Saints Astray
“That’s plain.” His voice hardened. “Do you expect me to cut you some kind of slack because you’re special?”
“No.”
“Do you think I’m being mean, hauling you out of your nice cushy beds at this hour?” he pressed her. “Mean and nasty?”
“Honestly?” Loup said, ignoring Pilar’s nervous attempt to hush her. “A little, yeah.”
Clive thumped a fist into his palm and fixed them both with a glare. “Listen, girlies. In this business, you don’t get to choose when trouble comes. Could be in the wee hours of the night when you’ve been on your feet all day, you’re feeling rotten and fagged, and you just want to go home. Unnerstand?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“I can teach you.” He pointed at Loup. “Word is you’ve done a bit of boxing, eh? That’s good. I’m not gonna teach you a whole lot of that nancy-pants martial art shit. Half that shit goes clear outta your head in a real scuffle. Just a handful of straightforward moves. Most important, I’ll teach you to use ’em. First, I wanna see how you think on your feet.” He lifted a whistle that hung on a cord around his neck to his lips and gave a short blast.
Everyone else in the room converged on them.
“Fuck!” Loup felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her from behind, pinning her arms—and then an involuntary start of surprise in her attacker’s body. She wrenched free and spun, driving a quick jab into Ben Rogers’ belly. He flew backward, mouth gaping. Her other attacker turned white and took a step away from her.
“Hold it!” one of the others called. He had one arm around Pilar’s throat and her left arm twisted behind her back. “We’ll hurt her!”
“The fuck you will!” She grabbed Mr. Clive from behind before he could move and locked her left forearm over his throat, pressing hard. “Let her go or I swear I’ll break his fucking neck!”
He raised one hand in acquiescence.
Pilar’s attacker released her. “It’s just an exercise, doll!”
“Oh, my!” Clive gasped, bending over. He coughed. “Oh, my, my, my! What are you like at your best, sunshine?”
“Faster,” Loup said curtly. “And better at pulling my punches.” She glanced down at Ben Rogers. “Sorry.”
Struggling to regain his wind, he didn’t answer.
“So that’s what has Magnus all in a twit.” Clive straightened, eyes bright. “You’re a natural, you are. Not just a fighter. Did you see?” he asked Rogers, who was slowly climbing to his feet, his breathing raspy. “Didn’t even flinch at their bluff. She went straight for the highest-value target in the room and controlled the situation on her own terms.”
“I saw.” He sounded disgruntled.
“Oh, my.” Clive beamed. “Magnus is going to be very pleased with his investment.”
“Half of it, anyway,” Pilar muttered, rubbing her arm.
“You didn’t do too badly, sunshine,” he said to her. “From what I saw before your girlfriend here went all Tasmanian Devil on us, you stomped his foot and elbowed his ribs. That’s not bad tactics. If you knew how to throw a nice sharp elbow strike, you might have broken his hold.” He smiled. “And if you’d been wearing a nice pointy high heel, he’d be hopping.”
“Oh.” She looked somewhat mollified.
“I like to see what’s instinctive to you. That’s what we’ll build on, because that’s always gonna be your first, well, instinct in a fight.” Clive nodded at Loup. “You, I imagine you’re always gonna lead with your fists. But no reason you can’t add to your arsenal, and I can teach you a few holds that’ll immobilize an attacker without threatening to crush his windpipe. Celebrity clientele don’t like dead bodies, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right!” He clapped his hands. “Let’s get to work.” He demonstrated a couple of kicks to Loup. “Straight kick and a roundhouse. All you ever need. And it ain’t about how high you go. That looks good in competition, but there are no fuckin’ Queensberry rules out in the real world.” He beckoned to Ben Rogers, who came over and obligingly aimed a high roundhouse kick at Clive’s bald, shiny head. Clive caught his foot and mimed aiming a jab at Rogers’ balls. “Get it?”
“Got it.” Loup nodded. “I was in some street fights before I started boxing.”
“Better and better! You too?” he asked Pilar.
She shook her head. “Nope.”
“Ah, well.” Clive considered them. “Taz, you wanna go work the bags and practice those kicks? I get the feeling you’re gonna be a fast learner, and I gotta lotta work to bring sunshine here up to speed.”
“Yeah, sure,” Loup agreed.
“I thought you said I did okay,” Pilar protested.
“You did.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “But, honey, you’re starting at ground zero, and your little friend here’s in a league of her own. Okay?”
