17. Vogue

Coming to,I groan as my head thumps slightly indicating too much sleep. I can't catch a break right now. It's sunny out already. I've slept through the day and night it seems. It's a weird feeling, this rest thing, like I'm not quite used to it anymore. My stomach growls loud enough to be its own wake-up call, and when I climb out of bed and shuffle downstairs to the kitchen, the smell of bacon and eggs hits me like a freight train. I pile my plate high and start shovelling it in.

"Morning, Vogue," Cal says, leaning against the counter with his mug of coffee.

"Morning," I mumble between bites.

"Harry's out, family business. He said to say hi," Thayer tosses in casually as he passes behind me for the fridge.

"He'd better not have scratched my fucking car," Dad growls, looking up from his newspaper from where he is seated at the huge farmhouse table by the window.

"Right." I nod, though a flicker of concern traces my spine. I push it away. Harry can handle his own stuff. "Your car?"

"He borrowed it. I did not know he planned to be out all night with it. Do you know how much that fucking thing cost me?"

I shrug. I don't even know what car it is he has. Some fancy sports thing was parked on the driveway yesterday when we arrived, but other than that, it's not in my wheelhouse.

"All night? Is he okay?" I ask Cal.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Don't worry about it."

"Well, now I'm worried."

He shakes his head, and that's the end of that, I guess.

"Vogue," Dad says, and I look up from my plate to him again, "you're starting training with Adam today."

"Erm, what?"

"Wait," Quen says, stepping forward and throwing me a panicked glare. "Adam is ten times her size."

"He can show her how to fight. You, on the other hand, will be fighting her after he has taught her some moves."

"Oh, fun," I mutter, thinking it's anything but fun, although I'm trying not to show how the thought of going toe-to-toe with Adam or Quen, for that matter, makes my insides twist.

"What about heading to campus bright and early," Quen grits out.

"This is your assignment. Those two know their orders," Aaron says.

Quen catches my eye, and I shrug again. "Campus?"

"These boys are not slacking in their duty. They will remain at Crestmont until they graduate."

"Oh." Callum glowers at me as I try to hide my smile.

"Don't worry, we will be living here," he states loudly. "You won't miss us."

"Good," I murmur, trying not to laugh as my dad growls in the corner.

"Finish up and go and get ready," he practically snarls.

Nodding like a good girl, I wolf my food down, wondering if this is such a good idea if I'm about to get my ass kicked. But wild horses couldn't stop me from finishing the plateful.

After breakfast, back in my bedroom, I pull my hair into a tight ponytail and change into what could pass for workout gear and head back downstairs. Adam is waiting for me in the entrance hall and grimaces at me before leading the way through some corridors that reveal a gym area.

The training room is all sharp edges and cold metal, mats covering the floor and weapons lining the walls. Adam's stern expression is like a slap, telling me without words that this isn't going to be easy, or fun.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice deep and flat.

"Let's do this," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. Adam nods once.

He stands in front of me, a wall of muscle and quiet authority. He's six feet seven plus of pure intimidation with broad shoulders that seem to push the air out of the room. I watch him roll his wrists, loosen his neck with a quick jerk to the side, and then he starts moving across the mat with a grace that I find astounding for such a monumental man.

I shuffle my feet on the spot, my hands feeling clammy as I try to match his calm. Adam doesn't bother with small talk; words are like wasted breath to him. His dark eyes lock onto mine, sharp and assessing, and I swear my heart kicks up a notch.

"Watch closely," he says, the only instruction he gives before launching into action.

He moves through a series of strikes, each one delivered with surgical precision. His fists cut through the air, landing thuds on the padded targets that echo around the room. I'm caught between awe and a creeping dread. He pivots, muscles coiling and releasing with the grace of a panther.

How in the fuck am I supposed to copy that?

The intensity ramps up as he strings combinations together, a fluid dance of power and control. His legs sweep out in powerful arcs, demonstrating kicks that could knock a mountain over. Watching him, it's clear he doesn't just practice this stuff; it's etched into every fibre of his being.

"Your turn," he says, stepping back to give me space.

