for wear. Still, he raises his clenched fists, nostrils flaring, and charges. Throwing his massive body weight into his punch and fully intent on knocking Jaxson on his ass.
Jaxson shifts lightly on his feet then ducks, dodging his attacker. He says something to Broken-Nose and the man’s face turns from pink to bright red.
I roll my eyes.
“Lucky we’ve time to warm up. Things are going to get uglier when the weapons arrive,” the tall, thin man next to me says in a nervous, high-pitched voice. “I’d tell you what my choice is but I’ll then have to . . . kill you.” He chuckles as I stare at him wide-eyed. “Just joking about the killing part.”
“What weapons?”
“Declan didn’t tell you?”
“Who the heck is Declan?” I ask, though my brain is still caught on what he means by weapons.
“The big blond with the stone-cold attitude. Hayden’s right-hand man. Didn’t he tell you to select one weapon for today’s training? You write your request on a scrap of paper over by the refreshment table and stick it in the big blue box. It’s over there.” He points to the wall near the weight equipment.
Jesus. “Weapons like guns?”
“No guns. Physical combat weapons only. Nunchucks, brass-knuckle rings, knives.”
I feel the blood drain from my face.
“Hurry before they take the box away.”
I step forward, then stop. “What’s your name?”
“Francis.”
“Thanks. I owe you one.”
He shifts on his feet and his body does this weird wiggle that starts at his ankles and rolls up his spin to his head. Like he’s doing a more subtle version of the Worm but instead of being on his stomach, he’s on his feet. Talk about nervous ticks. We’re both out of our element at the Ranch—yeah, it hasn’t escaped my notice that I’m the lone woman here. I wonder what special talent Francis has that’d make Hayden sit up and take notice.
I brush aside thoughts about Francis and everything else. Hurrying toward the table containing lines of bottled water and a big blue weapon-request box, my attention turns toward what I’ll write.
The entire week leading up until today, I practiced handling the Ruger I’d been given out in a clearing within an abandoned wheat field. Until I was able to hit the targets I’d hung up. Cardboard cutouts of frowning faces with the word Prick scribbled across their foreheads. Hey, nothing better than a little incentive and the prospect of a reward at the end of it. It helped turn an amateur shooter into an okay shot. Still, am I prepared to kill someone, even a Prick? Will I ever be prepared? Will I ever be in a situation where I’d do such a thing?
Suddenly, I’m doubting my decision to return. Nunchucks, brass knuckles, knives. The only knives I’ve ever used were to cut steak with or butter a bun. Yeah, my odds of not getting hurt are worse than holding a winning lottery ticket. I gaze around the gym, roughly counting the men assembled. Twenty-five?
My throat feels dry.
Money or no money, getting my revenge or not, coming to Hell Camp was a stupid idea.
With shaky hands, I pop open a bottle of water and take a sip.
Aside from Francis, I’m dealing with cavemen here. Every single man is built—or just big all around. “Ex-military, street thugs, convicts . . . only the best,” Hayden had said. No way in hell will I survive a fight with any of these professionals if weapons are involved. Maybe I should fight like a woman and throw them off their game. Does a tiny white string bikini qualify as physical weaponry? Dumb thinking. Any one of them would likely cop a feel with one hand and slit my throat with the other. I take another sip of water and think, What am I good at?
I swallow hard, then my eyebrows arch. That’s it. I quickly scribble down my sudden yet brilliant idea and, folding the paper, slide it into the blue box.
Time to start assessing the competition. Moving away from the table, I work my way back into the crowd.
I naturally find myself searching out the man responsible for dragging me before Hayden, and—aided by some screwy decision-making on my part—into this mess.
Instead I catch Declan’s attention. I offer a friendly smile—why make an enemy of the fiercest man here?
His brows immediately furrow and I swear to God, he bares his teeth to me.
Okay. Wrong man to faux-friend.
I hastily turn away, only to come face-to-face with the man I’d nailed in the balls.