Scars (The Triad 1)

“Compared to what I’m about to put you through,” Elliot said as he opened the door to a very impressive in-home gym, “you are out of shape.”

I stepped inside and looked around. One wall was made entirely of mirrors with free weights lined up along one side. There were a couple of ellipticals and treadmills, a rowing machine, and a squat rack. Elliot stepped onto the mats in the middle of the room and beckoned me over. Tristan dropped my hand and gave my ass a smack.

“Knock him dead, kid. I’ve got some business to attend to. I’ll come back and get you.”

“When?” I asked, glancing over at the clock on the wall.

“Aw,” Elliot cooed from across the room. “I think she’s afraid to be alone with me, T.”

“Never,” I said before reaching up and smacking Tristan with a bruising kiss, forcing his mouth to open to mine. He leaned into it, and I took his lip between my teeth and bit hard before breaking it and looking back at Elliot. “I just wanted to know when Tristan would be back, is all.” If he had been a cartoon, smoke would’ve been blowing out of his ears.

“Okay then,” Tristan said with a clap of his hands. I looked over my shoulder and smiled at him. “Have fun, you two.” With that, the door clicked shut behind him, and Elliot pointed to the mat.

“Get over here and stretch.”

I gave him a smirk but did as he said. He went over to the stereo system on the wall and “Coming Undone” by Korn began to blare through the speakers. Elliot watched me as I stretched for the next few minutes, and I felt my body heat under his gaze. The guy was going to have to stop looking at me like that, or there was going to be more than just training done on this mat.

“Alright then, spitfire. Let’s see what you’ve got. I’ll take it easy on you.”

“How noble of you.”

* * *

He did not take it easy on me. My bruises got bruises. Every inch of my body had taken a beating. I was kicked, punched, slapped, and tripped eight million different times in the span of two hours. When Tristan made his way back around noon, I collapsed onto the floor in the most dramatic fashion I could muster.

“Okay,” I said in between breaths. “Maybe, just maybe, I am a bit out of shape.”

“You think?” Elliot asked at the same time that Tristan laughed and helped me up.

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up, and I’ll make us some lunch before our resident sniper takes you outside for target practice.”

I nodded and limped off to the bedroom. A shower had never felt so good. After I was clean, I inspected my bruises that had popped up over my ribs, hip, thighs, and even the vague outline of a hand across my neck. I was covered in brushstrokes of purple and yellow.

I changed into some jeans and a T-shirt before making my way back down to the kitchen. All three boys were scattered around the kitchen. Tristan was cooking, Sebastian was reclined at the table, and Elliot stood at the island, typing away on his laptop. Sebastian patted his legs, and I took up residence on his lap.

“How was training, pet?”

“I think she almost died,” Tristan said from the stove. “When I went back to get her, she very dramatically fell to the floor in a heap.”

“Big guy over there put me through the wringer with no regard to how tired and sore I already was.”

Sebastian tightened his grip around my waist. “Want me to kick him in the dick for you?” he murmured in my ear just loud enough Elliot could hear. Elliot scoffed, but I could tell by the tone of Seb’s voice he would actually do it if I wanted him to. I smiled and leaned back into his chest, very content with knowing I had at least one person on my side. I looked over at Tristan, and he was smirking to himself while he flipped the sandwich in the skillet. Well, maybe I had two.

“No, babe. If anyone is going to take him down, it’ll be me.”

After we ate, me sitting in Sebastian’s lap the entire time because he refused to let me go, we made our way outside to the shooting range they had set up in the back gardens. Tristan stayed with me this time, but Elliot had mumbled about having work to do and stomped off with his laptop under his arm.

“Don’t take him too seriously,” Sebastian said as we made our way outside. “He’s gone through some real shit in his life, and it makes him a lot less trusting than me and Tristan. Give him time. You’re one of us now,” he said, sliding his arm across my shoulders. “You wouldn’t even dream of betraying us, would you?” There was something laced around the edges of his tone that normally wasn’t there, and it sent a shiver down my spine. It reminded me that Sebastian might act like the Pillsbury Doughboy, but he was actually a gangster and a murderer. And I’d do well to remember that.

I smiled up at him and shook my head. “Never, my sweet cinnamon roll boy.”

Tristan let out a loud laugh and caught an angry glare from Seb. “Cinnamon roll boy,” Tristan said, cracking another smile. “Best fucking thing I’ve ever heard someone call you, Seb. Best fucking thing.”

“Only our girl can call me that. Don’t get any ideas, T.” Tristan just shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned.

Sebastian was loaded down with guns, and I slipped my hand over the shotgun and took it off his arm and slinked out of his grasp.

“I’m starting with this one. I love how these bullets explode. Much less chance of survival.” I looked at it appreciatively, and then Tristan slid his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.

“Yeah, I think you’re going to fit in just fine.”