Page 6 of Brutal Reign (Shadowed Heirs #5)

6

I seriously question the sanity of anyone who runs for fun. Running sucks , but it’s also the one thing that’s been holding me back at training camp, so here I am, voluntarily suffering through it. Not for fun , but because I know I need to work on my conditioning. That’s the sole reason I’m out here sweating my ass off and wheezing for breath. People who run for fun must be goddamn masochists.

I wasn’t the only squad recruit who woke up early to take on the forest trails beyond the walls of the squad complex. I heard Bailey’s alarm go off shortly after mine, but I rushed out of the barracks before she could see me and suggest we buddy up for our morning run. I’ve heard she puts in ten miles every morning for fun , so clearly, she’s not only fit as fuck, but also a crazy person.

At least I’ve got a killer playlist for company. The familiar tunes playing through my earbuds make this torture slightly more bearable, but my legs ache and my lungs burn. I nearly weep with relief when I finally see the squad complex come into view through the trees ahead. My pace slows to a walk as I bring my hands up to rest on my head, trying to compose myself before returning to the barracks. Steadying my breathing, I fix my eyes on the gate ahead, giving myself a mental pep talk.

You did it. You’re almost there.

Though if training today consists of any form of cardio, I might punch someone. My energy reserves are already zapped from that pathetic run I just attempted. Theoretically, each morning run should get a little easier, but right now I’m seriously reconsidering how badly I want to join the squad.

Lucky for me, there’s a reminder walking toward the gate from the parking lot. I grind to a halt as soon as I see my dad, blinking to make sure the sight of him isn’t a mirage.

“What are you doing here?” I pant as I pivot to walk in his direction, yanking my earbuds out.

His lips curve down in a frown as he strides to meet me halfway, gaze dropping to take in my sweat-drenched attire. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

I fold my arms over my sports bra defensively. “Because I was out for a run.”

“You can’t run in a shirt?” He cocks a judgmental brow, my inner wolf rearing up in defiance.

“It’s hot as fuck out here, Dad!” I sigh exasperatedly. “Seriously, did you come all the way up here to hassle me about what I’m wearing?”

The corner of his mouth lifts in the ghost of a smile. “No, I came to check in on my little girl,” he replies smoothly.

“Could’ve called and saved yourself the trip.”

He tilts his head in consideration, amusement sparking in his hazel eyes that are so similar to my own. Then he stuffs a hand into the pocket of his jeans, fishing out a familiar set of keys and jingling them in the air. “But then I wouldn’t have brought your bike.”

My heart stutters in my chest as my eyes fly wide, mouth falling open. “You fixed it?!” I squeal, rushing forward to make a grab for the keys.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, holding them up over his head, out of my reach. “How ‘bout a thank you, Dad, love you, Dad …”

I rock back on a heel, frowning. “Thank you, Dad,” I grind out, extending a palm in demand. “Love you, Dad.”

“ I’ll put on a shirt, Dad?” he prompts.

I roll my eyes, scoffing. “Seriously?”

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest as he drops the keys into my waiting palm, excitement spearing through me the second I close my hand around them. Forgetting how sweaty I am, I lunge forward to throw my arms around his middle, squeezing him tight. “Seriously, thank you,” I whisper, grinning from ear to ear.

He clearly doesn’t give a shit that I’m a sweaty mess, because he hugs me right back, even pressing a kiss to my damp hair. “Of course, kiddo,” he murmurs. “I knew you’d be missing it.”

For as much as my dad and I don’t see eye to eye on most things, motorcycles have always been our common ground. He took me for rides on the back of his when I was little, and as soon as I expressed interest in learning how to drive one myself, he taught me. Then he passed his bike down to me. It’s a relic and requires a lot of TLC, but I love it. I was beside myself when a seal on the carburetor went out the day before I had to report to training camp, but he promised he’d fix it, and he came through.

Guess I can forgive him showing up here to check on me since he brought my bike.

“So how’s training camp going?” Dad asks as we unwind our arms from around one another and take a step back.

“Fine,” I lie.

He sees right through it, narrowing his eyes on me suspiciously. “The squad leaders giving you trouble?”

“No, Dad.”

“The other recruits?”

“Dad!” I groan, throwing my head back.

I know the man means well, but he’s too damn overprotective. I have no doubt that if I told him someone was giving me a hard time, he’d storm into the squad complex to take matters into his own hands and leave a path of destruction in his wake. One I’d need to clean up. As well-intentioned as my father might be, he needs to let me fight my own battles, especially if I’m going to be Alpha one day. He won’t always be around to vanquish my enemies for me.

