Page 18 of The Lost Kings
I just had to wait him out until I was able to prove it.
Unfortunately for him, I’d been training my entire life to do exactly that.
Chapter 8
Presley
AGE 11
My hand hurt, but I just shook it and jumped in place.
“Do you want to wrap them?” Scotty asked, lifting a dark brow.
Ishouldcover my knuckles; I knew that, but since I had started learning these combos, it was easier to land them and memorize them if I felt the bag against my skin. I wasn’t hitting it hard enough to do much damage, just learning the positions, but after an hour, there was a sting and the tiniest amount of blood left behind.
I shook my head. My uncle Scotty just moved to the side and placed his hands in front of him while gesturing for me to continue.
My fingers curled into a fist and the punch landed against the bag in a soft thud.
“Again,” Scotty ordered, and my mind began to go where it usually did when I started these combinations. Somewhere warm, that smelled like freshly cut grass. Somewhere hidden from the world, where animals lazily dozed and flowers bloomed. To the farm that I would one day live on.
One with animals and golden flowers.
“Begin with the kicks,” Scotty directed me. He checked the dogs lying next to him and whispered something in German.
He’d taught me which words would get them to do what. I knew if I wanted Rex to sit, I had to say,sitzen.
And if Scotty wanted one of the dogs to attack, he merely said,töten.
He practiced on the dummies at the farm sometimes, and I got to watch how terrifying the dogs were when ordered to kill. The most terrifying of all of Scotty’s dogs was Reaper when he tore into one of the dummies. Stuffing would fly everywhere, and his lips would peel back, revealing rows of dangerously sharp teeth.
“Now mix it up, punch while?—”
“There you are.” My mother interrupted Scotty, pushing through the gym doors.
She eyed my knuckles then the dogs near Scotty’s feet. Her jaw did that thing that I noticed when she was mad at Dad or Scotty, and usually it only happened when she found them training me. It would set into a firm line, and her lips would push together as if she were holding back a million thoughts.
“Scotty, can I please talk to you out in the hall?”
My father’s uncle wasn’t much older than Dad or Mom, but sometimes the lines near his eyes and mouth made him seem ancient. He argued with anyone when they tried to interrupt my training, except for my mom. She, he would never argue with…at least not in front of me.
“Sure.” Scotty gave me a look that I’d seen a million times. It was to clean up the small amount of blood my knuckles left behind on the bag, and then to go soak my hands in disinfectant.
I did as he wanted and began cleaning the bag while the dogs remained with me, but after a few seconds, I heard my mom yelling, which piqued my curiosity. I dropped the spray bottle of cleaner and tiptoed over to the gym door. Soft mats lined the walls to dull the noise, intermixed with mirrors. The floor was also a mix of mats andthin black rubber, which muted my steps as I trailed closer to the doors.
Through the crack, I saw my mom’s eyes wide and round. Dad said I inherited the blue from her gaze. Her hair was the same color as mine, and nearly just as long. She wore hers down and straight, while mine was usually tucked into a braid.
Mom had on leggings and a tank top while her feet were bare. Which meant, she likely walked over from our wing of the house.
“This was never run past me,” she yelled. Her chin wobbled, which had my focus back on their argument.
Scotty’s back was straight with thick lines of definition.
“I assumed Kyle told you.”
My mom laughed, but it didn’t sound funny.
“He said she was training, but no one ever said my daughter would be punching a bag without gloves until her knuckles bled.” She pointed at the door, knowing I was behind it. Her face was starting to get red.
