Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

Marlow

A scream has me running inside Boston’s house. If anyone hurts Jolie, I think I might kill them. I have sat in the background and waited, watching to see if she slips up. But I think Laughn and Case are right and she doesn’t know anything.

Reaching the kitchen, I see blood. Case has a towel pressed to his mouth and Jolie is looking white as a ghost.

“What the hell!” I exclaim, and they both turn to look at me like kangaroos in a spotlight.

Case snickers as Jolie sets a large bloody sewing needle on the kitchen counter.

“This dickhead”—Jolie points a finger at Case—“wanted his lip pierced but jumped when I put the needle in. He scared the life out of me. Now look at what I’ve done!”

Case just laughs and holds out an earring to me. I step forward and take it from him, shoving it into what possibly looks like the hole.

“Fuuuck,” he swears loudly. “You could have been gentle.”

“If you want someone to be gentle, then get Davis to stroke your cock,” I snap.

“What’s up your ass?” Case asks, jumping from his chair.

Jolie cleans the blood from the counter before stepping up to Case and wiping his lips with her finger. It’s like the moment between them lingers as she then slips the bloody finger into her mouth and sucks on it.

Damn, Laughn is going to have fun with her.

“Nothing, sorry. Boston is on his high horse again. Nothing I can’t handle.”

More like he is flipping out. Him screwing her is one thing. The fucker just had to be the first, like always—even as kids he always stole all the firsts with her. It’s probably why we let him lead; he takes what he wants with no apologies. It still sucks though; she was always meant to be our girl, not just his.

Over the years, we have watched as groups go through the struggle of who gets the girl. Like the dicks who tried to fight us because of Jolie and landed Case in the hospital. Their group has weak bonds because every one of those guys loves their girl—it’s how Mr Z trained us. Jealousy is a curse that makes you weak as fuck.

Right now, our group is vulnerable; she has caused us to crack. It may only be hairline fractures, but I don’t know if we are strong enough to survive losing her again.

“Where is the douche, anyway?” Jolie asks.

“He sent me here to get you guys. We’re going out.”

“Out?” she questions with a raised brow.

Boston and Brennan have spent the last few hours arguing to the point where Boston threw a punch at his brother. Mr Z wants us to train Jolie, without letting her in on our secrets, while we are waiting for confirmation of her identity. So we figured—and I say we loosely because Boston pretty much tells us what to do—that our monthly training night, when all the teams come together and spar, would be a good way to see how she handles herself.

“Yep, fight night.”

Case gives me a look; he was too busy hanging out with her today to be there when it was decided.

Jolie snorts and shakes her head. “Could you be any more cliché? I mean, really, big bad teenage boys and illegal fighting?”

“Not just guys, Petal.” Shit.

Her face goes white, but she quickly shakes it off. She must have remembered. I used to always call her Petal. The other guys called her Wildflower, but to me she was always the most precious thing, delicate like a flower petal.

“I left an outfit by the stairs. Go get changed.”

“Fine, mostly because I want to see Boston get his ass handed to him.”

“That won’t happen. Those guys who got the better of us had a lot of back-up, but tonight it’s one on one, and you will really see what we are made of.”

Her face drops and she huffs, walking away.

“What the fuck?” Case snaps at me. “Why is she coming? You know everyone that shows up has to fight, and she isn’t ready.”

“How do we know that? If she is rogue, then she will know how to fight,” I mutter, shrugging my shoulders.

“And if she doesn’t?” he asks.

“Then we know.” I refuse to mention that Laughn is pissed; being afraid of Boston is one thing, but when Laughn gets mad, it isn’t a pretty sight.

“And we couldn’t wait for the DNA testing? She’s going with Boston to the doctor tomorrow.”

“Everyone is getting antsy, and I have a feeling Jolie isn’t going anywhere. No matter what, she is our Sixth, and we need to do whatever it takes to make sure she isn’t dead weight.”

