Page 7 of Protect Thy Enemy

Grant’s still in the conference room, watching us leave.

Watching me.

Chapter Three

Arden

When I started down this path, I gave myself one rule: don’t let them see you flinch, cry, or get angry.

Men are like wolves, circling, waiting for the smallest sign of weakness. I feel it the second I walk into any room. Their stares brush against my skin like cold steel. Every whisper and every glance feels like a judgment, as if they know something I don’t.

And maybe they do.

I’m still running the events of the day before in my head as I make my way through the hallway, each step heavy with nerves I refuse to let show.

They’ve given us the rest of the day off and said simulations won’t start until Friday. “Take some time to get settled, explore the facilities,” Harris said. His tone was neutral, but I caught the way Grant’s lip curled ever so slightly at the word “explore.”

Like he didn’t think I’d make it to the starting line, let alone survive the course.

The idea of wandering aimlessly through this place, pretending I’m not being judged with every passing second, makes my stomach churn.

Instead of taking in the sights after the tour, I decide to head straight for the one place that might offer some relief. The gym.

When Harris mentioned it was next to the simulation room, I didn’t expect much. Maybe some weights and a treadmill if I was lucky.

But what I find when I push open the doors is nothing short of impressive. The space is massive, with heavy bags suspended from the ceiling and top-of-the-line equipment spread out like a catalog for professional athletes.

Definitely an upgrade from the shoddy gym next to the Maryland Police Department’s headquarters.

My hands itch to hit something, to channel the tension coiling tighter with every passing second. I grab a roll of tape from a nearby bench and carefully wrap my knuckles. The slow pull of the tape is peaceful, each tug centering me just a little more.

I catch a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. At first, I think it’s just another agent passing by. But then I see him.

Agent Corbin.

He’s across the hall, leaning casually against the wall, talking to someone I don’t recognize. His features are set in an expression that’s both bored and predatory like he’s weighing the value of whatever poor soul has his attention.

My stomach knots, and I force myself to look away, pretending I didn’t see him. Corbin has a way of noticing things like weakness, discomfort, or hesitation. Anything he can exploit. Prey upon. And the last thing I want is for him to think I’m stillbothered by everything he put me through during training. It’ll just open the door for newer attacks.

I finish taping my hands and head straight for one of the heavy bags. With each punch, the events of the past two days creep back in, an unwelcome reminder that I’ve had to fight every step of the way to get here, yet this still feels like the beginning.

And I hate to admit it, but the look on Grant’s face is imprinted into my memory. I heard the warnings during FLETC about how impossible it was to impress him, but no one mentioned how hard it was to merely co-exist with the man.

Not to mention, paired with the absolutelastperson on planet earth I prayed—like actually got on my knees and begged the man upstairs—that Agent Brandon Corbin would vanish after the academy, disappearing into some corner of the agency far, far away from me.

But luck has never been my strong suit. The big man and I have what you can call a rocky relationship.

Corbin finished his training program right after I started mine. Somehow, he’d decided I was his favorite target.

He isn’t the loud, obvious kind of bully. No, no, that’s too easy. Corbin likes his cruelty to feel personal. He’d do things like hide my clothes after training, forcing me to dig through the men’s locker room to find them.

Once, during a sparring session, he’d fought dirty, grabbing a fistful of my hair to throw me off balance. And then there were the comments, always delivered with a sly grin and designed to make me feel small.

But he isn’t the type to get in anyrealtrouble. Corbin is just careful enough to stay out of the instructors’ crosshairs, and he charms his way out of situations that should’ve ended with him cleaning toilets for a week.

So seeing him here is yet another punch to the gut I didn’t see coming.

“You punch like a girl,” he says, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. But I don’t stop. I’ve heard far worse from him and his buddies.

---