Tyrant

(𝟹4) 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝙿𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛

Making my way to the Defense Practice room with my Overseer silently striding by my side feels like a late-night crime. With the empty hallways, the only sound is the soft thudding of shoes upon wood.

As Darcio holds the door open for me, I remind myself that Raeyan had given us permission to train in the Target Practice room. Gun training requires The Top's approval. For some reason.

"What a gentleman." I comment, crossing the threshold into the room with the seven doors. He follows after me, and we both make for door five. 

"Only for you." His low voice echoes around the vertical room, the words gradually fading into the wooden walls. 

Per the usual, my heart inflates at his charming words. I glance to the two pistols strapped to his hips, their blackness darker than night, smoother than ink.

My nose flares at the familiar scent of the training room—rubber and rust and sweat. An indication that this room is used by many, and often. My eyes snag onto the large punching bags I had beaten over and over, until my muscles became steady enough, my tactics professional enough. 

Darcio's presence is a wall of heat and strength by my side. "Been a damn while since we were in here together." 

I scan the room, remembering the way Darcio had taught me everything he knows about self-defense, remembering the first time I had laid eyes upon Darcio's sister. From one look, I had known Delmira was her own boss. Her own trainer. Similar to her brother who had claimed my heart. 

A small part of me wonders how Delmira is doing out there in Blackridge, after all these months. Her and River, who seemed like a good guy. 

"It has." I at last reply. The same place, months later. And though Darcio and I look the same, although the Defense Practice room looks the same, so much has changed. 

Darcio, his considerate face set, places a hand on my lower back. "Let's go."

I eye the wooden door directly across the room, on the furthermost wall from the entrance. "Do you think anyone will be in there?"

We both walk across the rubber-scented room, Darcio pulling a set of silver keys out of his pocket. They glimmer like the cousins to his rings. "No. It's late." His eyes cut to me like a wolf. "Do you want anyone to be in there?"

"I want it to just be us." 

Darcio's dangerous grin has me correcting him immediately. "Not for the reason you're thinking. Only because I want to concentrate. No distractions."

With an unconvinced look that has my heart thrumming in exasperation, Darcio inserts one of the keys into the door—and pushes it open. My very insides hum in flitting excitement at the sight of the room beyond, well-lit with fluorescent light

A shooting range, as expected. And a very large one.

Which is incredible and a bit suspicious, I consider, as my Overseer closes the door softly behind us, tucking those keys back into his pants. If this Base had been a set of rental homes and dorms owned by a wealthy man, why is there a shooting range? 

"The Defense Practice room used to be a gym." Darcio speaks, reading the unspoken question in my eyes. "And this room," He gestures to the elongated space ahead of us, the short barriers that are about waist-high, "Had been a yoga room." His eyes cut to me, respect specking them. "Yoga isn't really suited for war. So Raeyan turned it into a shooting range."

I glance to the multiple targets hanging from the ceiling past the short barrier, flicking my gaze from one rubber sheet to the next—some have silhouetted men printed on them, others have circles within circles. "She assembled all of this? By herself?" I don't miss the long, low wooden drawers on either side of the room—storage area, by the looks of it.