Page 20 of Blood Taken (Blood Mafia 2)
I laugh and shake my head. "That's what I thought. Are we done?"
I don't wait for Gerry to answer. I head to the door and see myself out, not giving a damn that I just burned thirteen bridges in a matter of minutes.
This fucking year couldn't get any worse, right?
* * *
Stormingout of the meeting room feels great until I leave the building and realize I have nowhere to go. I don't exactly want to hang out in my room all day hiding out from everyone. So that's how I find myself exploring the grounds of the Hunter compound.
I start by walking along the fence. When it doesn't end after about ten minutes, I head off across the open field toward a track. A cheap imitation of the fancier stadiums I used to run in for track meets covers the mostly dirt ground.
There's a football field on the inside, covered in weeds and pokey grass. The painted lines are weathered and faded. The track is free of weeds, though. The Hunters must use it a lot; that or they're really particular about their dirt paths.
I'm not dressed to run, so I wander over to a smaller building at the end of the field. There are large tractor tires outside of it and some broken equipment long forgotten sits along the outside wall.
The door is closed.
Gently twisting the knob, I ease it open, smiling when grunts and curses assault my ears. Now this is where I could spend my day. A lot of people dread the gym, but I'm one of the psychos that get excited at the prospect of pumping iron. Nothing feels better than being able to lift enough that the men in the gym start to notice and even try a little harder on their sets, determined not to be outdone by a woman.
That feeling right there, my friends, is power.
I press my hands against the door, using my body to slow the momentum and soften the sound of its closing. The Hunters either didn't hear my entrance or don't care.
A lanky woman stands behind a pair of sparring Hunters, occasionally correcting them as they grapple and throw punches. There are a few more pairs fighting. Other Hunters are working on punching bags or attacking giant dummies meant to mimic the size of a wolf.
There's one activity that sparks my interest, and I can't help but draw near the line of people. They're all waiting with a handful of knives each. The girl throwing growls in frustration and heads down the lane to snatch her daggers from the target before storming to the back of the line.
A man who looks about thirty motions another student forward, murmuring some instructions before watching the younger guy hurl the blades. A wicked smile cuts across my face and my stomach flutters.
When the guy finishes, the instructor waits for the next person, patiently eyeing their stance and offering some suggestions. I creep closer, unable to stop myself from watching. The instructor's gaze flicks to mine. He squints and looks me over from head to toe; not in a sleazy way, more of a determining if I'm a threat sort of way.
He says something to the guy throwing knives before walking toward me. I straighten to my full height and place my hands on my hip.
"You look like your mother."
I grunt. Those words sucker punch my gut and make my smile fall.
Noticing my reaction, he gives me a sheepish look. "Sorry, I'm not great at introductions. I'm Mack."
Looking at his extended hand, I press my lips together and shake it. "I'm Demi, and if you want to stay on my good side, don't mention my mother."
Mack laughs once. "Yeah, okay. I hear you. Are you training with us?"
I shrug. "Is Gerry going to stop me?"
His lips twitch into a wide grin. "I'd like to see him try."
I return the gesture. "Me too."
"Knives are over there." He points to the corner of the room. There's a wall of swords, bow and arrows, staffs, and guns. There's also a table with knives spread across it. "Pick the ones that feel right, don't think about it too much. Test them out, see which ones speak to you, and meet me over there." He jerks his thumb to the throwing wall.
Not wasting time answering him, I hurry to the table. Mack chuckles at my eagerness and heads back to his students. I browse the wide selection of knives. Until this very moment, I considered myself somewhat of a knife connoisseur.
I was wrong.
There are many different kinds of blades. Short ones, long ones. Rounded hilt, squared hilt. Leather bound versus etched hilts. Curved, straight, slightly zigzagged, jagged, and smooth. Oh my.
We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.
