Chapter Ten
Lia
The days pass without distinction, stitched into a rhythm of sweat, silence, and repetition. Sunrise bleeds into sunset, marked only by the ache in my muscles and the scratch of my lungs.
Kylo’s training style has shifted.
He doesn’t raise his voice anymore. He doesn’t snap or linger. He steps in only when he has to.
Yet there’s something oddly soothing about the quiet, a kind of unspoken truce.
We’ve traded our arguments for movement. Between telepathic sessions, he drives me through endless circuits of sprints, push-ups, and sit-ups.
Pull-ups, however, remain the enemy.
All morning, he has stood by the bar, watching me fail. I heave, my neck straining, but I don’t rise an inch.
“Drop,” he says.
I hit the ground, my knees nearly buckling.
“One more time. Try this.” He steps into my space, his hands locking around my waist. He hoists me up.
“Instead of pulling yourself up, slowly lower yourself. Control the descent.”
With arms that feel like overcooked noodles, I slowly release, lowering myself down.
“It burns.” I drop to my feet.
“Building muscle will help.” He snatches the ten-pound dumbbells from the ground like they’re made of foam, the same dumbbells I was using earlier. “We’ll table strength training for now.”
The weights lift on their own and glide back onto the rack. Must be nice to have powers that clean up after you.
“Your form’s getting better, but strength isn’t what’s going to keep you alive.” He pauses. “Let’s try something else. We’ll use your size instead.”
He steps in front of me. “Your goal is to take me down. Focus on my weak points. Any areas you can reach.”
His fingertips graze the bend of my arm. “Here.”
He points to his jugular. “Here.”
He hooks his hand behind my knee, bending it sharply before nudging me into a kick. “Shins.”
A flat-palmed gesture to his stomach. “Gut.”
He gestures downward. “And here.”
I grin. “Obviously the best place to strike.”
There’s a tiny flicker of amusement in his eyes. “For you? Yes.”
“Can we practice?”
Anything to stop lifting weights.
His brow lifts. “Let’s try again. I’m taller and stronger. How do you take me down?”
“I use my speed?”
“Yes. It’s not always about brute strength. It’s about agility, precision, and outsmarting your opponent.” He drops into a ready stance, arms relaxed, knees bent, eyes on me. “Take me by surprise.”
I dart forward, aiming a low kick at his knee. His left leg buckles slightly, throwing off his balance. I pivot fast, driving my forearm up toward his throat. He grunts, caught off guard by the strike.
That’s all I need.
Riding the momentum, I spring up, hook one leg behind his, and latch onto his shoulders. My arms wrap around his neck as I shift my weight and twist, just like he taught me. With a controlled fall, I bring him down, using my legs as leverage, landing on the mat with him pinned beneath my hold.
He blinks up at me, a faint smirk ghosting across his face. “Nice work.” I loosen my hold, and he rolls free, extending a hand to pull me up. “Again.”
The challenges change constantly. I vault over weighted bags and catch blades tossed mid-run, forced to strike in the same breath. He catches my wrist midair and stops me.
“Telegraphing your moves,” he mutters. “Try again.”
He’s going to have the word “again” branded into my brain.
I’ll hear it in my sleep.
He releases me and backs up. I adjust my stance, lighter this time. I fake a punch to his ribs, then duck under his arm and twist behind him. I wrap my arms around his waist, trying to drag him down, but it’s like wrestling a boulder.
“Use your center of gravity. You’re lower. Take advantage,” he instructs. He taps the side of my hip. “Shift. Get under me.”
I grit my teeth, pivot, and drop to one knee, hooking my leg behind his and driving my shoulder up into his spine.
He stumbles. “Good,” he grunts. “Now again. But faster.”
Spinning on my heel, my strike aims for his jugular, but he blocks it with ease. He twists me into a grapple. My back knocks into his chest, one arm pinned as he locks me in place.
His lips graze my ear. “You’re stuck.”
Sweat slicks my hairline as I drag in another breath. “Not yet.”
The heel of my boot crashes down on his foot. He grunts, and I drive my elbow into his ribs. His grip loosens. Seizing the chance, I spin out of his hold and slam both palms into his back, sending him stumbling forward.