“I said it’s fine, okay?” I reiterate, giving him a hard look. “I’m just settling in, but everything’s been great so far. There’s no need for you to worry.”

He continues eyeing me suspiciously, the muscle in his jaw ticking beneath his close-cropped beard. It’s flecked with grey, and Mom always jokes that it didn’t start going grey until I hit puberty. I told her there’s probably a grey hair for every guy he’s warned to keep away from me, which would be funnier if it wasn’t true.

“Maybe I’ll hang out for a bit today, then, see you in action,” he suggests, waggling his brows.

“ Dad .”

“River.”

I huff out a breath, folding my arms across my chest. “Do you have any idea how much shit I’d catch if my dad was hanging around during training?” I deadpan, arching a dubious brow. “I’m an adult now, it’s time to cut the cord. You need to give me space to breathe and live my life.”

My dad stares me down for a full minute, his jaw clenched tight and his expression unwavering. “Fine,” he grits out, heaving a sigh as he finally relents. “If anyone gives you trouble, though, I want you to call me.”

I roll my eyes again, shaking my head. “I appreciate your concern, old man, but I’ve got this.”

“Hey, who you callin’ old?” he grumbles.

I snort a laugh, stepping in to offer him another hug. He squeezes me a little tighter this time, seemingly not wanting to let go.

“I’ve gotta get in there,” I mutter as I squirm out of his grasp, stepping back and throwing a thumb over my shoulder as soon as I’m free. “They make us run laps if we’re late for training, and I wanna get a shower in before we start.”

He jerks a nod. “Be sure to call and check in, your mom gets worried.”

“Sure, it’s Mom that’s worried,” I tease, winking as I spin away to head for the gate. “Thanks for bringing my bike!” I call back to him over my shoulder, waving the keys in the air as I jog away.

The practice field is still vacant as I make my way across it, the chirp of the birds cutting through the eerie silence outside the squad complex. I push through the doors of the building and hang a left to enter the recruit barracks, and as soon as I do, I realize just how close I’m cutting it. It’s a flurry of activity inside, my fellow recruits already preparing to head out for the field. According to the big digital clock on the wall, I’ve got less than fifteen minutes to shower and change before I’m subjected to punishment laps.

Over my dead body.

Rushing over to my bunk, I stow away the keys to my bike, grab a change of clothes, and race to the locker room, pushing inside.

I waste no time in dropping my fresh clothes on the bench and stripping out of my sweat-soaked sports bra and shorts, toeing off my sneakers before heading to the closest shower. A dozen showerheads line the wall in the large, tiled space. Might seem weird to the average human, but nudity is a part of life for shifters. None of us are fazed by showering together in the open space.

Still, it’s kinda nice to have the showers all to myself for once. As soon as the water heats up, I step beneath the stream, loading my palm up with soap from the wall dispenser and working it over my skin. I’d love nothing more than to relax my aching muscles under the hot spray, but I don’t have the luxury of time this morning. I refuse to run laps for being late.

The door to the locker room bangs open and closed a few times as the other recruits come and go, but I don’t pay them any mind. I just focus on getting clean, lathering up my hair and body before rinsing off and turning off the tap, winding my hair into a rope to wring out the water before spinning on a heel and heading to grab a towel.

Ordinarily, there are stacks of fluffy white towels waiting on the shelf beside the showers, but today, that shelf is conspicuously empty. For a second, I wonder if they all got used, but then I glance toward the bench and find that my clothes are gone, too.

Fucking seriously?

I don’t know who the hell is trying to play a prank on me, but I’m decidedly not in the mood. The worst part is, it’s not even a good prank. We’ve all seen each other naked in the showers. I’m not humiliated, I’m fucking annoyed.

My bare feet slap against the tile as I stomp toward the locker room door, throwing it open and marching out into the barracks. Everyone inside snaps their heads my way when the door bangs against the wall, eyes going wide when they see me strutting down the row of bunks in all my naked glory, leaving a trail of water dripping in my wake.

It isn’t hard to pin down who the culprits are. Chandler and her friends titter to one another as I stride past them, pointing and snickering like fucking children. Rather than giving them the time of day, I just hold my head high, making my way down the long aisle of bunks toward my own while the other recruits gawk and look on.

“Nice tits, Jacobsen,” some idiot remarks, and I flip him the bird, calmly continuing my trek to my bunk.

Hayden steps into the aisle, her jaw going slack when she sees me coming. “What happened?” she squeaks as I approach.

I slow to a stop in front of her, folding my arms across my chest. “Chandler and her posse think they’re funny,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Seriously, they could’ve come up with something a little more clever, dontcha think?”