“Okay.”
For almost three hours, Clive drilled Pilar relentlessly while Loup worked the bags happily on her own, creating a steady percussive cacophony that echoed through the gymnasium. From time to time, Clive called over with words of advice. “Pivot on the roundhouse, darlin’! Power comes from the waist, just like a good punch.”
“Ohmigod,” Pilar groaned when they finally broke for the day. “I swear to God, this is gonna kill me.”
Loup stroked her sweat-damp hair. “You did great.”
“You did,” Clive assured her. “This ain’t easy, sunshine. This is boot camp.”
“Ugh.”
Lunch was served in the sunroom, where there were several small tables. They learned that other than Ben Rogers, their attackers were volunteers from a gym in a nearby village where Clive taught self-defense when he wasn’t training recruits for Global Security.
“They’re good lads,” he told them. “Ooh, stovies!”
Loup blinked. “Huh?”
“Stovied tatties.” Clive rubbed his hands together as one of the kitchen staff set a plate of mushy fried potatoes dotted with bits of beef, peas, and carrots before him. “One of me favorites.”
“Leftovers.” Pilar poked listlessly at hers.
“The best kind,” he affirmed. “Don’t get shirty, sunshine. And eat up. You’ve got Mr. Rogers yet to go!”
They took their leave of Clive after lunch and met Ben Rogers behind the manor at one o’clock sharp.
“Right, then.” He eyed Loup warily. “Here’s the story. By the end of six weeks, you’ve got to be able to do a five-K run and complete the obstacle course inside of an hour. Let’s have a little run, shall we? And then we’ll walk the course.”
He led them on a run through the oak forest along clearly marked trails. Loup matched her pace to his and jogged effortlessly, enjoying the scenery and the minor challenges offered by the varying terrain.
Pilar struggled.
“C’mon, damnit!” Rogers urged her. “You’ve walked long enough, now move your arse! That’s it, just a little farther. C’mon, c’mon… See? There’s the manor, almost there… See? Here we are.”
“Aw, fuck!” She gazed at the first obstacle in dismay.
“Hand over hand.” He swung on the monkey bars, demonstrating. “See? Easy as pie!”
Pilar tried and dropped. “Ow!”
“You can do it,” Loup said softly, hoisting her.
“Shut up.”
Pilar fell on the monkey bars and fell off the balance beam. She did well enough on the over-and-unders, the belly crawl, and the trip-wire dodge. She scrambled up and down the net rope, complaining. She scaled the vertical ladder, then shuddered at the drop and climbed down manually, where Loup dropped to execute a neat four-point landing. She failed to hurdle the pit. The sloping assault wall at the end kicked her ass.
It was hard.
Very hard.
“Jesus.” Pilar lay on the bed afterward, arms folded over her face. “I don’t think I can move.”
“Did you get hurt out there?” Loup asked.
“No. I don’t know. I can’t feel my body.” She unfolded her arms with an effort. “Loup, whatever you do, don’t tell me you know I can do it. Not right now. I know you believe in me and I love you to pieces for it, but right now I’m also trying real hard not to hate you a little bit for having this be so fucking easy. And I’m not real proud of thinking like Sabine.”
“Not even close.” Loup stretched out beside her. “Pilar, we don’t have to do this. You could be on a plane to Huatulco tomorrow. I’ll figure out something.”
“Huatulco.” Pilar sighed. “No, we’re doing it. I’m doing it. If for no other reason than to prove that fucking bitch wrong.”
“You can. You will.”
“Shut up.”
TWELVE
Ohmigod.” Pilar groaned and burrowed into the blankets when the alarm went off. “I can’t do it.”
“Pilar…”
“Don’t say it.”
“Zee day you fail out of training vill be von of zee hoppiest days of my life,” Loup intoned.
“Shit,” Pilar muttered. She pushed herself upright. “Ow, ow! Fuck! I hurt everywhere. Muscles I didn’t even know I had hurt.”
At breakfast, Adelaide eyed Pilar without comment and set a couple of aspirin tablets beside her juice. In the gym, Clive chuckled. “You’re moving like you’re a hundred years old, sunshine.”
Pilar glared at him. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Just wait,” he said cheerfully. “The second day’s the worst.”
She groaned.
He taught Loup a series of simple elbow and knee strikes and set her to work on the bag. “That’s it. Just keep practicing.”