He drops to one knee. I follow, hooking an arm around his neck and pulling him off balance. My legs snap around his waist as we go down, my body pressed against his.
“Impressive.”
“You said to take you down,” I breathe out.
He rolls us over, gently pinning me beneath him, his hands bracketing the sides of my head. My heart skips as our chests rise and fall in tandem. His body heat seeps into me.
Somehow, he still smells clean.
“Everything okay in here?” Carter steps into the doorway.
I jerk back, scrambling to put space between us.
Behind him stand Leo, Zayne, and Marco.
“Lia’s improving,” Kylo says to Carter.
If that’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ll get from him, I’ll take it.
“Great,” Carter says. “I thought we could focus on team building. Leo’s gotten used to my fighting style, and I’m sure Lia’s adapting to yours.”
“Explain the rules,” Zayne says.
“No weapons or powers. Hand-to-hand only. Marco and Zayne, demonstrate,” Carter instructs.
Kylo grabs my wrist and tugs me off to the side. Zayne and Marco circle in the center, arms raised.
Neither makes the first move.
“Someone swing already!” Kylo shouts.
Marco charges forward with a wild punch that Zayne easily dodges. Zayne snags Marco’s elbow and rolls his arm back, using his weight and momentum to flip Marco flat on his back.
“Asshole,” Marco says, flipping him off with a grin.
Zayne smirks as he offers a hand. “You should know better than to leave your arm hanging out like that.”
“Leo, you’re up,” Carter calls.
Leo steps onto the mat, his worn Chuck Taylors looking out of place against Zayne’s combat boots. A quiet laugh escapes me.
Even here, he won’t surrender his Chucks.
They stand toe-to-toe, identical in height. Leo’s frame is wrapped in a white athletic top, while Zayne wears an army green shirt, sleeves rolled tight against his forearms.
“You ready, Collins?” Zayne taunts.
“Are you?” Leo counters.
Zayne strikes first, a heavy crack of bone against Leo’s jaw. Leo’s head snaps back, but he recovers instantly. He lunges, catching the ridge of Zayne’s brow with a quick hook.
“Fuck, that was a good one.” Zayne wipes a smear of crimson from his cheek and dives back in.
They trade blow for blow, blood speckling the mat in dark, wet stars. The sound of knuckles hitting skin makes me flinch. Red sprays across the white fabric of Leo’s shirt, blooming like a violent flower. They move too fast to track until Zayne lands a brutal uppercut.
The gym lights flicker and die, replaced by a blinding, sterile glare that washes the color from the room. The scent of floor wax turns to steam. Over the hum of the fluorescent tubes, I hear the frantic hiss of rice boiling over on our kitchen stove.
Joaquin’s knuckles split open.
Leo’s blood stains the tile.
No. Get him off.
My fingers hook into Zayne’s collar, and I wrench him backward, putting my weight into the pull. He leaves the mat like he’s been caught in a blast, skidding several feet.
My hands hover over Leo’s face, trembling too hard to touch him. His skin is slick and pale, the gash above his eye dripping crimson.
“Are you okay?” My fingers brush the wound as if I could stitch him back together with my mind.
Leo groans, his lip curling into a pained, bloody smirk. “I’m okay, Lia. This is the tax for training with these idiots. Carter or Zayne will heal me.”
The gym comes back into focus. Padded walls and the hushed silence of the onlookers replace the boiling steam and white light.
When I look up, Joaquin is gone.
“What the fuck was that?” Marco booms.
The floor vanishes. I hit the mat at a downward angle; the impact jolts through my skull and my lungs seize, refusing to draw air. I’m snatched by an invisible grip and launched.
My spine finds the corner where the padding meets the brick. A crack echoes in my ears, and a choked gasp hitches in my throat as I crumple to my hands and knees. My hair swings forward, a curtain of dark strands that hides the room.
“It wasn’t your turn to spar, and we said no powers,” Marco bellows.
I scramble backward until my spine hits the wall. I blink, trying to clear the haze. Marco looms over me.
“Look at her. She can’t even stand, and you think she’s worth the effort? I could end her without breaking a sweat. She wouldn’t last sixty seconds in a real fight.” He shoves me against the brick.
“Let her go!” Leo’s voice cuts through the mayhem behind me.
