TWENTY
Arlo’s words from last night are still echoing, ringing in my ears.
You’re my kingdom come.
How is he comfortable saying those words so confidently, so openly, without stopping to think about the effect it may have on the person who is on the receiving end? There was not a single trace of falsehood or hesitation on his face. Not a single one. He said those words, and he meant them.
The fluttering sensation in my chest is still as present as it was last night, but I try not to let it consume me. If I do, who knows where it might lead me? Most likely, to the places I’m not quite ready to explore yet.
I’m snapped out of my thoughts when Arlo gently tugs on my hand. There’s a tall factory building in front of us. The gates are at least ten feet tall, locked with the newest types of digital locks. Apparently, every person has their own code to type in; that way, Hudson and Noelle can track who comes and goes and at which time.
On the outside it looks like an ordinary factory, but the closer we get to the main door, the less I’m convinced it’s an actual factory. The walls are old, but they’re in great condition, the windows and doors made out of steel. I definitely wouldn’t want to get stuck in here.
Arlo pushes the door open, then steps aside to let me in. With a shaky breath, I enter the building, my eyes roaming all around the spacious interior. Though, it’s not what I was expecting. When Arlo said it was the place where all of the assassins under his father and mother were being trained, I expected… a less homey ambience.
“It’s not what you expected, huh?”
Arlo muses, the door closing behind us. He stands next to me, letting me absorb everything.
“Definitely not,”
I breathe out. “But in a good way.”
The first floor is just one massive room. There are bookshelves, multiple game consoles, TVs, couches, and everything a normal house would have in a living room. It’s just bigger in size, and everything is at least double, if not in a bigger quantity. The right side is a wide kitchen, filled with many gadgets, two double fridges, and appliances necessary.
There are a couple of smaller tables with chairs neatly tucked under them and a bigger one. All around the first floor are decorations, and it’s been made into something personal, making me wonder if people are just training here or living here as well.
“For a lot of them, it’s home,”
Arlo answers the unasked question. “The training can last years; hence, Hudson bought this factory around fifteen years ago and turned it into a home for all of them. The second and third floors are just bedrooms and bathrooms.”
I nod. “So, they’re living here full-time?”
“Some of them,”
Arlo explains. “Most of these people joined our organization as a last resort. Some were teenage runaways with nothing but a backpack on their shoulders, some were homeless, and others were rescued from abusive families. They can stay here for as long as they please.”
We continue walking, stepping further into the building. It’s relatively empty, aside from a few people scattered on the couches. They all nod at Arlo in greeting, which he reciprocates, making sure to stand as close to me as possible.
“What happens when they complete their training? It has to end sometime, right?”
Arlo nods. “Once they complete it, they’re obligated to work for our organization for three years. After that, they can leave and work independently, or they can stay. The choice is theirs.”
“How many people has your father trained?”
“Too many to count,”
Arlo chuckles, leading me toward a narrow hall.
“Really? I’m surprised that this business never runs out of… well, business.”
“There are always people to kill, Blair, and there are always billionaires willing to pay.”
“That sounds about right,”
I mumble. “So, where are you taking me?”
“The basement. That’s where their physical training is done.”
I frown. “Physical?”
“Mental training is done elsewhere, in a facility specially conducted for that type of strengthening. Don’t worry, though; I won’t put you through that unless absolutely necessary.”
He pushes the door of the basement open, and I start walking down a flight of stairs. It does make sense. As contract killers, there’s always a chance of getting caught, and oftentimes, psychological torture is far worse than physical. I’m not surprised they focus on improving their mental strength, too.
If I thought that the training area in Arlo’s building was big, this one is massive. I can’t count the number of weights, treadmills, and boxing rings, and it even has a shooting range far in the back. And amidst it all is Hudson.
He’s dressed in all black, hands clasped behind his back. His broad shoulders are in my view, and although I feel slightly guilty for ogling a man twice my age, I can’t help it. Arlo definitely gets his great looks from his father.
Briefly, I count seventeen people. All seventeen of them, men and women alike, are doing push-ups. Hudson’s counting, correcting, and telling a few selected individuals to start all over again. The most amazing thing is how in sync all of them are. Not a single person moves out of rhythm, and it’s compelling to watch.
Arlo pulls me to the side, and we sit on a small bench, just observing Hudson’s training session. He’s detailed, diligent, and I can tell he puts a lot of effort into turning these people into the most capable, the strongest, and the most disciplined versions of themselves.
“Oh, fuck.”
Arlo mumbles. “Here we go again.”
My eyes follow his line of sight. A girl, around mid-twenties, approaches Hudson. They’re too far for me to make out what exactly she’s telling him, but she has this wide grin on her face, while Hudson’s trying his best not to snap. Judging by the way he steps back to create distance between them and the way his shoulders tense when she takes a step forward, I already know that he’s not thrilled by the encounter.