“She doesn’t know anything.” He reiterates what Davis already told us.

“How can you be so sure? She just recognised me calling her Petal.”

“Seriously?” Case flashes me a sceptical look.

“I might not be as good as Davis at reading people, but we all had the same fucking training. It was a split second of recognition, but it was there.”

“Let’s just get this done,” he says with finality, clearly finished with this conversation.

Everyone arrives at the training facility at eight p.m. sharp; being late when summoned is not an option. I was so stoned once, I was five minutes late, and as a consequence, I spent five days in intense training. I especially loved the Taser training; pissing my pants and having to wear them until they were done with me was an amazing bonding experience for me and the handlers. Laughn, the ass, is immune to being tased and just laughs when they try. Some bullshit about the voltage of the Taser being too close to the electrical impulses in his body.

Laughn is hand in hand with Jolie as she takes in the training facility. “Why is everyone in uniform?” she asks, noting how we all are wearing the same style pants, polo shirts with the G.O.D.S insignia, and boots. Mr Z likes order and obedience.

Speaking of the devil, he walks through the door of the facility and heads our way. Our creator, the great mind behind the G.O.D.S. We are his vision come to life. All his teams are hand-picked. Anyone he deems not good enough is adopted out. But us, we were made in a damn test tube, created to be better, stronger, smarter. Weapons.

“Ready to fight?” he asks Boston, who just nods his head in return.

“I’m out for blood,” Laughn hisses.

Yep, he is definitely pissed off.

“Good. It will make for an interesting fight—just don’t kill anyone, Laughn.”

Laughn chuckles and nods; he won’t do anything stupid. None of us will. Maybe it’s like Stockholm syndrome or some shit. We could all run while on the outside, but no one does. We enjoy the freedom, but we will undoubtably fall in line when called upon. It’s what we are trained to do, like good little soldiers.

Jolie scans her surroundings intently; the whole place has been transformed into what outsiders would think looks like a fight night.

The first fighters from the weaker teams are starting, and Jolie pulls Laughn with her to get a closer look. I don’t miss the other teams whispering. They all know what happened—shit, half of them attended her damn funeral.

Team Sparrow stares at us from their podium. Those fuckers got us good; they wanted to start a war with us. They have always tried to take us down and never succeeded. Now they are strategising if Jolie is our weakness.

I stalk off to talk to Mr Z without an audience. He’s at a podium talking to a low-rank team that really has no business being here. He should have cut them a long time ago, but he says not all teams need to be physically strong—some are strong in other areas.

“We need to talk.”

He turns to me, and a tight smile covers his face. He isn’t pleased I cut him off while he was talking.

“What can I do for you, Marlow?” he says calmly as we walk away. I don’t miss the bite in his grip on my arm.

“Why is Jolie here? This could blow our cover.”

“That is somewhat the point. We need to see what she knows, and what better place than in a room full of trained body language experts?”

“And what if she doesn’t remember and gets hurt?” I question, because her getting hurt will do nothing except piss everyone off.

“I will throw her in with one of the weaker girls,” he says, like it will make any difference to the outcome of Jolie’s fight.

“You can’t. That will make our entire team appear weak and you know it. Besides which, Laughn is about to blow.”

“He will fall in line,” Mr Z confidently states, but he’s fooling himself if he really believes that.

“Are you sure about that? I think you’re underestimating his feelings for her or what she represents. Losing her hit him the worst, you know that,” I retort, trying to get my point across.

“And if she is still in there, everything she was taught should come back to her. Your group was genetically modified, and you know it.”

“I do, but she doesn’t,” I snap.

Pissed off, I turn around and stalk back to my team. I will pay for that tonight. He will match me with someone who targets my weaknesses.

