Ember
Maxalmosttakes me to the gym in HQ—when he sees a few guys there, working out, he sharply steers me away and takes me to the training facilities instead.
“Scared that they’ll attack me?” I ask mildly as he opens the facilities’ door for me.
“Scared that you’ll rile them up until they try, then kill them,” Max replies easily. “I’ve looked into your work, Flame. You might be cocky, but it’s well-earned. You’re one of the best of our time.”
I blink, heart thudding against my ribcage. His praise of my abilities almost feelsnice, especially since Scarlett told me just how good of an assassin Max is.
Scarlett.Even the thought of her is enough to sour my mood. The girl that Max is a littletoofond of, who he decided to set up aplaydatewith me for. I’m still pissed off about that—more so with him than her. I don’tdislike Scarlett, and I certainly admire her work on the greenhouse. She didn’tchoosefor Max to get hung up on her. He,however, chose to kidnap and bring me here while still pining after her—probably as a distraction.
It adds insult to injury. He tore me away from my life and servitude, threatening the one thing I hold dear, only to bring me here as a way to forget the one that got away.
“What’d you and Scarlett discuss?” he asks. “You seemed deep into conversation.”
“Oh, this and that,” I say airily, appraising the available training tools. There’s an adult version of a jungle gym on one side of the space that catches my eye—it looks like a combat course. “You know, her work, her life, the fact that Greyson stole her away from said life, and you had intentions to steal her away from Grey.” I smile. “Superintriguing stuff, you know.”
“Oh,shit,” Max mutters under his breath. “Flame—”
“Don’t call me that, and don’t feel the need to explain yourself. I’m gonna work out until I no longer feel the urge to bash your head into every available surface.”
He offers me a shiny grin. “Are you jealous,Flame?”
I scoff. “In your dreams,Maximus.”
I navigate my way over to the training course. It looks simple enough—a brisk jog up to a ladder suspended five feet over the ground, monkey bars followed by a net I’m supposed to climb over, then a steep descent over a precariously balanced plank on the other side. That leads to a small throwing range, headed by a table covered with throwing knives, with a target about twenty feet away. Then, there’s another ladder to climb, a rope bridge to scale, and a single rope leading from the end of the bridge to a finishing platform—one I’ll have to climb up.
“You probably shouldn’t start out there,” Max says, setting up a deadlift. “It’s pretty advanced endurance and combat training. I knowyou’re good, but—”His words die out when I jump up, catching the bottom rung of the ladder. My strength has never been my greatest asset—I’m weaker than most of my targets—but I get away fine with my agility and small stature. It lets me move pretty much silently.
My arms burn as I make my way up the first several rungs with nothing but my upper body strength, then swing up my feet to catch a rung, and speed-climb the rest of the way up. There’s no platform at the top; just a stretch of space separating the ladder from the monkey bars. I steel myself, find my balance, and leap for the monkey bars. I miss them with one hand but catch with the other—Inearlylose my grip and fall, which would be a six-foot drop to a thin mat.
No thanks. My palm burns from the unforgiving metal, but I ignore it, getting my second hand up and swiftly making my way between the bars. My body is already burning with exertion and a fine sheen of sweat is developing on my forehead. The laborious pain sets me alight. It means I’m still alive, and still human—two things that I’ve spent every day of the last five years warring with.
The edge of the net is only a foot away from the last monkey bar, so I manage to grab onto it easily enough. Instantly, the net flips over, sagging with my weight, leaving me nearlyupside-down. My feet scramble for purchase, finding nothing but air, while my fingers clutch the rough rope with all my strength.
“Ember,” Max calls. “Be careful—”
I ignore him. Lodge my feet into the holes in the net, and use my weight to swing myself over into the right position. The gesture only manages to flip me over in a circle, leaving the net tangled, and almost forcing me to drop to the ground. I hang onto the ropes with a death-grip, and decide to just climb upside down. It’s challenging and exerting, but not impossible.
The plank at the end presents a different issue. I can’t safely get onto it while upside down, so I need to flip over until I’m on top of the net… even though the net seems to like to go in circles.
Somehow, I manage to wriggle until I’m on top of it, then step onto the plank. Balance has occasionally been an issue for me ever since my head injury, but it plays nicely with me today. The key is to keep moving forward without thinking about it too much. The plank is steep, wobbly, but takes me right to the table outfitted with knives.
Max seems to realize that he’s in danger when I pick up one of the knives, testing the weight and balance in my hand, and turn to face him.
“Ember—”
I throw the knife over my shoulder, listening to it slice through the air and bury into the target with a loudthud. My message is clear; I could’ve impaled him, Ishould’ve, but I chose not to. I have no escape plan in place, so killing Max now would only make a mess of things. It actually might be best if I don’t kill him at all—otherwise, I’ll have the Nighthawks chasing after me for the rest of my career. That’d be hazardous to my health.
“Holyfuck.” Max stares at the target from across the room. I stare at him for another moment before turning to admire my handiwork; the knife buried into the target’s head. I have five more knives at my disposal, and I distribute them evenly on the target. Two in the center of the head, two in the chest, and two in the groin.
I give myself thirty seconds to catch my breath and steady my body before resuming the course. The next ladder starts only two feet up the ground, so it’s far easier, but the rope-bridge has several parts missing or gaping. It’s designed for failure.
I don’t fail.
Since the footholds in the center are largely absent, I grip one of the side rails, and decide to scale it, stepping sideways until I reach the end. The bridge trembles and threatens to flip, but I manage to balance it by distributing my bodyweight and taking wide steps.
Somehow, the physical exertion only makes me angrier at Max rather than cooling me off. I want to destroy him for bringing me here when he already hasScarlettto think about. It’s not that I’m jealous—I don’tgetjealous—it’s the principle of the matter. Max shouldn’t have nabbed me when he’s focused on someone else—it’s disrespectful to me.
