Chapter Sixteen
Lia
In the center of the training room, the five men are already in motion, tactical nylon and athletic gear shifting with each step.
They stretch and bounce on the balls of their feet, the quiet snick and rattle of knives against their belts marking every move.
I scan Marco first, holding still until I’m sure he’s not wearing a holster.
The relief is immediate.
“Who’s up first?” Zayne asks, rolling a shoulder before pulling his arm into a stretch behind his back.
“Leo. Step forward and demonstrate,” Carter commands. “Everyone else, back. Clear the floor.”
Leo cracks his knuckles, then draws his blades, circling Zayne like it’s a dance he’s done before.
“Alright, Leo,” Carter says. “Show Zayne what you’re all about.”
Leo steps forward and launches into the sequence—kicking the bag, ducking low, then snapping back up to repeat it. His movements flow together seamlessly, unfamiliar patterns unfolding faster than I can track.
“It’s difficult to demonstrate with a bag,” Leo says to Zayne, then looks at Carter. “Permission to demonstrate?”
Carter nods. “Permission granted. Keep it civil.”
Zayne steps forward. “Fuck yes. Let’s do this, Collins.”
Leo moves first, feet whispering across the floor as he threads past him like water slipping around stone. Blades flash in both their hands, and I tense.
Breathe. Leo is fine.
This isn’t a fight. It’s practice.
Leo can hold his own.
Pride surges in my chest as I watch him. Leo knocks Zayne’s blade from his grip, sending it clattering across the floor. Leo spins into a cartwheel kick, landing it square in his gut and knocking him flat on his back.
“Impressive,” Zayne says, grabbing Leo’s hand as he helps him up. He claps him on the back with a grin, then wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “I see what you see in him,” Zayne tells Carter.
“You ready to give them a show?” Carter asks.
Zayne smirks. “Blades?”
“Let’s show them how it’s done.” Carter joins him in the center.
Carter lunges, golden hair whipping forward as his blade arcs low. Zayne parries with ease, the sound of metal ringing as their weapons meet. In a flash, Zayne counters with an overhead arc aimed at Carter’s shoulder. Carter ducks beneath it and sweeps Zayne’s legs out from under him.
They clash again.
Carter’s style is direct, each swing precise. Zayne moves with speed, slipping through openings and striking from the side.
Zayne ducks and spins behind Carter, his blade grazing his ribs. Carter pivots and slams his elbow into Zayne’s shoulder, knocking him back a step.
A grin breaks across Zayne’s face. He wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Nice one, Radshaw.”
Marco whistles. “Are you two going to twirl around like ballerinas all day, or are we calling it a draw?”
“The goal is to demonstrate skill,” Zayne tells him.
Carter answers with another strike. This one comes faster, his momentum harder to counter.
Zayne fakes left, pivots, his blade sweeping toward Carter’s side. Carter avoids the blow, catches Zayne’s wrist, flips him to the ground, and presses the tip of his blade to his throat.
Zayne lies there, chest rising and falling. He laughs. “Alright. You got me.”
Carter lowers his blade and slides it into the holster on his leg. He offers Zayne a hand and hauls him back to his feet. “Well done.”
“Marco,” Zayne says. “You up?”
“I’m not wasting time on hand-to-hand. If I can break their neck from a distance, why bother getting blood on my shoes?”
Carter and Zayne are deadly in ways Marco is too arrogant to see.
“Since you’re too good for blades,” Kylo says, stepping forward. He gestures to himself. “Show me what distance gets you.”
“On you?”
Kylo merely shrugs, the corners of his mouth twitching with a challenge. “If you can land it.”
“You smug bastard.” Marco cuts his eyes toward Carter. “Can we duel?”
Carter glances at Kylo. A silent conversation passes between them before he gives a sharp nod. “Have at it.”
Without lifting a finger, Marco narrows his eyes at the far wall.
A black safe clicks open on its own, its door creaking as it swings wide.
One by one, blades rise—short daggers, curved knives, throwing stars, and serrated edges.
They float before slicing through the air like metal birds in flight, clattering into a neat arrangement on the floor between him and Kylo.
My heart jumps. I take a step forward, instinct taking over.
Carter gently touches my shoulder, stopping me. “Kylo’s telekinesis is unmatched. Zayne and I may specialize in blades and close combat, but I’ve never seen a telepath like him.”
Blades fly, stealing my attention. Kylo moves like lightning, deflecting each one with ease.
