Chapter 8

GHOST’S PLAN ISN’T ENTIRELY SOLID, but he seems pretty sure of it, and it’s as good as any, I suppose. I’m still not convinced my code name came about because I have infinite potential to dominate, but he seems pretty sure about that, too.

Despite my doubts, when our break is over and we follow the small trail of other recruits returning to the training room, I feel much more capable, much more confident than I did just ten minutes ago. Ghost doesn’t try to hold my hand this time, but he is closer than two almost-strangers would normally be to one another. I’m solidly aware of his body heat warming me on that side, of the way his arm brushes mine as we walk. I’m uncomfortable with the picture our proximity must paint for anyone watching, but my skin tingles with sensation at the nearness of him.

As soon as I enter the room, my gaze is drawn to Maverick at the other end. He’s sitting on the ground with his back to the wall. His knees are up, and his arms stretch out over them loosely. Even though his position is relaxed, his gaze is acutely focused on me. After my conversation with Ghost, I’m left wondering what Maverick knows about The Program. Is he watching me because he’s wondering what I know, what Ghost has told me? I shake off my questions and make a mental note that I still need to pick Maverick’s brain about The Program. I separate myself from Ghost, move toward an unclaimed spot at the perimeter of the room, and sink down next to Sim.

“Hey,” I say.

“This is some crazy sh—” A resounding boom cuts off Sim’s statement as Ruger and Sever drop a mannequin in the center of the room. The prop almost looks like a person if you don’t count the fact that his features, hair included, are molded out of some kind of rubbery material; his bottom half is nothing more than a pole grounded in a large, weighted circle, and he has no arms.

“Show of hands,” Ruger calls out, “who’s had martial arts or self-defense training?”

I can’t truthfully raise my hand, but I count the recruits who do: five from Team Matrix, including Ghost. Surprise. And six from Team Sever. Legacy and Maverick are, of course, among the affirmatives. The one that surprises me though is Prodigy. Nothing about the kid speaks of martial arts experience, but there his hand is, as high as the rest of them. Interesting.

“We’re going to cover the basics, and only the basics, of self-defense and combatives today.” While Ruger speaks, Sever and Wraith work together to shimmy the training dummy to a more centered position on the mat. Wraith struggles with her side of the dummy, and even Sever looks a little strained lifting the weight. The thing must weigh as much as a full-grown man. It’s the size of one anyway.

“Pick a partner. A new partner or the same partner, it doesn’t matter, you aren’t being graded on this. It’s instructional only. But I would suggest that if you have not had training before that you partner up with someone who has. You aren’t being scored on performance today, but you will be soon.”

Sim and I look at each other, and I wonder if, like me, she is torn between partnering with me or finding another. Is she also torn between trying to make it through The Program and just letting herself wash out? Does she resent whichever turncoat family member sold her out, too?

“I guess we should probably pick someone who knows what they’re doing, huh?”

“Yeah.” I nod my agreement, and she pushes to her feet to wander into the group of recruits still circling unpaired in the middle of the room.

I search visually for Ghost and spot him right away near the door, already heading my way. Until Legacy steps in front of him and says something I can’t hear. Ghost looks from me to Legacy and back again. Then finally, he shakes his head and comes my way. She watches him go, then graces me with a look that leaves me with the distinct impression we’re officially competitors now. As if we weren’t before.

By the time I get to my feet, he’s standing in front of me.

“Hey,” he greets me in a smooth, deep voice, “partner.” The way he says the word feels entirely too friendly, like we’re about to do more than just practice self-defense.

“I thought you only wanted me for my brain,” I tease.

“Well, I guess it’s only fair to let you use me for my body,” he says, and for a fraction of a second, I think he’s trying—and failing—to be smooth. Until his mouth drops into a silent “oh”, and his eyes widen in shock. Red creeps up his neck and into his face, and he gapes at me for a second or two before finding his voice. “That’s not what I meant. I just mean… that is… I was…”

“Easy, Casanova. Don’t hurt yourself.”

He snaps his mouth shut and starts to turn away.

“Hey, wait… I still need a partner.” I grab for his elbow, and he halts at the contact. Why am I such a jerk? Here he is trying to work with me, and I’m making fun of him. “I’ll be nice, I promise,” I say in a small voice.

His shoulders relax, and he turns back to face me. “And I promise not to try to be witty anymore.” He half-smiles, recovering quickly from his embarrassment.

“Deal.” I extend a hand, and we shake on it. Maybe it’s my imagination, but it almost feels like he squeezes my hand gently, reluctant to let go. But he does let go.

