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Chapter Ten

Jolie

It’s been over a week since our mission and managing to bust the guys out of Olympia. I’d expected Mr Z to contact me, but nothing. He gave me the go ahead to try to break them out, even though he clearly didn’t think that I could, so the fact I succeeded is on him. Also, the guys have been reluctant to believe that I could so easily forgive them, and they’re right. I can’t fully forgive what they did, but I can understand it. What he does to them is vile. Watching Creed strapped to that chair and electrocuted was painful just to observe. He isn’t immune to pain like Laughn was; I can understand wanting to test their abilities, but torturing them is plain wrong.

“Are you ready?” Trace pops his head into my room. We have training today, and unlike the other savages, Trace lets me have lots of coffee first.

“Yep,” I say, gazing into the mirror and looking at myself in my Olympia uniform. Everyone admitted through the gate must be wearing them—the Olympia logo sewn on the front with G.O.D.S underneath.

I grab my sports bag and head downstairs, stopping in the kitchen to fill up my drink bottle. Trace and I haven’t had much of a chance to talk, but it needs to happen today.

Trace patiently waits, also dressed in his uniform and combat boots, with his sports bag slung over his shoulder. Once I’m done, we both head out to his car.

“How have you been feeling?” he asks me as he backs out of the driveway.

“A lot better. My heart still hurts”—I rub my chest—“but I understand now why it happened. I kept thinking you could have just not done it, but then Mr Z would have tortured you all until one team was left standing. Doing it yourselves was more humane.”

“Have you really forgiven us? . . . Me?”

“I have, Trace. I can’t spend forever hating you, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget.”

“I don’t ever want you to forget—none of us want that. We just want you to be happy and safe. It’s all we have ever wanted.”

“You all have a funny way of showing it,” I quip.

“When you’re created to love someone so blindly, it’s easy to fuck things up.”

“Tell me about it.”

I wholeheartedly understand and can feel it with them. That love prickles under my damn skin and even when I want to hate them, I can’t. Feelings fester and I have no control. The average person could hold on to that anger and hatred, but for me, everything is compartmentalised, rationalised, and all the emotions are directed to where they need to be. It’s how I was created. They know that and have been waiting for me to realise. I don’t think they believed it would be so easy, not having accessed my abilities in so long.

Trace drives us into Olympia and we both walk in the direction of the older gym. All the guys choose to bring me here instead of the nicer place Colt was talking about; maybe it’s quieter here, fewer disruptions.

Once we’re inside, we split ways, heading into opposite locker rooms to get changed. After throwing on my sports bra and shorts, I stuff everything back into my bag and exit the room. Trace is already changed and warming up on the mat. I join him and begin my stretches. I’m getting better at this whole self-defence stuff, but they need to up the pace. We only have a few months left to get me up to scratch and I’m nowhere near the level of Summer and Blayne.

“I want to learn some real shit. Teach me how to disarm someone with a weapon.”

He looks up at me and smiles, his brown hair long enough that it flops across his face, and he swipes it out of the way. The movement draws my attention to his tattoos; I’m not sure if he has any spare skin minus his face, every surface covered in bright colours right up to his jawline. Trace—so much like Davis with his boy-next-door look. I used to dream about him being my first and felt guilty about it because he looked out for me. He was my person, but the tables have turned, and the truth is now out there. I now see him in a different light, and don’t feel guilty about the way I’m drinking him in.

“Okay, get up,” he says, jumping to a standing position and heading to his bag. He rustles around in it until he finds what he’s looking for and pulls out a gun.

“Trace, why do you have that?” I gasp out.

“You still have no idea of the dangers around you, do you? How have the years made you so na?ve? Relax, there aren’t any bullets.”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, eyeing the gun warily.

“Just remember, your goal in a situation like this is to get the fuck out of there before someone gets a gun to your head. Or if you can’t run, at least do what they say.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. But let’s just say it’s life or death and I have to fight.”

“Overconfidence will get you fucking killed, Jolie.”

I hold my hands up in surrender. “Calm down, jeez.”

He holds his arm out as if he is going to shoot me at close range. “Alright, grab my arm at the wrist, and make sure the gun is pointing away from you.”

I do as he says, and his praise causes my heart to flutter.

“Continue that momentum and twist the arm to the right as you face away from where I was originally positioned. Now flip me like we’ve taught you. When I fall to the ground, keep your hand on my arm and try to take the gun. Use your foot on my arm if you need to.”

I follow his instructions and he goes down easy the first time. Then he runs me through another technique. “This way is riskier, and you run the chance of the gun going off, especially if the person with the gun is stronger than you, but if you’re in a position where you’re going to die anyway, it’s worth a shot.”

He shows me how to twist the gun down in an attempt to break the gunman’s finger and take the gun by bending their wrist. It’s so much to take in, but we run over it a few times. Trace tells me a person only grabs a gun one way: between their thumb and fingers. So when the grip is mostly based on the thumb, attacking that digit with a strike or a twisting motion can break their hold.

He also runs me through what to do if a gun is pointed at the back of my head. While I really hope I’m never in a situation like this, my gut tells me I shouldn’t be so complacent with my safety anymore.

We spend two hours going over the same moves until Trace feels like I have memorised them. He also makes sure to tell me that if I have to run away, do it in a zigzag motion or an unpredictable pattern, as it could aid in not getting hit with a bullet.

I fall to the floor at the end of the session. My stamina is getting a hell of a lot better, but I am spent. Trace flops down beside me.

“What’s been going on with you lately?” I ask. I hadn’t missed his attitude towards Chester when he thought we were going to fuck.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit, Trace, give me some credit. I know you better than you remember.” Rolling on my side, I face him, and he follows suit.

