Page 21 of Protect Thy Enemy

“Devil’s incarnate, huh?” His face is impartial as ever, but I could’ve sworn I saw his lip twitch as if he was fighting a smile.

“So you heard that?” I ask, forcing nonchalance into my voice.

Grant’s eyes flick to mine, sharp and assessing. “Hard not to.”

Of course, he heard it. The gym is only so big. If he was in proximity, he probably heard the whole conversation.

“I’m not going to apologize.” I don't know why I say it. I should want to dig myself out of the grave, not help them get to the six-foot mark quicker. Maybe it’s my pride, or perhaps it’s stupidity. Whatever it may be, it has me crossing my arms over my chest. The words come out steady, a clear contradiction to my racing pulse.

I know I’m approaching dangerous territory, but irritation is not allowing me to care.

“I didn’t expect you to.”

There’s no bite to his tone, no sarcasm. Just a calm, quiet certainty that makes my defenses bristle. It’s like he knows me better than I’d ever let him, and it pisses me off.

“You train here often?” he questions, his gaze finally snapping back to my eyes.

“I like to stay sharp,” I reply with a shrug. “Gotta work on that lackluster performance.”

Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but it slipped out before I could catch it.

The corner of his mouth twitches again. And I swear I can’t tell if it’s amusement or irritation. I make the executive decision not to stay and analyze it. I step around him and head to the exit but stop dead when I hear his voice behind me.

“You know, constructive criticism isn’t personal, Rookie. It’s preparation. If you can’t handle it, you’re in the wrong field.”

I whirl on him before I can stop myself, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “I can handle it just fine. What I don’t appreciate is being treated like I’m the black sheep,literally, when I’ve worked just as hard as everyone else, if not twice as hard, to get here.”

You know how the saying goes: when you’re a woman, regardless of race, in a male-dominated field, you have to work twice as hard and be twice as good. It’s nothing new. I just hate how it bothers me so much. Howhebothers me so much.

His expression hardens, and for a moment, I think he’s going to bite back. But instead, he steps closer, the space between us shrinking to nothing.

“You want to prove you belong?” he says, his voice dangerously quiet. “Take this as your first lesson, Rookie. Stop letting me get under your skin.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die in my throat as his gaze locks onto mine. Something in his eyes, dark and heated, makes my pulse stutter.

Before I can respond, he steps back, his expression returning to its usual cold mask. “You’ve got a long day ahead, Williams. Try not to let your emotions get in the way. And be on time this time. Harris hates when we’re late.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving me standing in the hallway with my heart pounding and my mind racing.

***

I arrive at the simulation training room with just enough time to pull myself together.

The room feels colder than usual, the hum of the fluorescent lights settling into my nerves. I secure the last strap on my vest, keeping my movements steady despite the adrenaline creeping into my chest.

Beside me, Park adjusts the grip on his prop weapon, his smirk fixed firmly in place. “Think you can keep up, Williams?”

“I don’t need to keep up,” I reply, running a final check on my gear. “You’ll be following my lead.”

Park’s lip twitches as he shakes his head. “We’ll see.”

The door opens with a soft hiss, and Harris steps in, clipboard in hand. Tate and Grant follow close, taking their places near the observation window. I can feel Grant’s eyes on me before I even look up. His gaze is sharp and cutting as if he’s already decided how this will end.

“This exercise is designed to test your ability to think under pressure,” Harris begins, his tone brisk. “It’s not about who gets the most takedowns or who moves the fastest. The objective is to clear the building, identify and neutralize threats, and protect the asset.”

Park leans slightly toward me, his voice low. “Guess that means you can’t run in guns blazing.”

I ignore him, keeping my focus on Harris.

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