“I’m glad you’re doing this with me, Ash. It helps to know you’ll be able to defend yourself too. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you because I’m tangled up with The Sainthood.”
“Nothing is going to happen to either of us cause this guy is the best in the country, according to Lo.”
His eyes sparkle with mischief as he clasps the nape of my neck and pulls my face to his. “Imagine how flexible we’re going to be. Think of all the additional benefits.” His eyes glimmer suggestively.
Desire coils low in my belly. “I can’t wait to test it out.”
His mouth collides with mine in a passionate kiss, and I run my fingers over the short velvety hairs on his neck as we devour one another.
A loud slap on the window breaks us both apart with a jolt. A stern-looking guy wearing a fitted, black, short-sleeved shirt and black cargo pants stands outside our window, crooking his finger at us. A gun holster is strapped to his waist, the outline of a gun visible.
“He looks a little scary,” I murmur, hoping he can’t read lips.
“We trust Lo and the guys, right?” Chad brings our conjoined hands to his lips, pressing a light kiss on my knuckles.
“Right. We’ll keep the faith.”
We climb out of the truck, and the guy jerks his head, signaling for us to follow him. Chad clasps my hand in his, and we trade excited looks as we follow the tall, built, broad-shouldered man to a side door of the building.
He stands in front of a wall-mounted pad, and it quickly scans his face. Chad and I exchange “what the fuck” expressions as the door mechanism clicks and it slides open. The nameless man steps aside to let us enter first.
Row upon row of shelving, housing boxes of all shapes and sizes, greets us when we are inside. In one corner, a bunch of forklift trucks, pallet trucks, and overhead cranes lie idle. Lighting is low, and there isn’t a soul in sight.
“Through here,” the man says, shepherding us into a small office. Another man, dressed in the same attire as our guide, is standing in front of the only desk in the room with his arms folded and his legs a little spread. He looks suitably badass, and adrenaline courses through my veins. I grip Chad’s hand tighter as unease ramps up in my veins.
“We have a standard security protocol for all visitors,” the new man says. “This won’t take long, but I need your full cooperation.”
Gulping back nerves, I nod my agreement the same time Chad does.
The guy processes us one at a time while the other dude stands guard at the door. We are both checked for concealed weapons, and then he takes some personal details from us. After, he conducts a full range of biometric scans including fingerprint mapping, a retinal scan, and full facial recognition.
It seems intense for a session with a kick-ass trainer, and I’m wondering what the fuck Lo has gotten us into.
“You’re all set up on the system now,” the new man confirms. “Any time you have an appointment, you will enter by the side door. Every door within the facility has a biometric scanner you will need to pass through.”
“Thank you,” I say before we follow the first man back out the way we came.
They are not big on introductions or names around here.
The man leads us through the dimly lit room to a cargo elevator at the back. Chad stands in front of the biometric scanner as it scans his face. The elevator doors ping open, and we step inside. Standing behind the strange, mostly silent man, we hold hands as the elevator descends underground. We get out on the lowest basement level, entering a long, wide, brightly lit hallway.
“What the fuck is this place?” Chad whispers.
I shrug because I don’t have the answers. We pass by a number of concealed doors, and a few men and women, dressed in the same black uniform, walk past without paying us any attention.
The silent one stops at the last door, gesturing for me to stand in front of the scanner this time. It scans my eye, and the door slides open. Chad and I enter the large room that is outfitted with a multitude of different training equipment, a ton of mats, a boxing ring, and a wall of knives at the end.
The door glides shut behind us, leaving our tour guide on the outside. Weird and rude.
“This is sick.” Chad’s eyes are out on stalks as he examines the large empty space.
“I’m glad you think so,” a man with a deep voice says, startling us. The man appears from a small office to our left, walking toward us. “We have a shooting range on the level above, and we’ll train up there some days.” His commanding presence stops in front of us. “You must be Ashley,” he says, extending his long arm.
I shake his hand in a bit of a daze. This dude is freaking hot, for an old guy. I’m pretty shit at guessing ages, but he looks like he’s in his thirties, maybe? He’s like the new-age classification of tall, dark, and handsome with a side of imposing. He’s as tall as Chad and equally as broad and ripped. Muscular biceps strain the material of his black shirt, and the black combat pants he’s wearing cling to his powerful thighs. His dark hair is cropped close to his head, not too different from the way Chad is wearing his hair these days.
Intense ice-blue eyes lock on mine with amusement, and I realize I’m staring.
Chad clears his throat, and I snap out of it.
