Fly and Than stood out immediately, easy to spot as they moved through the chaos with efficiency that bordered on unfair. Smooth. Controlled. Damn it, Bear and the team had done their work. The two of them hit the surf hard, came back sugar-cookied to hell, sand ground into every seam, then sprinted the berm and poured onto the grinder like it was just another evolution.
“Drop and push them out until I tell you to stop!” Easy shouted.
Bodies hit the asphalt in a wet, uneven rush. Groans followed. Shamrock walked the line, boots pacing, eyes scanning for slop. He stopped beside one candidate who was already cheating depth.
“I’m going to say this once,” Shamrock said quietly. “Get your ass down and keep it there. If I see you breaking form again, you’ll be cleaning latrines with a toothbrush.” The man corrected without lifting his head.
Shamrock’s gaze slid back to Fly and Than. They were already locked in, bodies rising and falling together, breath synced, faces blank with concentration. They weren’t just doing push-ups. They were communicating. Making a statement. Taking the hit and returning it with control.
After fifty more, Easy barked, “Feet.”
Some candidates popped up fast. Others dragged. Surf and Easy were on them instantly, voices sharp, calling out the laggards, shredding excuses before they formed.
Fly’s eyes flicked up. A small, almost imperceptible thing. He met Shamrock's eyes. There was no fear there, just a familiar, challenging glint.
Shamrock's jaw tightened. He walked right up to him. He stepped in close. "Are you bored, Candidate?"
"No, Instructor Kavanaugh!" Fly shouted, but the challenge was still there.
“Good,” Shamrock said. “I’d hate for you to get bored. Drop.” Fly folded without hesitation.
Shamrock turned to Than. “You too. Your boyfriend looks lonely.”
Fuck. The word slipped out in his mind. It felt so wrong. So weird to see Than, the quiet, grounded rock of their trio, being ordered around by him. Than just complied, his face a mask of concentration. He didn’t give Shamrock the satisfaction of a reaction.
That's when Shamrock realized this was going to be harder than he thought. It was all about the fact that they were letting him. They were accepting his authority, and in doing so, they were forcing him to accept this new reality, too.
He turned back to Fly, who was still knocking out push-ups.
When he was done, he rested there. Shamrock realized he was waiting for his next order. Clever little bastard. He was good.
“Feet,” Shamrock growled.
Fly and Than rose, his blue eyes flashed. Fuck if there wasn’t a spark. "Aren't you forgetting something, Sham?"
Shamrock froze. Was that deliberate? Said loud enough for a few nearby candidates to hear. A mistake. A test.
Shamrock felt a slow smile spread across his face, a private, predatory thing that none of the candidates could see. He had been waiting for this. Waiting for them, and now, the real work could begin.
His voice dangerously low, he said, "That's Instructor Kavanaugh to you. Push out twenty for forgetting that."
Fly didn’t miss a beat, dropping back down counting off his push-ups, waiting again. Every eye was on him. Fucking Gallagher. He was already commanding the space.
“Feet,” Shamrock said, this time with less bite.
"Sorry, Instructor Kavanaugh, but your order wasn't quite correct."
Shamrock's teeth ground together. "Excuse me? Are you questioning me?"
"Always," Fly replied, and Shamrock saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
He snapped, "What exactly did I forget?"
"Sir. Instructor Kavanaugh. You forgot sir."
Easy and Surf chuckled. “He schooling you, Sham?” Easy asked, the two of them thick as lethal frat boys.
The words hit him like a punch. Fly was right. He forgot his own protocol because Fly got under his skin.
