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I was given coffee, force fed some plain oatmeal because I needed it for fuel, then informed my first phase of training involved assessing my fitness level. I tried to inform him that was completely unnecessary, that I was about as fit as a Basset Hound, meaning not at all, but he wouldn't hear it. He made me change into some of the monogrammed clothes the gym offered then put me through a punishing workout. Until I threw up. Then I got a short reprieve and he set me back to it. Until I cried. Then I was pulled over to the ring and made to sit down in a corner and he crouched down in front of me.
"It'll get better, but I won't lie to you. It's going to fucking suck for a long time. But, fact of the matter is Maisy, these men are taller, wider, stronger, and well trained. You can't get taller or wider; you will never be as strong. But if you can suck it up, I can train you better than them. You'll puke, you'll cry, you'll bruise and bleed. It's the only way to get better. So I'll give you five minutes to pull yourself together after puking, crying, bruising, or bleeding. But that is all you will get. I can't afford to let you be soft. I need to harden you up if you're going to be able to go on living. Take your five minutes. I'm going to go call Faith."
Faith, as it turned out, was a friend of K's. She was tall with long dark hair, almond-shaped dark eyes, a perfectly-shaped womanly body and a 'I'll never be a fucking damsel in distress so don't you fucking dare try to save me' aura about her. She was also, apparently, a kickass Krav Maga instructor.
She was phase one of my self-defense training.
K told me that I needed to practice with someone close to my size before I moved on.
Moving on meant I got to finally see K out of dress clothes, wearing black basketball shorts and a tight black wifebeater that put his perfectly toned arms, chest, and back on display. And if I had been getting a sense of pride or self-confidence after my training with Faith, even getting her on the ground a time or two, I lost every single drop of it in the ring with K.
Then when I started to get comfortable with K, not that I ever really bested him, he brought in Gabe. Gabe was a pretty boy blond with a compact, long-legged, but deceptively strong body. When K brought him in to fight me one morning, I'd actually snorted a little like he'd lost his mind. He certainly didn't seem like he would be harder to fight than K. I would learn to stop underestimating people really quickly after that. Then, finally, I met Xander who was a private eye slash security guy slash anything that paid. He was a giant with black hair and dark eyes. I practically peed myself at the idea of fighting him.
What I learned from all the different opponents was that none were particularly better than the other, but had different fighting styles. Faith had very skilled, very practiced and precise moves from all her martial arts lessons. K had the quick feet and lightening-speed fists of the boxer he obviously was. Gabe had a tight, but smooth style that made me think of law enforcement. Xander had a quick, languid, scrappy style of a street fighter.
So in by forcing me to spar with all of them, I was prepared for just about anything.
And K had been right.
I puked. I cried. I bruised. I bled.
But I got tough.
My soft edges were sanded into sharp points.
By my fifth month, K declared I was almost ready.
Then he told me about the plan.
I was going to go prospect at The Henchmen MC compound. I was going to become a probate. I was going to do whatever it took to get patched in because my only hope for safety long-term, and not have to run every few months, was to integrate myself into a group who would stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me against my enemies. There were many groups to choose from, of course. But K trusted the morals of The Henchmen MC. They also had the added benefit of animosity toward the Russians who, in Jersey, were forever trying to steal the arms trade from them.
So then I studied the top three members: Reign, Cash, and Wolf.
I learned about biker lifestyle. I learned the rules and the taboos.
I learned how to ride a bike.
K taught me to stop being such a girl.
Then came the absolute hardest, most gut-wrenching part of my training: leaving K.
I'm not going to lie; I cried like a baby.
It was pathetic, big, ugly, snot-crying.