My throat feels dry as I step forward, trying to recall the sequences he's shown. I throw a punch, and it feels like swatting at air compared to Adam's heavy blows. But I can't let that stop me. I'm here to learn, to become as formidable as they come. This is what it takes to belong to this world—the world I was born into.

I told Dad I wanted him to train me, and he clearly believes in throwing one in at the deep end.

Well, I'll show him.

No backing down now.

To the best of my ability, I copy Adam's movements, throwing my body into each punch and kicking over and over as he shows me repeatedly. The man has the patience of a saint.

My muscles scream in protest, but I shove the pain aside. Sweat trickles down my temples, stinging my eyes. I blink it away, fixating on Adam's every motion, trying to etch them into muscle memory.

"Again," he commands, his voice low and even. There is no praise or criticism—just the expectation that I'll keep going.

I grit my teeth and launch another series of strikes. My punch connects with the heavy bag, a dull thud marking the impact. Not as solid as I want, but it's a start. My breath comes faster now, each inhale sharp and necessary.

"Keep your guard up," Adam instructs. His words are few, but they carry weight. I adjust my stance, hands raised to protect my face, imagining an opponent in front of me.

"Time for something new." Adam steps over to the rack lining the wall and selects a knife, the blade catching the light as he turns back to me. He holds it out, handle first. "You need to be comfortable with this."

My hand wraps around the grip, the metal cool and foreign against my skin. I have a momentary flashback to killing the betrayer and then Leonard, but I shove it aside. That was clumsy, lucky, even. Adam is going to show me how to do more than hope for the best.

His massive hand closes over mine as Quen slips into the gym, his eyes fixed on our joined hands, jealousy flashing in them. I try not to laugh that he thinks I can take on mountain man and not be ripped in half.

Shaking my head at Quen, I focus on Adam as he shows me the proper way to hold it, his large hand easily engulfing mine as he adjusts my fingers. "Balance is key," he says. "Don't grip too tight."

I nod, focusing on the feel of the knife in my hand. Adam steps back, watching as I practice the thrusts and parries, he demonstrates. The blade slices through the air, a whisper of danger in the quiet room. It's a dance of sorts, one where a single misstep could mean disaster.

"Stance wider," Adam corrects. "Be ready to move."

I obey, finding my centre of gravity. With each movement, I grow more attuned to the weapon, the initial awkwardness giving way to burgeoning confidence. But there's no room for pride here—not when there's so much at stake.

"Better," he says, a flicker of approval in his eyes. That's all I get, but it's enough to lift my spirits. "Again."

I shift my weight, feeling the knife's balance like it's an extension of my own arm now. The blade glints under the harsh fluorescent lights as I swing, each strike aimed with more precision than the last. There's a rhythm to it, the sound sharp and clean as it slices through each target Adam sets up. With every hit, a small sense of achievement blooms inside me.

"Good," Adam's deep voice grunts from the corner of the room. He doesn't dole out praise easily, so I soak up the word, letting it bolster my concentration.

"Time for sparring," Adam announces. He gestures Quen forward and towers over both of us, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me. "Quen will give you a better fight."

Quen cracks his knuckles, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. I can tell he's serious, but there's excitement there, too, a thrill at the fight. We square off, the air charged with anticipation. We start circling, and I grip the knife tighter, trying to anticipate his moves.

I move, trying to keep pace with Quen, who's light on his feet, his own training evident in the way he dodges and weaves.

"Focus!" Adam barks from the sidelines. His voice is enough to snap my attention back, just in time to block Quen's advance. There's a grunt of impact, the force reverberating up my arm, but I hold steady.

I counter, and Quen parries, and we're locked in this play of power and precision. Sweat trickles down my back, but I can feel it—the progress, the edge I'm starting to hone. Each swipe, each dodge, feels less like mimicry and more like instinct.

Quen's fast, faster than I expect, and his moves are sharp, calculated. I watch him, my mind racing for any gap in his defence, any slight misstep I can use to my advantage. But he's good, damn good, with a kind of fluidity that speaks of years spent honing his skills. His upper hand is clear, and it only fuels my determination to do better.

