Page 47 of Save Me
“What about heading to campus bright and early,” Quen grits out.
“This is your assignment. Those two know their orders,” Aaron says.
Quen catches my eye, and I shrug again. “Campus?”
“These boys are not slacking in their duty. They will remain at Crestmont until they graduate.”
“Oh.” Callum glowers at me as I try to hide my smile.
“Don’t worry, we will be living here,” he states loudly. “You won’t miss us.”
“Good,” I murmur, trying not to laugh as my dad growls in the corner.
“Finish up and go and get ready,” he practically snarls.
Nodding like a good girl, I wolf my food down, wondering if this is such a good idea if I’m about to get my ass kicked. But wild horses couldn’t stop me from finishing the plateful.
After breakfast, back in my bedroom, I pull my hair into a tight ponytail and change into what could pass for workout gear and head back downstairs. Adam is waiting for me in the entrance hall and grimaces at me before leading the way through some corridors that reveal a gym area.
The training room is all sharp edges and cold metal, mats covering the floor and weapons lining the walls. Adam’s stern expression is like a slap, telling me without words that this isn’t going to be easy, or fun.
“Ready?” he asks, his voice deep and flat.
“Let’s do this,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. Adam nods once.
He stands in front of me, a wall of muscle and quiet authority. He’s six feet seven plus of pure intimidation with broad shoulders that seem to push the air out of the room. I watch him roll his wrists, loosen his neck with a quick jerk to the side, and then he starts moving across the mat with a grace that I find astounding for such a monumental man.
I shuffle my feet on the spot, my hands feeling clammy as I try to match his calm. Adam doesn’t bother with small talk; words are like wasted breath to him. His dark eyes lock onto mine, sharp and assessing, and I swear my heart kicks up a notch.
“Watch closely,” he says, the only instruction he gives before launching into action.
He moves through a series of strikes, each one delivered with surgical precision. His fists cut through the air, landing thuds on the padded targets that echo around the room. I’m caught between awe and a creeping dread. He pivots, muscles coiling and releasing with the grace of a panther.
How in the fuck am I supposed to copy that?
The intensity ramps up as he strings combinations together, a fluid dance of power and control. His legs sweep out inpowerful arcs, demonstrating kicks that could knock a mountain over. Watching him, it’s clear he doesn’t just practice this stuff; it’s etched into every fibre of his being.
“Your turn,” he says, stepping back to give me space.
My throat feels dry as I step forward, trying to recall the sequences he’s shown. I throw a punch, and it feels like swatting at air compared to Adam’s heavy blows. But I can’t let that stop me. I’m here to learn, to become as formidable as they come. This is what it takes to belong to this world—the world I was born into.
I told Dad I wanted him to train me, and he clearly believes in throwing one in at the deep end.
Well, I’ll show him.
No backing down now.
To the best of my ability, I copy Adam’s movements, throwing my body into each punch and kicking over and over as he shows me repeatedly. The man has the patience of a saint.
My muscles scream in protest, but I shove the pain aside. Sweat trickles down my temples, stinging my eyes. I blink it away, fixating on Adam’s every motion, trying to etch them into muscle memory.
“Again,” he commands, his voice low and even. There is no praise or criticism—just the expectation that I’ll keep going.
I grit my teeth and launch another series of strikes. My punch connects with the heavy bag, a dull thud marking the impact. Not as solid as I want, but it’s a start. My breath comes faster now, each inhale sharp and necessary.
“Keep your guard up,” Adam instructs. His words are few, but they carry weight. I adjust my stance, hands raised to protect my face, imagining an opponent in front of me.
“Time for something new.” Adam steps over to the rack lining the wall and selects a knife, the blade catching the light ashe turns back to me. He holds it out, handle first. “You need to be comfortable with this.”