Ruger moves quickly into a short tutorial on inflicting bodily harm. He throws out phrases like, “pressure point” and “elusive tactics” along with words that almost mean something to me: jab, blow, contact, take-down. He even uses the dummy a few times to demonstrate. But I’m definitely going to need to practice before any of this sinks in.

So much for Ghost’s theory about my infinite potential.

Finally, Ruger wraps up the lesson. “Practice what you’ve learned today, and be ready to learn more tomorrow.” He folds his hands behind his back and begins circling the room, watching, judging. Wraith, Sever, and Matrix do the same.

Ghost and I are still standing motionless at the edge of the room when Wraith gets to us. “Get to it, recruits,” she commands before marching on.

“Where do you want to start?” Ghost asks me.

I think back over Ruger’s lesson and settle somewhere near the beginning. “Elusive tactics?”

Ghost agrees, and we square off with him acting as the aggressor. My job is to avoid him, to keep him from grabbing me. At first, I dance around him easily, springing up on the balls of my feet and bouncing away from him. But he’s faster than I pegged him for, and after only a few moves, he’s able to get a hand around my bicep and pull me toward him.

Game over. As soon as he has a hold on me, we both stop moving, and he lets go. “And round one goes to Ghost,” he says in a mock announcer voice, probably trying to ease the awkwardness our impromptu embrace just left hanging in the air.

Time to move to phase two: the front kick. If Ruger is to be believed, this fun little kick will be enough to keep Ghost at bay. We square off and start again. This time, instead of just prancing around him, when he gets close, I kick out my foot. The sole of my sneaker connects with his torso, flat against the muscles of his abdomen. I use the contact to push off and away.

And promptly lose my balance. Before I can correct my weight distribution, I’m toppling over backward. I prepare for a butt-first impact with the mat underneath me, but instead, I fall against someone. And that someone catches me by wrapping strong arms around my middle. I breathe a sigh of relief as I correct my footing. Then I scramble back to holding myself up and turn to apologize.

Maverick. How did I not realize he was so close? My sheepish smile and any apology I might have come up with die on my suddenly dry lips. He’s much taller up close, impossibly so, and standing so near I have to stretch my neck to meet his viridian gaze. Butterflies turn somersaults in my stomach, and I swallow hard against the urge to say or do something embarrassing. Every inch of me that came into contact with him a moment ago is suddenly alive with sensation, my body remembering and memorizing the feel of him. My reaction to him is so strong, I can’t manage the apology I was planning; I can’t manage any words. Instead, I turn back to Ghost and try to pretend the last thirty seconds of my life never happened.

I don’t know how long Maverick stands behind me, or if I’ve offended him, because he doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t made a sound, not through my fall, or the recovery, and not through me giving him the brushoff. Thank God. All I have to worry about is making sure my hands don’t shake as I hold them up in a defensive pose against Ghost and making sure my expression stays as neutral as I can manage right now. Maverick and I have spent a grand total of maybe five minutes together since we arrived here yesterday. The last thing I want is anyone, especially him, figuring out I’m already fighting a ridiculous, and baseless, crush on him.

Ghost and I get back to sparring, but it’s all a blur after my run-in with Maverick. Ghost doesn’t seem to notice my sudden nerves, but he does get the better of me.

The first time he takes me down, he tries to soothe my ego with, “You’ve got good reflexes, but I think you’ll want to work on your form.”

I try to keep an eye on the mirror, but with my attention divided as it is, I’m not very successful. Ghost manages to get the upper hand again. And again. Over and over, he wins every match and even gets me into both of the choke holds that Ruger showed us. It doesn’t help that instead of paying full attention to what I’m doing, I’m constantly mentally scanning the area around me to make sure Maverick isn’t nearby.

Eventually, we switch places, and I am the aggressor, but I even fail at that. At one point, I try the take-down Ruger demonstrated, placing my palm on Ghost’s left shoulder and grabbing onto his right bicep with my left hand. I tuck my leg behind his knee like Ruger showed us, and I push him in an attempt to topple him onto his back. Instead, it’s me that ends up flat out on the mat staring up at the ceiling. And I don’t even know how he did it. My backside stings from the impact, but at least I didn’t hit my head. Not that the lack of head injury helped me process the move. Even after it’s over, I still can’t figure out how it happened.

I’m still lying there when Matrix whistles loudly to call our attention to her. “All right, recruits. That’s enough for today. Take lunch back at your houses, and be back here in one hour.”

That’s exactly the command I need. I scramble up from the floor, mutter a quick, “See ya later” to Ghost, and race back to the safety of Casa del Team Sever.