The guy who commented on my boobs whistles, still ogling me from the other end of the aisle and spouting off remarks about my body. Kendrick steps over from the neighboring bunk to block his view, politely putting his back to me.

I knew I liked him.

“Here,” Gus says, tossing a towel in my direction. “I already used it, but…”

“Don’t care,” I reply, snatching the damp towel out of the air and working the terrycloth over my skin. It’s better than nothing.

The heat of stares continues to burn into me as I dry off, none quite as potent as the ones I feel emanating from the opposite corner of the barracks. I know who it is before I even lift my gaze to meet them, and as soon as I do, I aim icy glares back at my former best friends.

This is their fault. Chandler’s been hanging all over Seb since we arrived; I wouldn’t even be on her radar if it wasn’t for him. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past him to put her up to doing his dirty work, but if he thinks he can run me out of training camp with a stupid prank, he’s sorely mistaken.

He just fired the first shot. Now, this is war.

Wrapping the towel around my body, I move over to the cubby at the end of my bunk to get dressed, my motorcycle keys fucking taunting me from the shelf. I’d give anything to skip training, get on my bike, and drive up to Pine Mountain to clear my head. My cousins would probably excuse me from the morning session if I asked. Then again, if I skipped out, Chandler would win. Seb would win. And I refuse to let them see they’ve gotten under my skin.

“We’ll get them back for this,” Hayden hisses, leaning a hip against the side of our bunk as I pull on my clothes.

“I don’t even care,” I mutter, yanking my shorts up my hips. “I’m not gonna stoop to their level.” Not yet, anyway. Reaching into my cubby for my chapstick, I swipe some over my lips, re-capping it and combing my fingers through my damp tresses as I spin around to face my friend. “Let’s just go.”

The other recruits are already beginning to file out of the barracks, but Gus and Kendrick have hung back to wait for us. They join me and Hayden as we make our way to the door, and I hold my head high the whole way out to the practice field, acting completely unaffected while the beast inside me rages.

We make it there in the nick of time, and I strut right past Seb and Ace without sparing them a glance. It isn’t until my friends and I find a spot on the field and start stretching that I chance a look in their direction, finding that Ace at least has the decency to look sheepish. Seb’s just glaring at the other recruits on the field like he’s got a vendetta against the world.

Assholes, both of them.

After giving us a few minutes to warm up, Archer Raines cups his hands around his mouth, calling for us to pair up. He and his brother Ares are leading training today, and after giving us the rundown on what we’ll be doing– team combat exercises– he tells us to find a spot on the field and begin sparring two-on-two.

At least focusing on training gives me a mental escape. I concentrate on the fluidity of my movements; on anticipating my opponents’ moves. Hayden and I work seamlessly together against Bailey and Ember, quickly gaining the upper hand in our matchup. I’m so in the zone that the sound of someone screaming in pain across the field doesn’t even register at first- not until the other three girls in our sparring group stop to peer over at what’s going on.

There’s a guy on the ground clutching his hands to his chest and wailing in agony while the squad leaders rush over to assist. Seb and Ace are standing over the injured recruit like twin grim reapers, and as Hayden and I wander closer, I see what has the guy screaming his head off. His wrists are limp, his fingers bent at awkward angles. I can’t help but cringe at the sight of his grisly injuries.

“They broke my fucking hands!” the guy whimpers, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“What happened?” Archer demands, turning his furious glare on Seb.

He shrugs a shoulder in response, the picture of nonchalance. “Not our fault he didn’t block,” Seb scoffs.

Archer swings his gaze on Ace, then Beau, who was evidently partnered up with the poor dude on the ground currently bawling his eyes out. “Is that what happened?” he asks calmly.

They both nod, their expressions not betraying a thing.

Hayden elbows me in the ribs, leaning in and dropping her voice to a whisper. “Hey, wasn’t that the guy who was giving you a hard time?”

“Don’t know,” I grumble, even though I do. Mister broken hands is the same asshole who was heckling me in the barracks, and I don’t have the emotional bandwith right now to consider the implications of what this could mean. Seb and Ace were the ones who put me in that situation in the first place by siccing their plaything on me. They’re villains, not heroes.

“Pretty sure that’s him,” Hayden muses, still eyeing the guy on the ground and wincing as Ares tries to help him to his feet.

“Doesn’t matter,” I mutter, playing it off as I spin around and push every intrusive thought to the back of my mind. I need to focus on training, not whatever the hell is going on with my former best friends. I’m sure this was just a display of toxic masculinity, and I’m not about to waste my energy on reading into something that isn’t there.

If they cared, they wouldn’t have abandoned me years ago.

I start back across the field, waving for Hayden to follow me. “C’mon, let’s reset.”