“I never gave thought to what it would be like once we were both back. Honestly, I thought they would have shot me on sight. And here we are, years later, and I’m facing feelings that I denied myself, wrote off as how one would feel about a little sister. But I was lying to myself.”

“You all need to stop beating yourselves up. They lied to you, and as a result, you had to figure out how you were feeling alone. I can only imagine how much that sucked. Chester told me how disgusted he felt.”

Trace growls at the mention of Chester’s name.

“What’s the deal with you two?”

“There is no deal,” he snaps, sitting up. He makes it look so effortless and yet I have to roll onto my stomach and then push myself up.

“Stop lying.”

He turns to face me, jaw tense, but I stare him down, waiting for him to tell me.

“I was jealous,” he whispers, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “I was the closest to you, responsible for keeping you safe. Then he swoops in, without even warning you his obsession can be deadly. He’s kept it buried for so long that I know after one taste he will lose himself in you. It will release a monster that everyone would be wise to fear, including us.”

“He has already told me, Trace. He isn’t as careless as you think.”

“And you’re just okay with that?” Shaking his head back and forth like I’m crazy, the movement tosses his hair into his sweat-soaked face. I lean across the meagre distance between us and tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“I’m okay sharing the burden with him,” I whisper, placing my hand on his cheek. He leans into my hand and sighs. “No one should have to go through that alone. He knows his limitations, and they are for us to work out. I’ll be honest with you, just like I was with your brother. Even though Davis wasn’t my biggest fan.” I chuckle at the thought. “I don’t want a traditional relationship, being tied down to one person. It never made sense why I always felt that way, not until I knew who I was. Now I’m fairly certain it was programmed into me somehow.”

“I get that. It’s just hard. Honestly, I don’t know if I could watch you be with someone else, at least someone other than us.”

“It’s been made extremely clear that is not an option. I might be horny, but I’m not stupid. Dead bodies are not something I want weighing my conscience down. However, I can sleep fine knowing Creed has gutted Martin alive. He deserved to meet his maker.”

Trace’s phone buzzes from inside his bag, breaking the little bubble we have ourselves in. He stands to answer it when something catches my eye outside—a group of students huddled near the door. They must not see me sitting on the floor, so I make sure to keep hidden. Giggles echo through the few windows that are open to let in a cool breeze. Making my way across the floor—out of sight—I then slowly stand, creeping to the window with the sole intention of scaring the shit out of them for spying on Trace.

“How hot is he?!”

“Let me see!”

“Give it up, Brandy. He’ll never notice you. All of them only have eyes for her.”

“I can’t wait until she comes here so we can kick her ass just like Summer did.”

“Do you really think that’s wise? They’ll end you in a heartbeat.” That voice is familiar, but there’s no way it can be who I think it is. She has no clue about this place, or at least as far as I know, she doesn’t.

“Laughn did nothing to Summer.”

“Because Jolie fucking asked him not to, so pull your head in. We have jobs, a calling, and you want to blow it by going after her?”

My eyes water, realising it is her.

I pop my head up and her eyes lock with mine, hers widening at the sight of me. What I don’t expect is for both of my best friends to be standing there, looking back at me. My heart sinks and I shake my head. The other girls flee, while Jimmie and Sinclair both run inside. I pivot and backtrack, wanting to be as far away from them as possible. Running towards Trace, I see his eyes go wide as he hangs up the phone.

“We need to leave.” My voice wavers.

“Jolie, wait! Please hear us out,” Sinclair says, but I ignore her.

“We’re your friends,” Jimmie tries as well, so I turn to face them.

“My friends,” I stammer. “You’re not my friends. You... you were sent to watch me. That’s fucking bullshit.”

“That’s not it, we?—”

I cut her off. “Trace, let’s go,” I say, storming from the building. He follows behind while I rant and curse. How could they have the nerve to call themselves my friends?

Trace doesn’t dare say anything. Instead, he drives in silence, occasionally glancing my way.

“Did you know about this?” I ask, finally looking at him.

“Sort of... I suppose I didn’t think that much of it.”

“Sort of? Really, Trace, it’s a yes or no question.”

He sighs. “Fine, but we’re not supposed to give information about other members. Jimmie is a computer technician, sent in to infiltrate the school systems. Mr Z is taking over that school for the exclusive use of his teams. He has a few schools he has been developing. Their systems were harder to get into and that made Mr Z curious, so Jimmie was made to stay, and then he accidentally bumped into you. Sinclair was sent in to make sure Boston and the guys weren’t giving you a hard time. Once you started to get along with the guys, Mr. Z was going to pull them out, but Sinclair begged him to let her stay. I don’t know the exact details of what she did—you would have to ask her.”

I cross my arms and sag back in my seat. Damn, I feel like an asshole for not hearing her out. They could have told me, though. I trusted Jimmie with my secrets, and at the time, he was one of the only people I did trust. Did he run back to Mr. Z and tell him everything? And Sinclair, she could have been feeding him information. I guess I’ll have no choice but to talk to them—I just don’t know if I will be able to trust them again. What about Danika? Is she a fraud or a friend?

“Who called earlier?” I ask Trace, just now remembering he received a phone call.

“Kai. Brennan is still out of it. We’ve given him more than enough time to bounce back, but he hasn’t.”

“I’ve gone in and checked on him every day, but he’s always asleep. I didn’t want to push him.”

“It’s time to push. Boston used to be the only one who could snap him out of it. We’re hoping that you could try.”

“How? I’ve never had to do this before.”

Trace shrugs as he turns onto the main road towards the house. “Your guess is as good as ours.”

What choice do I have? He can’t keep lying in bed all day, every day. I know how it feels to be sucked down that path.