One after the other, knives, spikes, even small metal rods lift from the nearby racks and shoot toward Kylo.
He effortlessly dodges every one.
My heart launches into a sprint, each beat pounding like footsteps on a track.
This isn’t training.
This is a full-on attack.
Marco isn’t holding back, and judging by the smirk on his face, he’s enjoying it.
Kylo grins, casually brushing his shoulder as if he’s merely swatting away dust rather than facing a dozen blades.
“Relax. This is a walk in the park. Marco isn’t a challenging opponent.”
“Why are you reading my mind and talking to me?” I snap back, mentally shouting. “Focus!”
He laughs, a soft vibration in my head that’s strangely calming.
Goosebumps ripple along my arms as Kylo weaves through the onslaught, his hands tucked behind his back in a show of pure, arrogant baiting. Marco’s smug expression sours into a frown.
“This is boring,” Marco says. “I’m playing clean. If we play dirty—” he glances at Zayne, Carter, and then Leo, “Three healers here, right? He’ll be fine if I slice off a limb or two.”
“What?” I blurt. “I thought this was a skill demo. I didn’t sign up to watch you maim each other.”
“Easy,” Kylo says in my mind. “Marco thrives on performance. Let him think he’s winning.”
“Why is he on the team if you’re so far beyond him?”
“Because,” he answers, smirking as he deflects another blade without lifting a hand. “Marco may be a cocky bastard, but he’s a skilled telepath. I’m just better.”
His smugness makes a small, involuntary smile tug at the corner of my mouth. It’s a strange sort of satisfaction—watching him dismantle Marco’s ego without a single misstep.
Weapons streak through the room. Marco’s eyes narrow with lethal focus.
Kylo moves through the clash like he’s keeping time with a song only he can hear. He glides across the floor, weaving between the blades that come at him with deadly accuracy, each one targeting his chest or head.
One nicks his arm. A thin line of red appears, and I tense.
Ten blades now hover midair, circling like vultures.
A single raised hand from Kylo halts them. His hair falls messily across his brow, sweat glinting at his temples. He gives a quick twist of his wrist and sends every blade crashing into the floor.
Marco curses, twitching with rage before looking at me. “Lia’s turn.”
My body jerks forward like I’ve been pulled by a string. I fall to my knees, landing in front of him. My chin lifts involuntarily, my limbs no longer under my control.
“This will be fun.” He kicks a blade. It spins to a stop inches from my shoes.
“Carter may have kept you here because of Leo, but this isn’t an orphanage.” His breath brushes my cheek. “I won’t fight alongside a scared little girl.”
He steps away, arms crossed. Watching. Daring. “What do you have to show for yourself?”
Sweat gathers along my brow. I take a breath. Then another, drawing from every lesson Kylo drilled into me, every quiet encouragement from Carter.
Focus. Breathe. Center.
A warm sensation coils in my abdomen. The energy gathers, buzzing beneath my skin. Eyes locked on the blade at my feet, I send it flying straight at Marco, dragging it across his collarbone.
He grabs the blade and lowers it to his side. “That’s it?” Marco scoffs. “I’ve had worse paper cuts.”
He closes in fast. The force knocks me to the floor. I stand, ducking as another blade hurtles in. A pulse of energy ripples through me, stopping it.
He reels back, as if slapped. Four more blades rise behind him, launching forward. I sprint, and one grazes past me. I extend my focus, stopping another. Two more close in. One slices into the bend of my elbow, pain ripping through me like fire. I stagger, knees nearly giving.
The next blade whistles at me. I redirect—my energy hooking the weapon and flinging it back at Marco. The steel skims his ear and opens the skin.
His eyes go wide. Like a switch flipped.
A blade whips through the air, driving into my shoulder. With a gasp, I rip the blade free and hurl it back at him.
It barely misses him.
As if I’ve unleashed something that was only pretending to be human, Marco charges at me. My body hits the floor, and before I’ve gathered my bearings, his knee slams into my chest, pinning me down. Pain explodes through my ribs, and a crack makes my stomach lurch.
He leans in, his face twisted in satisfaction. His eyes rim red, veins threading through the whites. “You may be able to dodge a blade or two, but you’re an amateur.”
A hot, searing sensation forces its way into my head. I writhe beneath him, my limbs jerking. The pain is blinding, and my breaths come in short, ragged pulls that scrape through my throat.
Marco forces his way past my defenses. Images of Joaquin and Draven flash through my mind. He’s dragging out some of my worst moments, weaving their faces into his own. Scenes filter through of Joaquin coming home angry, yelling, throwing objects.