The night crawls on until it’s our team’s turn. Laughn is the first up against Colt from Team Hijack. The guy could steal the clothes off your body without you even knowing and then convince you that you took them off yourself. Mr Z knows no one can really match Laughn, so Colt is a good option because the sick freak gets off on pain and blood, which really isn’t that different to Laughn.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Laughn complains. “How is this a fair fight? If he’s in a mood, he won’t even fight back.”

“You know he’s only doing this to tire you out. Colt likes to play around in the ring, so when Jolie is up...” Davis adds, stringing together more than two words for the first time tonight.

“Jolie is up, what?” She narrows her eyes in our direction. “I can’t get up there.”

“Why not?” Case questions, like we don’t know the answer already.

“I can’t fight like these girls. I mean, yeah, I can defend myself if need be, but this”—she points at the ring—“is next level.”

“At least they have her up against Summer from Team Rampage.” Can she fight? Yeah, but she prefers not to unless her guys are in trouble.

Davis walks away from the group as Laughn gets in the ring. Jolie’s eyes lock onto him, and I note her slight intake of breath when his back flexes, the scars from being electrocuted and burned on display. You name it, they’ve tried it on Laughn. She looks confused and sad. Colt tries to circle Laughn before he attacks. Hard and fast is Laughn’s style, along with strikes that have the messiest impact.

Boom! Strike one to the nose and blood sprays everywhere. Both Laughn and Colt laugh as Colt rubs a hand over his face, his blood becoming war paint.

I turn my attention to Davis, who is talking to Summer and one of her guys, Leland. They nod at what he is saying.

It’s not long before Colt is dragged from the ring—his torso all shades of red—for the medic to check over.

Jolie launches herself at Laughn, wrapping her legs around his waist. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous. Their lips smash together like they have been starved of each other, his blood smearing down her bare arms and across her face. Once they pull apart, Laughn stands back and admires her, his hand cupping her jaw as I move closer.

“You will be fine, Jolie. You’re tough. Get angry.”

Jolie nods. Her fight is up next. She strips down, just like Summer is doing, to a small pair of Nike Pro shorts and a training bra.

Boston is watching, jaw tense, beside Case, who also looks ready to explode. Both guys scan the crowd to make sure eyes don’t linger for too long. Davis is pretending not to look at her but doing an awful job.

Laughn helps her into the ring, his blood still covering her. He whispers in her ear, and I can see she’s nervous. Fuck, I would be too if I was her—everyone in this building has been trained since they were toddlers.

If Jolie really is who we think she is, her drills very well could have stopped the day she “died.” None of us know if Trace continued training her, and I don’t see how this will help them figure it out. If she really is playing us, she could just let Summer beat her to a pulp.

Why the fuck hasn’t anyone done a DNA test yet? Two of them have fucked her, so why not just get a hair sample? My anxiety is through the roof, which is bullshit. Unlike the other groups, we have been trained since birth in some way or another. Go figure, we were all born with special abilities, but I get damn anxiety. Turning my back, I find the closest exit, feeling overwhelmed. I need to get wasted to deal with this shit. We all have our own way of dealing with the life we were dealt: I get stoned, Boston needs control, Laughn keeps his pets, Case drinks, and Davis, well his whole boy-next-door charm seems to be his thing.

Leland is outside, having had the same idea as me.

“Fight start yet?” he asks, leaning against the building. He offers me a lighter and I take it.

“Dunno, couldn’t watch,” I say, sparking up and handing it back.

“Laughn is coming after us, isn’t he?” It’s more of a rhetorical question because everyone knows the answer.

“Yes, but I will do what I can to stop him.”

He nods, knowing there is sweet fuck all I can do when Laughn sets his mind to something.

“Would you talk to the girl and get her to knock some sense into him?”

After I nod again, we both just smoke in silence, enjoying the burn in our lungs and temporary relief washing over us. I don’t know what Mr Z has planned, but her being back means it’s nothing good. What I can’t wrap my head around is why he would want to see his best team fall apart...

Is it all some stupid test or is she really back from the dead?