Page 31 of Pretty Poison

“This is where we warm up,” Remi starts, indicating the first section on our left side. “This is our general gym; there’s another down on the end for those who wish to work in peace. This is where we store our weapons. Once you’re finished with them, I expect you to clean and disinfect them to prevent any infected wounds.”

“Wounds?” I ask, interrupting his roll.

“This is our training arena, Lia. We train to become better fighters, soldiers and warriors. You can’t be better if you don’t perfect your methods. In here, we fight like we would out there. You’re bound to end up with a couple of scrapes before you leave here.” Cassian interjects.

“Exactly,” Remi agrees, leading us to an enclosed space, pushing the door open. “Now this is our gun range. Every day you’ll get a maximum of two magazines to use how you please, either in here or in the soundproof room in the back which we’ll cover another time. But never, ever bring a loaded weapon into the arena. That’s how people get hurt. You’re to disarm it first and clean it weekly. And this,” he redirects us back to the main area, “is where the magic happens. Every month, Cass holds an underground fight here where the best fighters in each category compete against each other.”

“You’re not explaining it properly,” Cass scoffs, punching Remi’s shoulder. “Basically there’s three categories: bronze, silver and gold—I call them something else, but that’s a story for another day. For the fights, two of the strongest opponents from each sector will challenge each other; the winner then goes on to fight the other two champions until there’s only one left.” He takes a step closer to me. “I hold defensive training classes in Brooklyn three days a week and it’s my way of bringing my work home with me, like everyone else does. In a weird sense, it’s my way of contributing.”

“Thanks for that, Cass. Way to make it all about you again,” Remi says, sneering. Turning to face me, he adds, “Maybe in due time you’ll get to witness one. For the time being, though, we should get started.”

Fifteen

LIANA

“I want you to watch their footwork, their tactical moves, and their skills,” Remi says, dragging a chair for me to sit on. “Their moves are always premeditated, their eyes scanning each other’s movements in search of a weakness to make it easy to sweep the other off their feet. I need you to watch them carefully and repeat their moves to me.”

“Repeat it to you?” I ask, my eyes never leaving Cass and Silas as they stand on opposite sides of the open sparring area.

“If you’re going to learn, you first need to understand what they’re doing and how they’re doing it.”

“Okay.”

“You two ladies ready?” he calls out.

Both Silas and Cass don’t spare a second glance in our direction, nodding at his question. “Ready.” Their steady voices sound around the arena in unison.

“Then get to it.”

Without hesitation, they both lunge at each other. Their bare fists collide with each other’s faces, torso and any bare skin they can reach.

“It’s all a manic mess. I can’t make out anything they’re doing,” I admit, my voice shaking with nervous energy, squinting my eyes as if to get a better look.

“What do you see?” he pries.

“A bunch of flailing limbs, I don’t know.” My tone comes off as annoyed. “Do I really need to play this game with you, Remi? It’s almost impossible to catch anything. They’re moving too fast.”

“Then you have to look harder, Liana. This isn’t for my enjoyment, you know. Watching them work shows you how they defend themselves against each other’s blows. It’s an example of how difficult this can be, but how rewarding it’ll be when you have use it in a life or death scenario. We’ve all had to defend ourselves at some point in our lives, and it’s saved us. Being my brother’s wife, you’ll need it… So tell me, what do you see?”

Inhaling deeply, I focus my sole attention on them in an attempt to dictate every single thing about the way they move. “It’s obvious Silas is more skilled,” I start. “It’s like he can predict Cassian’s next move. He throws fewer punches—”

“Why?”

“Why what?” I ask, tearing my eyes off them to find his side profile.

“Eyes back on them, Liana,” he states, sounding like my fourth grade teacher telling me to keep my eyes on my own paper. “Why isn’t he punching as much as Cass?”

“To be able to counteract the next few blows. He’s looking for a pattern, something that tells him where and when Cass will strike next, and with how much force. He’s reading him like an open book.”

“Okay, now Cass. Focus on him now.”

“He’s… too predictable. He uses the same sequence over and over—one jab with each fist before plowing into Silas’s torso with two strikes of his right fist. Then, finishing it off with a single hit with his left one. It’s like a broken record on repeat. He needs to switch it up, let impulse take control, not habit.”

“Good, now back to Silas. What’s that keen eye telling you about the way he’s holding himself?”

“He’s withdrawn, almost as if he’s not there with Cass. His emotionless eyes mock Cassian, almost as if daring him to get so worked up that he’ll wear himself out. It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s strategic, actually,” he clarifies. “He’s saving his strength for the final moments. In real-world scenarios, he’s never this laid back, but with Cassian, he enjoys toying with him. He knows he’s more skilled and experienced, so he’s resigning himself until the fatal blow is necessary.”

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