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Good morning!
Are you awake?
Feel like punching something?
Dev’s texts had me jolting upright in the bed, and I shot him a quick affirmative as I tugged on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. I burst into Wren’s room minutes later, dragging her half-asleep from underneath the covers and pulling pants up her bare legs and a sweatshirt over her nightshirt. I’d grown used to her half-naked sleep outfits, but the feeling of my fingers on her bare legs still sent a shiver through me, one that I felt reflected in the goosebumps on Wren’s skin as I dragged her leggings over her hips.
Not that her body’s reaction to my touch kept her from complaining.
“Bex, waking someone up this early could be considered a war crime,” she whined with eyes still half-closed as I led her around her bedroom. “It’s part of the Geneva Convention, I swear.”
Her protests were cute but useless, though I didn’t bother to tell her I’d drag her out of bed if needed. I didn’t want to draw any attention to the fact that she was laying in the bed that I’d watched her come in two days before, worried she’d suddenly clam up and stop talking to me.
Her grumblings were easily quieted with the promise of a coffee and by telling her we were going to visit Alex, Ames, and Dev at the house. Within twenty minutes we were in possession of caffeine and heading out of the city. I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel to rid myself of the excited energy as I wound Wren’s car through the curving roads.
“Why are you so excited to see everyone? You usually don’t enjoy so many family get-togethers back to back.”
I hummed in agreement, thinking back to all the family dinners I’d skipped out on and bonding opportunities I’d missed on purpose, either by sneaking away early or hiding in a corner, trying to blend into the shadows with Chaos as he rubbed against my legs. I glanced over at Wren, looking at the reason behind most of those antisocial behaviors, thinking of my conversation with Ames yesterday and the decision I’d made since.
“Dev and I are going to spar,” I told her after a moment. “It’s been a while, probably since before the ‘Cillian job.’” I took my hands off the wheel for a moment to make air quotes around the phrase, something Wren had taken to doing when talking about it. She liked to joke that the vagueness surrounding the Cillian job was just a way to keep her and Ames impressed with our air of mystery. Even though she was wrong, I made the air quotes just to watch the smile spread across her face.
She must’ve still been half-asleep, talking to me so casually after what went down in her bedroom two days ago. She’d been avoiding me like the plague since, only talking to me when we had been stuck in the car together yesterday as I drove to my meeting with Alex and Dev.
“Yeah, I haven’t seen him enough since he started the ‘Cillian job,’” she said, doing her own air quotes this time. “Except for our shooting lessons, he’s been MIA. I felt bad ending our lesson early the other day, but…” Wren stopped talking abruptly, as if the events afterward had finally caught up to her sleep-deprived brain.
She didn’t finish her sentence, and I didn’t bother to say anything else as we pulled up to Alex and Ames’s house. Wren still wasn’t blushing, but her eyes were downcast, lips shy as she waited for the car to come to a stop. As soon as I put the car in park, she was out, speed walking through the front door without a look backwards, setting me off-balance with her quick departure, her unwillingness to even reference what happened.
I strode into the house on her heels, a part of me feeling a sick sense of satisfaction as her feet moved faster to avoid me. Even if she ignored me, refused to speak with me about what happened, I could still force her hand, make her walk faster, make her feel me at her back.
But my power over her wasn’t as fun if I hadn’t won it, hadn’t worn her down kicking and screaming while we played our games. So I didn’t bother trying to stop her, instead turning down the short hallway that led to the garage and the basement. I could already hear music pumping underneath my feet, and I stomped down the stairs to get to what I’d been promised: the chance to punch something.
The basement was my favorite part of the house, the place I escaped to when Wren’s laugh grated on my nerves and Ames shot me disapproving looks as I avoided her best friend. Alex told me weeks ago that it was the first part of the house he remodeled, finishing the dark basement and turning it into a private gym for him and Dev to use.
The back wall was lined with mirrors so you could check your form while you worked out, and the left side of the basement held various machines and weights. I knew Ames and Dev occasionally worked out together on the machines, usually resulting in complaints from my sister while Dev laughed at her grumbling. Alex worked out down here too, quietly typing away on his phone or another electronic device while he did cardio or half-smiling at Dev and Ames’s antics while lifting weights. The men were fit underneath their clothes, I knew, both from Ames’s descriptions and from seeing them working out in the gym.