“Who’s that?”
“Becka,”
Arlo snorted. “Becka’s a nice girl overall, but she has a thing for Dad.”
I wince. “Really?”
Arlo hums, slightly amused. “She chooses to ignore that he’s married and that the said wife is her superior around here. She once challenged Mom to a fistfight. Mom wiped the floor with her before Becka could get into a fighting position, all while being on the phone with Aria. It was a sight, but it definitely didn’t deter Becka from trying to get with Dad.”
I frown. “That sounds like too much work; why not just… kick her out?”
“Well, for one, Mom knows Dad wouldn’t cheat. He worships the ground Mom walks on, and a girl half his age is definitely not going to change that. And secondly, she has nowhere else to go. I’m not exactly sure what her story is, but it must be a difficult one if both Dad and Mom are letting her little flirting fiasco get swept under the rug. Though, it’s a matter of time before Mom’s patience runs thin, and she’s not a very patient person.”
My eyes are glued to Becka as she talks to Hudson. He’s nodding, responding politely, but I could’ve sworn that his brow twitched in annoyance at least four times in the past seven minutes. She either ignores it or doesn’t seem to get the hint. If it were Arlo she was flirting with, I wouldn’t just sit idly and watch it happen.
That’s when I pause.
This is the second time I’m catching myself getting possessive of Arlo. He’s not an object, and with everything he’s been doing for me, protecting me from the shadows, willingly being patient with me, and helping me get my revenge, I doubt he’d ever be interested in anyone else. Yet, this is the second woman I’ve felt insecure about, and this one is all in a hypothetical scenario.
The mere thought of Arlo with another woman makes my blood boil.
I swallow thickly, turning to look at Arlo. “What’s happening with Zoe Adams?”
Arlo sighs. “After my little visit, Nelson tightened the security. I’m not sure what she told him, but since she’s alive and breathing, I’m assuming she lied. I’m looking into how to get her alone again.”
Why? Why am I feeling like this? It almost feels maddening.
“Is there a way for you to discreetly deliver a message and meet her?”
“I could try, but if it goes wrong, she’ll die. And if it goes well, there’s no guarantee she’ll want to meet me or be able to. For now, I’m looking for a way into the manor. If they host a party or something similar, I could sneak in as the help and get her alone for a moment or two. I don’t need much more.”
I nod.
“Is everything alright?”
Arlo asks, and I freeze for a moment. Why the hell is he so good at reading my emotions before I can even process them myself? “You’re always tense when we talk about Zoe. Why?”
I shrug it off. “No reason.”
“Don’t lie to me, Blair. I can see it on your face. Something’s bothering you. What is it?”
I open my mouth to respond, to roll off another lie with ease, just how I was taught, when Hudson approaches us. Silently, I’m thanking the man for saving me from a situation I didn’t want to find myself in. Being insecure is one thing; being this insecure is a big problem, one that we don’t have the time to deal with.
“Blair,”
Hudson smiles. “You’re here to train.”
I nod.
“Great, get in the ring.”
My brows lift to my hairline. “Pardon?”
“I’ll train you today. Arlo can sit this one out.”
“What?”
Arlo protests. “No.”
Hudson isn’t impressed. “I think Blair’s old enough to make decisions for herself.”
Both men turn to look at me, and I hate how I’m being put on the spot. The thought of Arlo training me is something I want desperately, but I’m also aware that I’m worse than a rookie and that having him close to me would only be a distraction and could possibly set us back a few steps.
Ignoring the look of pure desperation and plea on Arlo’s face, I glance at Hudson and smile. “Sure, I’ll train with you.”
Hudson takes my hands in his, which shocks me, but before I can react, he pulls me to my feet and starts dragging me toward the ring. People around us are staring, but not for too long. They go back to their training, chatting or having breaks while Hudson releases my hands, and I enter the ring.
“Stand in the middle,”
he orders.
My body moves on its own accord, and I’m standing in the middle of the ring before I can blink. Hudson’s circling around me, inspecting every inch of my body. His brows are narrowed, and he doesn’t say a word for what seems to be an hour. My shoulders go rigid, and I straighten up, looking straight ahead.
“Not bad, but not good.”
“What should we work on first?”
Hudson chuckles. “If we went by the book, we’d be here for years. I’ll be brutally honest; you don’t have the strength, and you especially don’t have the time to gain it. What I can do for you is teach you cheap tricks and shots to ensure you can defend yourself and overpower those who are bigger than you.”
“Doesn’t that require me to actually be strong?”
“Not always, no.”
He steps in front of me, and I lift my chin, looking up at his towering figure. “I’ll focus on teaching you how to land solid blows and how to defend your important body parts from attacks first. It won’t be easy, and you can cry and beg, but I won’t stop until you block at least one blow or land one. Sounds good?”
I take a deep breath, my heart hammering against my ribcage.
“Sounds good.”