Page 88 of Kneeling to Candy

Ziggy lays a supportive hand on my shoulder from the other side of me. “We won’t let anything happen to her, Butch. Besides, you’ll be there to make sure of it.”

Still not convinced this is a wise idea, I nod. It’ll fall on me and the rest of the guys to make sure nothing happens to Candy. We’re trained for this type of work, and we’ll handle what comes our way. I have to believe in my family to protect the person I care most about.

Atlas looks around the room at the crew, checking to see if anyone else has any objections to the mission. When no one peeps up, he says, “Then it’s settled. Operation Bring-Candy-Up-To-Speed is underway.”

He sternly looks at my woman, the captain in him taking over. “Go get changed for the gym. Your training begins now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CANDY

Dressed in a black sports bra, black leggings, and some New Balance trainers, I stand awkwardly in the middle of the wrestling mats laid out in the headquarters’ state-of-the-art basement gym.

The air is a little stale down here, smelling of sweat and pent-up testosterone. The HVAC-purifier in the ventilation system helps to ease the surface levels, but there’s still that lingering smell that screams, “Gym socks eau de toilette,” permeated in the deeper crevices, that never fully disappears.

This is all new to me. I’ve never been a gym rat—never really had time prior to coming to the club. My exercise is more Pilates and using one of the elliptical machines four days a week. I’m in shape, but not fighting shape.

My face may be completely devoid of emotion, but I’m super nervous. Though no one has voiced it, I’m sure not everyone in the crew is convinced I’m right for the job. They may look for anything to yank me from the case. If I don’t show some self-confidence in my ability, they may voice their concerns to Atlas. I’ll do whatever I can to remain on this team.

A handful of the guys are here to assist me in my self-defense training, standing around the perimeter of the mats, waiting for the lesson to start. They talk in hushed whispers, adding an ominous vibe to the situation.

When I feel the urge to bite my lip out of nervousness, I look over my shoulder, finding Butch across the room, watching me intently, as he always does. He leans against the noise-canceling padded wall, arms crossed over his broad chest and one knee bent with his foot propped against the wall behind him.

Butch must sense my unease—he’s always been intuitive with my feelings. As if he’s trying to comfort me from across the mats, he gives me a small smile and little nod of encouragement, almost like he’s wordlessly saying, “You got this.”

With a shaky inhale, I let my biker’s presence wash over me, calming my nerves instantly. I give him a little hand wave to let him know I got his message, loud and clear.

Triple joins me in the center of the mats. He’s one of the most highly trained stealth operation fighters in the crew, with a resume a mile long in multiple martial arts techniques. The goal isn’t for me to become Rambo charging into the rescue, but to deflect an opponent and stay safe long enough for someone on the team to come help me. Thus, Triple is the one taking the lead in my self-defense training.

Whether Triple is the one best to instruct me or not, the dude is intimidating. Standing over six feet tall with rippling, cut muscles and a face devoid of emotion, the guy looks downright scary. Factor in the scattered tattoos, unruly black shoulder-length hair, and intense dark brown eyes, and he’s enough to make most full-grown men cry in a fight.

Triple hooks two fingers at me, motioning for me to come stand in front of him. Letting out a slow breath, I do as instructed, only to be knocked on my back faster than I can catch my next breath.

Waiting for the wind to return to my lungs, I stare wide-eyed up at Triple, leaning his face over mine.

“Lesson one: never let your guard down.”

Thanks for the obvious, asshole.

He holds his hand out for me to take.

Hesitant, I allow him to help me back on my feet, only for him to pull the same move again, with me back on my back and sucking wind.

“We cannot move on beyond lesson one if you do not pay attention.”

Growling under my breath, I slap his hand away when he offers it. The hell if I fall for that shit again.

When I’m back on my feet, I’m expecting Triple’s leg as he whips it out to swipe me behind my knees. I jump back, out of his reach in time to see his leg sail through the air between us with an audible whoosh.

“Good,” Triple commends me for avoiding his kick.

A prideful smile almost touches my lips until Triple’s hand flies at me, snatching onto my wrist. He slips behind me, twisting my arm behind my back, not enough to hurt me, but enough to show me he’s in full control. I attempt to smack him with my free hand, but he catches it mid-hit and twists it behind my back to join the other.

“Hey!” I shout in protest, angry he bested me again.

“Lesson two: always expect the unexpected.” He forces his foot between mine, widening my legs to shoulder-width apart. “Make sure your stance is always in defense pose when in the presence of your enemy. A defensive stance will keep you steady and on your feet, to be in the best position.”

He releases me, and I save myself before falling on my face.

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