It made sense, in our line of work, to keep yourself in shape. I’d been lucky to have already been decently fit when I came onto the team, but I’d upped my routine since, disliking the idea of being the weak link. It’d become a sort of release, a way to get out the excess energy and tension from everything going on. Wren, our job, the memories of the trial. The weights and treadmill were helpful in those moments when it got to be too much, as were the occasional long walk or hike with Ames.
But the best thing was sparring, taking my energy out on another person, having to use all my focus to move my body in a mock fight rather than being stuck with my thoughts on a machine. Half of the basement was dedicated to sparring, primarily due to Dev’s obsession with various martial arts techniques and hand-to-hand combat. It was something we’d bonded over when we first met, my experience with MMA thanks to an ex.
Dev didn’t often have sparring partners, as Alex preferred to keep his work limited to computers. So I’d easily slipped into the position, the two of us usually finding time to meet multiple days a week. We both enjoyed the intensity, the use of all your muscles at once, the combination of grace and violence that went into the movements. But today wasn’t about appreciation of an art. I needed the release of energy, especially after our meeting the morning before, the implication that others could continue to come after us. To come after Ames and Wren.
Dev must’ve felt the same way; he hadn’t had time to spar in almost two weeks since the start of the Cillian job. His face confirmed it, the slightly feral look in his eyes unusual for him, but unsurprising considering the threat against our little family.
It was the side of Dev that he didn’t often let others see. The side that made him the co-owner of one of the most dangerous ‘cybersecurity’ companies in the area, working and making deals with devils. The side that was so different than when it was just us, our small group of five, when Dev was kind, gentle, sarcastic. When he wasn’t easily ruffled, hard to upset. I had originally thought he was putting on an act, appearing nice and easygoing to make you drop your guard, make it easier to rip you apart later.
But it wasn’t that simple. Nothing ever was. Only in fairytales were there heroes and monsters, the black and white morals palatable. In real life, things were gray, and so were people. My sister could make beautiful art while falling for her stalker. Alex could break laws for his work and still touch Ames as if she were made of glass. Wren could dress like a doll while being best friends with criminals. Dev could act like a golden retriever and still threaten to beat a man to death with a smile on his face.
That was the face he wore now, dangerous and threatening, showing the edge of control he was riding on. It wasn’t just Wren, that I could tell just from looking at the tension around his eyes and mouth, but I didn’t ask. If Dev wanted me to know, he would tell me, so I kept my mouth shut as I walked to the edge of the mats.
We didn’t speak, just got into position across each other on the mat while an emo band screamed over the speakers. I recognized the song from me and my sister’s favorite band,The Living Dead, which Ames and Wren had turned Dev onto - mostly by playing it nonstop at the house and in his car until he gave in. The loud, chaotic beat matched the thoughts in my head, soothing some of the violence surging through my veins. But it wasn’t enough.
I could tell we both needed this, from the look in Dev’s eyes to the flex of his fingers by his sides. I rolled onto the balls of my feet, bouncing a bit to warm up. Without speaking, we took the ending of the song as the signal to begin, circling each other at first, sizing each other up as we rounded the mats. We’d done this enough earlier in the summer to know how the other moved, which meant we had to be less obvious with our attacks. I struck first, just a short jab to send him off balance, but Dev countered it easily, pushing my fist away with his palm. He smiled, his grin savage, and then the fight truly started.
We went at each other in a flurry of fists and kicks, only pulling our hits at the last moment to prevent any lasting damage. Still, the weakened hits stung, leaving what I knew would be bruises the next day. They felt good, the pain distracting me from the thoughts circling the back of my brain. My foot caught Dev in the thigh, his fist drove into my side. Anything was fair game in our fights. This wasn’t a standard competition held in a ring, but rather a fight to hone our skills, prepare us for anything we might encounter as a result of our jobs, which made it all the more serious.
We were well matched, though I knew if Dev put his full effort in he could destroy me with ease. He was taller and stronger, giving him a longer reach and more power behind his punches, but I had a lower center of gravity, helping to keep me on my feet when Dev dove at me and tried to drive me off-balance. He had better footwork, but I was willing to play dirty, tugging at his clothes and hair when he got me to the ground.
Dev laughed at my desperate scrambling as I attempted to buck him off, pinning my wrists by my head until I tapped out. He rolled off of me with a grunt, both of us breathing heavily, sweat dripping down our faces. I turned my neck to watch him relax onto the mat, his smile looking less feral now that we’d worked out the tension that had been grabbing us both by the throat over the last twenty-four hours.
