Chapter 29 New Dynamics
Jolie POV
I wake up in Ryder's bed, sunlight burning through the curtains. My whole body aches like I've been hit by a truck, but it's a good ache. The kind that says I survived something I shouldn't have.
The shower runs in the bathroom. I stretch, wincing at the pull of bruised muscles, and notice my clothes folded on the chair. Someone—probably Luna—brought them while I was passed out.
The water shuts off. Ryder emerges with a towel around his waist, water still dripping from his hair.
"You're awake." He crosses to the bed and sits on the edge. "How do you feel?"
"Like I got thrown into a cage with an angry wolf." I manage a smile. "Oh wait."
He touches my cheek carefully. "Any regrets?"
I think about it. About standing in that cage, about hitting Mara, about the pack howling my name. "No."
"Good." He leans down and kisses me, soft and careful. "Because you have training in an hour."
"What?" I sit up too fast and immediately regret it.
"Knox wants to work with you." Ryder stands and pulls on jeans. "Said if you're going to keep fighting, you need to learn how to do it properly."
My stomach twists. "I don't know if I can"
"You can." He tosses me a shirt. "Get dressed. I'll make breakfast."
The compound looks different in daylight. Pack members nod at me as I cross to the main building. No sneers. No whispers. Just acknowledgment.
It's terrifying.
Luna waves from the kitchen. "There she is! Come eat before Knox works you to death."
I slide into a chair at the long table. Phoenix sits across from me, grinning. "That was incredible last night. The way you dodged her? I got it on video."
"Please delete that." I bury my face in my hands.
"No way." He pulls out his phone. "This is going in the pack archives. 'The Day Jolie Kicked Ass.'"
Cass walks in and pours coffee. "Knox is waiting for you in the training area. Don't keep him waiting—he gets creative with punishments."
I shovel down eggs and toast, my appetite suddenly back with a vengeance. Fighting apparently burns a lot of calories.
The training area is behind the compound—a dirt clearing with punching bags, a sparring circle, and various weapons mounted on racks. Knox stands in the center, arms crossed.
"You're late," he says.
"I'm exactly on time." I check my phone.
"On time is late." He gestures to the circle. "Get in."
I step into the marked ring. Knox follows, moving with the easy confidence of someone who's fought a thousand times and won.
"You won last night because Mara underestimated you." He circles me slowly. "But you also won because you used your brain. That's good. But your technique is garbage."
"Thanks?" I turn with him, keeping him in sight.
"Your stance is weak. Your punches telegraph. You leave yourself open constantly." He stops moving. "If you'd fought someone with actual skill, you'd be dead. Show me your fighting stance."
I assume what I think is a good position. Knox immediately starts adjusting—pushing my feet wider, straightening my back, repositioning my hands.
"Better." He steps back. "Now throw a punch."
I do. He catches my fist easily and twists my arm, demonstrating how I left myself vulnerable.
"Again."
We drill for what feels like hours. Punch, adjust, repeat. Kick, correct, try again. My muscles scream but I don't stop. Can't stop. Every time I think about quitting, I remember standing in that cage with the pack watching.
"Break." Knox tosses me a water bottle. "You're a fast learner. That's the only reason I'm not making you start from zero."
I gulp water gratefully. "How long until I'm actually good?"
"Define good." He drinks from his own bottle. "Good enough to survive a street fight? You're already there. Good enough to take on a trained warrior? Years."
My shoulders slump.
"But," he continues, "you don't need to be the best fighter. You need to be smart enough to avoid fights you can't win and brutal enough to end the ones you can't avoid."
"That's not very reassuring." I say.
"It's realistic." He sets down his bottle. "You'll never be Mara. You'll never be me. But you can be dangerous in your own way. Learn to use what you have."
"What do I have?" The question comes out bitter.
Knox studies me for a long moment. "Speed. Flexibility. Pain tolerance that's honestly disturbing. And something else—you see openings other people miss. That's instinct. You can’t teach that."
Warmth spreads through my chest. "Really?"
"Would I lie?" He gestures back to the ring. "Now get back in there. We're working on grappling escapes."
By the time he finally calls it quits, I can barely stand. Every muscle trembles with exhaustion. Knox hands me a towel.
"Same time tomorrow," he says. "And the next day. And every day after that until this becomes muscle memory."
"Yes, sir." I say grinning.
He almost smiles. "You did good today, kid. Keep it up."
I limp back toward the compound. Luna intercepts me halfway, pressing a cold beer into my hand.
"Knox go easy on you?" she asks innocently.
"Define easy." I twist off the cap and drink deeply.
She laughs. "Come on. Some of us are heading into town for supplies. You should come."
"I look like I got hit by a truck."
"Perfect. You'll fit right in with the rest of us." She loops her arm through mine. "Besides, you need to get used to being seen. You're in our pack now.."
The words settle over me like a weight and a comfort at the same time.
Everything I've always wanted and never believed I deserved.
But as we walk toward the garage where bikes are already rumbling to life, a small voice in my head whispers a warning I can't quite ignore.
What happens when they realize I'm not actually strong? When the fear catches up with me? When I fail?
Phoenix pulls up on his bike, grinning. "Ready to ride?"
I push the doubts down deep and smile back. "Ready."