It’s been four weeks since he started training with the team and he fits in seamlessly. Granted, there were one or two instances where I thought Tobias or Gabriel was going to kill him while sparring… He’s more agile than you’d expect for a man with his height and build, so when it became hard for them to land a hit, they had a habit of dipping into their experience to win.
There were some close calls, but it’s like he got a feel for them slowly—the same move doesn’t work on him twice and though he was clumsy the first few rounds, he never repeated his mistakes. It was almost… inhuman.
It became pretty clear to us all that he’s a genius fighter. Within the span ofa few weeks, he’d already raised the level of my team.
And now, they’ve only been hyper-focused on shutting him down.
It’s a reality they would’ve had to deal with eventually; when they were alive, the Adler Squad had just about as much repute as my name alone. Christian had been their leader. He isn’t some new recruit that can be beaten down easily. He’s had just about as much experience, if not more, than the rest of them.
But the moment I saw that black in his energy, I knew he had no intention of leading another team.
I knock on Christian’s door lightly, mostly because I’m bored out of my mind. I’m also certain his energy went ballistic that time because I’d barged in without knocking, so since then, I’ve made a habit of announcing myself.
He’s the only one I care to do it for though.
“Christian.” His name always feels strange on my tongue, but I ignore it as the door swings open.
I’m immediately frozen in place by his pretty blue eyes. I’ve caught him just out of the shower, because wet strands of his hair are curling around his face and lingering on the back of his neck. I have to swallow because the water droplets on his bare chest and arms look unnaturally delicious.
I snap my mouth shut just in case I start salivating, and a quick downward glance reveals gray sweatpants with black drawstrings.
But it also reveals a deep scar, a horrific circle of flesh around his midsection, that sucks the sound around me into a void of silence.
It’s as though someone cut a hollow from his skin and attempted to sew it back onto his body. Just looking at it, is riling up the violence inside me. That makes me want to put a bullet in someone’s throat and watch the colours fade into red. Again. Again. Again.
Without thinking, my knuckles graze the painful flesh on his stomach and Christian’s hand grabs my wrist. His touch—his fingers against my skin turns my senses back on again and sound rushes back into my ears. I know that I’ve started to breathe once more only when the urges have faded. Not completely, but just into something bearable.
Christian’s lips are pursed and his eyes have darkened, but he’s not looking at me. He never looks at me. It feels as though he’s far away, remembering something he’d rather forget, until he is snapping himself out of it and turning away, grabbing a shirt off the bed and throwing it on quickly to hide the scar.
In a bid to pretend it isn’t there…?
A bid to run from my questions…?
No… The look on his face says he’s not running from me at all, but from the memory.
And if that’s what he wants, then I’ll make sure to get rid of everything in his way so he can run as fast as he can.
“We’re going out.” I was hesitant at first when I’d knocked on his door. But there isn’t anything in this house that can possibly change my mind now.
Christian frowns, “We? Where are we going?”
I have to force my shoulders to relax, so we can at least move past the last few minutes, “I promised I’d show you around. I’m bored so we’ll do it today.”
Christian raises a brow, but he doesn’t refuse, “Fine. Let me change into something else.”
“That doesn’t matter, just come.”
Christian’s mouth opens and closes, and it’s my turn to watch him with a raised brow until he finally makes up his mind and his expression turns serious, “No, I’m very sure I need to change.”
Fóllame. “Deja de ser lindoand get your ass outside.”
He doesn’t understand a word I’ve said, and even though he follows me out of the room, he watches me sceptically.
The rest of the team is already waiting for us downstairs. Xavier’s energy is everywhere, as it always is whenever he’s not fighting. It’s unfathomable that I’ve only ever seen him at his calmest when we’re in danger, as though all the ADHD in his body hones itself just for violence.
“It feels like I haven’t stepped outside in weeks,” Xavier fidgets impatiently,tugging his brown jacket down over his white collared shirt and blue jeans, as if the length bothers him, and tousling a hand through his hair.
Just watching him makes me anxious.