No.
He can’t see them. I need to extract him.
Marco’s rage bleeds off him like a corrosive poison.
It’s so thick I pull it in, letting it churn through me as I reach for the power simmering beneath my skin.
My hands clamp around his wrists. Every sensation, from the ache of my bruised ribs to the thrumming of his explosive fury, fuses together as I drive it all straight back into him.
I may not have their strength or technique, but I have a gift that masquerades as a curse.
“You bitch!” Marco shouts, staggering back.
The burning in my mind vanishes, along with the pressure of Marco’s knee crushing my ribs. I catch Kylo in my periphery, and the look on his face stops my breath. His eyes are wide and fixed on me.
A pair of legs blocks my vision. Leo drops to his knees. “Are you okay?” he asks, grabbing my arm.
“Don’t,” I rasp. “It hurts.”
“Where?”
“My ribs… and here.” I gesture to the upper part of my pec.
“Move. I got it,” Zayne says.
A reflexive shudder runs through me, and I inch closer to Leo.
“Out of all the healers I’ve met, Zayne is the best,” Carter says. “He’s trained for high-stakes injuries. If you want your ribs to heal properly, let him help you.”
“I’m right here,” Leo reassures, squeezing my hand.
The pain steals my words. I look at Zayne and give him the smallest nod possible.
“Get him out of here before I kill him,” Kylo growls at Carter, his jaw clenched so tight it looks like he could break teeth.
Carter nods and walks away. Kylo drops to his knees beside me, eyes never leaving Zayne’s hands as he assesses the damage.
“I need to take your training top off,” Zayne says.
I open my mouth to speak, but it hurts.
“Tell him that’s fine. I’m wearing a sports bra.”
“She’s wearing a sports bra,” Kylo says aloud, answering for me. “Her top can come off.”
Zayne glances between us, one brow raised in question.
“Telepathy,” Kylo explains.
Zayne lifts my top, and a small, high-pitched cry escapes. Kylo stiffens beside me, then draws a blade and slices clean through the fabric.
“What are you doing?” Zayne snaps as the torn top falls open.
Kylo’s fists clench at his sides. “Problem solved.”
Leo averts his eyes but doesn’t leave. A chill rushes over my exposed skin.
“To heal the tissues properly, I need to know exactly which ones are damaged.” Zayne’s fingers move with practiced care over the injured area. I bite down as he presses around the wound.
“You’ll feel pressure and pain at first, but it’ll pass,” Zayne says, hovering both hands over the injured area.
I’m no stranger to the way flesh and bone knit back together.
Kylo meets my eyes with a knowing intensity, as if he’s caught the tailwind of the thought.
“Deep breath,” Zayne instructs, positioning his hands along my ribcage.
A loud crack splits the air, followed by sharp pain. My body trembles from the shock. Warmth replaces the pain—first along my ribs, then spreading into my chest, where the torn muscle near my shoulder seals itself back together.
“Thank you,” I manage, voice hoarse.
“Don’t mention it,” Zayne replies. “I’m going to check on Marco.”
Leo helps me to my feet. “How’d you get Marco off you?”
“I used his emotions against him.”
“That was impressive,” Carter says. “You held your own.”
“Held my own? Marco could’ve killed me. I—”
“You fought back,” Kylo interrupts. “You outmaneuvered him. Take the win.”
Carter glances around. “That’s enough for today. Good work, everyone.” He heads out with Kylo.
“I’m sorry this happened again,” Leo says. “Marco—”
“Marco proved I’m not cut out for this,” I say, frustration breaking through. “I’ve been pushing my body to its limit, but I’m still too weak.”
“You’re not too weak. You were incredible. I’m proud of you.”
He pulls me into a hug. I sink into it, but reality crashes back in.
Marco knows.
“Marco saw them,” I whisper.
“Saw who?”
“Joaquin and Draven. I tried to stop him, but there was too much going on.” The rest tumble out, tripping over each other. “Should we tell the others before he does? What do we do?”
“Not yet. I’ll take care of it.”
“Take care of it how?”
The truth always finds a way to the surface. I’d rather be the one to release it than let Marco use it as leverage.
“Trust me.” His face creases with a look that reminds me of when we were children hiding in the dark. “When did you stop trusting me?”
Around the time you started hiding things, I want to say.
Instead, I give his shoulder a final, lingering squeeze.
I need space.
I need the roar of a hot shower to drown out the sound of my own thoughts.