“Yeah, and also, fuck off,” Payton added cheerfully, staring pointedly at Mos who rolled his eyes.
Gift shook his head. “No, they’re right. I’m not really good at combat stuff.”
Hehadalmost accidentally killed their weapons instructor’s husband. Well, their former weapons instructor. Archer was now in acquisitions, though nobody knew why. Some people said it was at the request of Mac and that Archer had been pissed about it. Others said it was because Archer was leading some kind of double life and being the weapons instructor kept him from that secret life. But that was all just rumors and gossip.
But there were a lot of rumors at the Watch. Rumors about students, rumors about teachers, rumors about black ops programs and clandestine government meetings that supposedly took place on the base. Gift had tried to ask Park about it, but he’d told Gift it was none of his business. Which he supposed it wasn’t.
Still, when Gift had overheard Park and Pike talking about it one night, he’d mentioned that Archer was the son of Thomas Mulvaney, the man who’d developed the program, and Mac was the son of the woman who’d helped him. It sounded absurd. A billionaire philanthropist creating underground government programs for assassins with the woman famously known as ‘the psychopath whisperer’? It was straight out of a comic book.
But that wasn’t even the craziest rumor.
When Gift first arrived, Payton told him that Thomas Mulvaney didn’t just invent the program but had used the same tactics to turn his sons into killers—vigilantes who hid behind wealth and privilege. And now, he’d installed his son at the school to spy on the program. Park had said that was ridiculous. But was it?
In a way, it made sense—as much sense as anything did at the Watch. The whole premise of the program was to hide their crimes behind their money and connections. Not Gift, but the others. Those sitting around him had all been groomed for this since birth. But not Gift. Gift had spent his life being coddled and pampered by boarding school staff due to his baby face and lack of parental interest.
“It will be fine,” Payton said, squeezing his arm. “You’ve totally got this.”
Aspen stuck his hands in the pockets of his joggers, sauntering closer. “Everyone has to participate, even the handlers. You know that. If you can’t pass this course, you won’t graduate from the program.” Gift chewed on his lip, chest tight. “Come on. Let’s get you back on that horse.”
Gift had never truly understood that expression.
“Hopefully, he doesn’t shoot the horse with an arrow,” Lennon said to Mos loudly from behind his palm.
Aspen sighed when Gift’s face fell. “Look, forget the lesson. Forget them. Let’s just get you comfortable again.” He pointed to the wall of cages. “Pick any weapon you want and we can work with it. Okay?”
There were so many ways Gift could hurt someone with the weapons in those cabinets. “No guns though, right?” Gift said, voice barely above a whisper.
Aspen chuckled. “No, no guns off the range.”
Gift’s shoulders sagged. That was something at least. He didn’t know a thing about guns other than the first and only time he’d fired one, he’d made a kill shot…on Morgan’s target…while aiming for his own.
Aspen raised one perfect brow, letting Gift know they were all waiting.
Gift stood, tugging nervously at his t-shirt, walking towards the weapons cage like a man walking the green mile.
“You got this!” Payton shouted again.
Gift stared into the cages as he passed, hoping to find something that would cause the least amount of damage. Luckily, most of the weapons were blunted—most, but not all. Ask Archer’s husband, Mac.
He frowned as he took in the wide array of weapons. Gift couldn’t imagine anyone needing things like brass knuckles and nunchucks, but they were there. He stopped in front of the final cage. It held the dreaded crossbow, a bow and arrow, and numerous stabby things. There were axes, a hatchet, dozens of knives, even a broadsword. Gift had only seen that kind of weapon in movies.
A sword wasn’t much different than a lightsaber, right? He lifted it up off the wall, grunting at how heavy it was, before it slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the floor, the noise echoing through the cavernous space.
“Oh, Jesus,” Luca groaned from where he sat on the floor. “We’re all gonna die.”
“Quiet,” Aspen snapped, then gave Luca a hard once-over. “At least pretend you’re adult enough to be here.”
Gift flushed once more, not missing the way Luca was shooting death stares at Aspen’s back. He lifted the sword carefully with both hands, then replaced it where it belonged. There was a samurai sword that might be lighter, but Gift wasn’t sure he wanted to risk dropping another blade.
So, he grabbed the very last weapon—well, weapons. Sai swords. A wicked-looking blade jutted from between two curved metal pieces, all held together by a single hilt. He tested the strength, liking the weight of them in his hands. They felt…comfortable. Familiar.
“Two hundred bucks says he takes off an ear,” Drake said, his amusement obvious.
Gift spared Drake a look. He was relaxed on the third riser, Remi sitting on the one below, Drake’s legs resting on either side of him.
“Be nice,” Remi said.
Drake didn’t react to Remi at all, though it seemed like he closed his legs around his shoulders for just the briefest moment.