He lunges, and I sidestep, barely avoiding a sweep aimed at my legs. I pivot and throw a punch, aiming for his side, but he's already there, blocking, pushing back with a force that says he's holding back because I'm new at this.

Fucker.

Mind you, if he came at me full tilt, I'd be dead. So, there's that.

"Good," Adam grunts from somewhere behind me.

I feint left, and Quen takes the bait, shifting his weight. It's a split-second where his guard drops, just enough for me to slip through. My heart hammers as I take the chance, throwing my whole body into a strike.

But Quen recovers too quickly, and my moment of hope crashes as his fist connects with my midsection, driving the air out of my lungs. Pain explodes across my torso, bright and blinding, and the ground rushes up to meet me. I hit the mat hard, the breath whooshed out of me in a painful gasp.

"Shit! Vogue!" Quen is next to me in an instant. "I didn't mean… fuck, I'm sorry…"

For a second, everything stops—the pain is all-consuming, and frustration boils over as his voice drifts over my flattened senses. I'm on the floor, defeated, winded. But then something else kicks in. It's that same drive that got me through long nights of studying, starving, freezing, fucking strangers for money—resilience. I will not stay down. I refuse.

"Get up, Vogue," Adam's voice cuts through the haze of pain. It's not gentle or kind; it's a command, an expectation. I press my palms against the mat and push, every fibre of my being screaming in protest. But I rise, shaky and seething, ready to go again.

"Again," I rasp out, locking eyes with Quen.

He shakes his head. "No. I hurt you. That's not okay."

"I'm not a fucking pussy. I'm on my feet. Go."

We stand off for a few seconds, but he sees I'm not backing down. I know he will ease up even more now, but I need the practice, and it's either him or Adam, who I know will kill me with a single swipe of his enormous fist. Quen knows it too.

He nods, a silent acknowledgement of the odds—and the fact that I'm not out of this fight yet. Not by a long shot.

Sweat trickles down the side of my face, but I hardly notice it anymore. My muscles ache, and my breath comes in ragged gasps as I feint left and land a solid punch on Quen's midsection. He grunts, a sign I'm hitting harder than before. I throw another combination, quicker this time, and Adam's voice breaks through the pounding in my ears.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Adam nod once. His approval is rare, and it means I'm getting somewhere that this gruelling practice is starting to pay off.

"Keep your guard up," Adam commands from the edge of the mat. His arms are folded across his chest, his eyes tracking my every move with hawk-like precision. It's unnerving, but also exhilarating. I want to impress him, show him I've got what it takes.

I push myself harder, moving faster, striking with more force. My body moves with a mind of its own, mimicking the techniques Adam has drilled into me. With each hit, I can feel his scrutiny, assessing, judging. When I nail a particularly difficult combo, there's a slight nod, almost imperceptible, but it's there. That nod is like a fucking trophy, and it makes my chest swell with pride.

"Don't go easy on her. She will never learn that way," he mutters to Quen.

The session wears on, and each moment is a battle between fatigue and willpower. But I don't back down—I can't. Not when I've come this far.

"Enough." Adam's voice cuts through the sound of our exertion, and Quen immediately lowers his hands. I stagger back, panting, my fists slowly uncurling. Sweat has plastered my clothes to my skin.

"Good work," Adam says, and though his face remains an unreadable mask, there's a hint of respect in his tone that wasn't there before. The words are simple, but coming from him, they mean everything. They make all the pain and exhaustion worth it.

"Thanks," I manage between heavy breaths, pride mingling with relief.

Without another word, Adam turns and walks away, leaving me to bask in the small victory. I've earned his respect, even if it's just a sliver. That's something.

My legs finally give out, and I collapse onto the cold gym floor. The impact sends a shudder through my tired body, but lying here, sprawled out and spent, I've never felt better. Quen sits beside me, dropping to the floor with a grunt, his presence a silent show of solidarity.

"Nice job," he says, nudging me with his elbow.

"Could've been worse," I reply, trying for nonchalance but failing because of the grin pulling at my lips.

We sit there together, just breathing, letting the quiet wrap around us. Today, I've pushed past limits I didn't even know I had. I've shown them—and myself—what I'm capable of. And tomorrow, I'll do it all over again, because now I know I can.