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“Would it make you feel better? You always were easier to talk to after I let you hit me a couple of times.”
I scoffed. It was near impossible to hit Hudson. He was too good. Even in his old age. If I was in a better mood after our sparring sessions, it was only because I was shocked that I’d gotten a few punches in. “Fine.”
I watched as he curled his fists. The old man’s hands were large, callous and rough, fingers stiff and sticking out at odd angles, knuckles like a boxer’s.
He struck first. He always struck first. His curled fist landed on my stomach, knocking the air out of me. “You’re always so eager to hit me,” I coughed out. “One of these days, I’ll be ready for it.”
His fist struck my jaw, but I blocked another punch to my throat with my arm. He continued on a series of quick punches, and I blocked them. Our sparring matches were always a game of cat and mouse until I figured out a way to draw blood. One thing I liked about Hudson was that he never held back. He didn’t treat me like the weaker sex. I once asked him why he was so brutal with me, and he’d said something that still stuck with me. “Your enemies won’t be, so why should I?”
“If I don’t hit first, then I get hit,” he chuckled, jumping back and giving me a moment to recover. “My face is too pretty for bruises.”
“You’re an ugly bastard and you know it,” I scoffed, forcing myself not to smile. I had a unique relationship with the old man, one built on a foundation of insults and pain.
I surged forward and kicked him in the ribs. The asshole didn’t even flinch. “Kick like you mean it, kid.”
“I don’t want to knock you out of commission, old man,” I replied with a laugh before punching him in the jaw.
Pain bloomed on my bruised knuckles, and it felt like home.
He grunted more words. “You’re strong, stronger than you were when you left.” I hadn’t been practicing as much, but I was fueled by my resentment of the Crown and all this pent up frustration. “I know why you’re angry,” he said, while dodging another hit.
“Oh, yeah?”
“You’re angry because Atticus isn’t treating you like the capable woman you are.”
Hudson had never called me capable. He preferred to train me with insults, breaking me down so he could build me back up with grit and blood. His words caught me off guard, and he took the opportunity to punch me in the stomach again.
I sputtered and choked down the burning pain. “We’re not here to talk about Atticus. We’re here to fight.”
My knuckles turned red, and fleshy purple swells appeared with specks of blood.
“Fine then,” he said, his fist striking my jaw once more. It was getting harder for me to block him. “Let’s fight.”
He landed a hit to my ribs.
“You aren’t getting any good hits,” I said, my voice strained. He was still in good shape, and it took more out of me to block his punches than it did to punch him.
“You’re a terrible liar,” he said, right before he punched me in the mouth, causing a slight trickle of blood to run down my chin.
The old man had trained me in every way possible. I’d worked hard, learning hand-to-hand combat, weapon training, and the art of stealth. He’d taught me everything from how to slit a throat from behind to how to seduce a man to get him to do whatever I want. At first I hated it. I hated every minute of it. It felt like a betrayal of who I used to be. But then I learned to love the power.
We battled for hours. The room filled with sounds of crunching fists smashing into flesh and bone. The pain was a symphony of cracking and bending. I was out of breath and pissed off. The DuPont guards watched with their mouths hanging open in surprise, some of them hissing in secondhand pain when Hudson landed a kidney punch.
None of them stopped us, though. Probably because the bastards were too scared to intervene. They had taken away my knives and my favorite handgun, so I was forced to use my fists and my feet. The men were smart. They knew what they had a hold of. A human weapon. One that didn’t need bullets, only knives and anger.
Hudson and I didn’t talk. We only fought. The more I was hit, the better I felt. I had a quick temper, and I needed to release it.
Once, my anger was terrifying. It was a fearsome animal, perched on my chest, clawing its talons into my ribs in a blinding, hot panic. Now, I welcomed my fury. I used it to my advantage. Hudson taught me how to tame the beast and make it work for me.
Our sparring session went on for a while.
I got in a few punches.
Hudson hit me in the face, in the stomach, and in the ribs.
My face and torso were covered in bruises.
He was bruised and bleeding as well.
