangerous. Makes me want to do crazy shit to keep her eyes on me.
Like willingly throwing myself into a team fight with a couple of crazy motherfuckers.
“The fight is going to work like this...” Rowan says, his voice fading into the background as I focus on the way Mirabelle’s auburn hair changes color in the light.
I can do this. I’ve got no other choice. Not if I want to play my part in keeping Mirabelle as safe as possible in this hellhole.