I catch a glimpse of Leo and Kylo mid-sprint before Marco whips around. He snaps his arm out, and a wave sends them both across the concrete. Carter and Zayne lunge next, but they’re jerked upward and held there.
Marco turns back to me, baring a vicious grin. “This is going to hurt.”
Pain stabs behind my eyes. I fold forward as the inside of my skull is flayed raw. His presence in my mind isn’t gentle. It’s like teeth grinding against bone.
He tears through my memories.
Mom’s hugs. Leo’s laugh.
He bypasses the surface and lands somewhere deeper. A crowded, sweat-slicked room. The reek of cheap beer. Julian’s arm heavy across my shoulders.
Marco doesn’t skim. He roots. He worms his way into the spaces I spent years sealing shut.
The reel slows. Grinds. Stops on the sound of my own voice, pleading Julian to stop.
Marco lingers there, feeding on the edges of my shame. He presses into the memory, forcing me to feel every second I worked so hard to forget.
The pressure lifts, and I gasp.
Marco is pinned to the floor with Kylo standing over him, one hand wrapped tight around his throat. Kylo’s face is a mask of deadly lines as he slams Marco’s head back.
“Kylo, enough,” Carter barks, pulling him back by the arm. Then he grabs Marco, yanking him up and shoving him a few feet away. “Take a breather before I throw you off this compound.”
Marco wipes a smudge of blood from his lip and grins. “No wonder you freeze, Collins. You’ve had a lot of practice playing the victim for Julian, haven’t you?”
My blood turns to ice.
Leo’s fist connects with his face. Marco’s head jerks sideways as blood spills from his nose.
“What was that for?” he snaps, lunging at Leo.
Zayne steps in, planting a firm hand against Marco’s chest. “Let’s take a walk.”
“Where are you hurt?” Leo asks, scanning me up and down.
“My back.”
He slides in behind me and hovers his hands over my spine. A faint glow warms beneath his palms as a wave of heat spreads across my skin. The deep, throbbing pain slowly dissolves under his touch. When the healing finishes, he stays there, crouched close.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Carter watches me like I’m a wounded animal.
Kylo’s expression is closed off, but his stare presses down on me.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Leo says, then turns to Carter. “What is Marco’s problem with Lia?”
Carter sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Abel’s the closest person Marco has to family. He’s pissed we kicked him out.”
“It doesn’t matter how he feels,” Leo says. “If he comes at her like that again, we’re done.”
“If an incident like this repeats,” Carter adds, “Marco’s dismissed.”
“Here,” Leo says, taking my hands and helping me to my feet.
I stand, and the adrenaline hits me like a wave crashing. My legs tremble as I clutch Leo’s arm to stay upright.
“Are you hungry?” Leo asks. “You’ve been training all day.”
“I’m going to wash up and take a nap,” I say. “I’m tired.”
“We’ll see you at dinner?” Carter asks.
“Sure.” I don’t look back as I slip out.
My hands won’t cooperate, twitching uselessly at my sides as I move down the hall. A hand clamps around my elbow, and a gasp hitches in my throat. I jump, and my back hits the wall.
“Easy.” Kylo holds his palms up, retreating one step at a time.
“Sorry. You… you surprised me.”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.” I move to pass him, but he’s a wall of solid heat. He braces one arm against the brick beside my head, his other hand settling on my shoulder.
“What made you interfere during Zayne and Leo’s fight? You run from danger, not toward it. What changed?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I’ve spent hours training you, trying to figure out what drives you—and nothing. Leo takes one punch to the face, and suddenly you’re charging in like you’ve been lit on fire?”
“Drop it.”
He watches me, calculating. “I could dig the answers out myself.”
“Go ahead. It’s not like I can stop you.”
Men have taken worse from me.
His anger floods the space, deep and blistering.
“What have men taken from you?”
“Nothing. Stay out of my head.”
I slip past him and head for the only place that feels remotely safe.
This time, he doesn’t stop me.
The door clicks shut behind me. I lock it and turn the shower on full blast. The walls close in as water cascades, drowning everything else out. I sink to the tile, knees pulled tight to my chest.
The tears spill fast, years of pressure breaking loose in gasping sobs I can’t rein in.