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I roll my eyes in response to his crude gesture. “Ugh. You’re such an asshole.”
I push up to get off him, but Maxen, my current sparring partner, throws me to the side and rolls over, pinning me beneath him. Spatch lets out an ear-shattering whistle in response before yelling, “I said that’s enough!”
Maxen takes his time climbing off and stands to tower over me. The visual sparks some unexpected dirty thoughts of my own. Stop eye-fucking Maxen, Sadie. He just played you for a fool in front of the whole damned company. The internal order goes ignored.
Built like all the other men here, Maxen should be just another face in the crowd. The unwelcome heat in my middle says he, indeed, is not. Regrettably. Maxen is a distraction that I don’t need.
When I’m looking to get laid, all I need is a body that can keep up with mine. Preferably one that doesn’t work for Knot Corp.
Inside these walls, all I want to know about a man is how well he’s trained. And with Maxen joining Knot’s PMCs from Delta Force, he should be our most well-trained fighter. Unfortunately, Maxen has these eyes that draw me in. They’re his one feature that has always had my full attention when we’re in the same room.
His smooth, dark blue, almost navy irises with silver specks look like galaxies in a night sky. They’re rather captivating. And though I hate to admit it, I could stare at those beautiful eyes for hours.
Not to say the rest of him is subpar. The man is classically handsome with a dangerous edge. His dark hair is close-cropped on the sides but slightly longer on the top. Typical for men in this trade. Dark stubble lines his jaw more often than not, also typical. Maxen’s diversion from the norm is a pale strip of bare skin running through the left side of his beard scruff. A scar from his days in black ops.
Approaching steps pull my gaze away from Maxen, leaving me to realize that it’s been a long moment since Spatch blew his whistle.
The impatient trainer walks over to the pair of us, looking pissed. “Either of you want to tell me just what the hell that was? It sure as fuck wasn’t two elite paramilitary operatives sparring as though their lives depended on the level of their training. I’ve seen better moves from my dog humping a couch cushion.”
I hold Spatch’s glare, even as my cheeks heat in embarrassment. Maxen and I had been in pretty intimate positions no less than two times during that match. And all with an audience.
Outright losing to Maxen would have been better than our poor display of discipline in fighting, and Spatch is right to call us out, even if I hate hearing it.
That’s the thing about Austin “Spatch” Madden. He doesn’t care about position or seniority. He does his job without prejudice, sympathy, or preference. His intense training ensures our people have the best chance of coming back alive from our missions. On his training floor, he won’t hesitate to give anyone hell about their form, from the newest rookie all the way up to Dillan Knot himself.
And dishing out his particular brand of hell is exactly what he’s doing right now, tearing strips off Maxen and me for what he sees as a lackluster sparring match. “If you two can’t do any better than that, I don’t ever want you sparring one another again,” he barks.
I slide a glance over to Maxen, who’s grinning salaciously. I’m sure that isn’t helping, dickface.
“Lawson, Hosfeld, get your asses over here.”
The two men jog over as Dillan Knot, CEO of Knot Corp, walks into the training gym. Spatch acknowledges the owner but doesn’t ask what he wants. Knot wouldn’t expect him to, either. Because on the training floor, Spatch is god, CEO, and general. No one escapes from here until he’s done with you. By then, a spatula will be needed to peel you off the floor, thus the nickname Spatch.
Spatch turns away from Knot to glower at Maxen and me for a moment longer before turning his attention to Brock and Aaron. “Lawson, I know for a fact that you won’t pussyfoot around a fight with Phelps. Tomorrow morning, I want you to kick her ass.”
Brock “Stick” Lawson levels a mischievous smile my way and follows it up with a wink. “With pleasure, sir.”
I roll my eyes at Brock’s enthusiasm, still burning in embarrassment over my brain misfire that led to a shitty performance on the mat.
A former member of my team, Brock has been a private military contractor for the Knot Corporation for five years. Before becoming a PMC, he’d served in the Air Force as a rescue squadron chopper pilot and did similar work as an NYPD SWAT cop.
His quick smile, bright eyes, and blond hair make him seem younger than he is, young enough that some people treat him like a kid. Like most men here, his looks and physique ensure he’s never short on female attention.
A couple of years younger than me, Brock’s always been like a brother, and yes, he would have no problem attempting to kick my ass.
“Hosfeld,” Spatch continues, “you get Gates.”
Aaron flexes his neck and glares at Maxen. He’s always been the no-nonsense, serious type, and right now, if looks could kill, Maxen would be dead.
Spatch ignores the pissing match going on and says, “A Knot PMC match should end only one way, exhausted operatives with no clear winner.”
The rest of his usual spiel goes unsaid, though we know it by heart. Any loss here means someone isn’t training enough. The only loss in a fight with a Knot operative should be had by an enemy combatant.
Sensing Spatch is finished with his sermon, Knot pushes off the wall he had been leaning against and approaches the group. “I want to meet with the team heads. The rest of you, find somewhere else to be.”
Spatch and the others clear the training floor toward the showers or outside while Aaron, Maxen, Bastien, Brock, Chelsea, and I hang back to meet with the boss. Knot Corp has five more teams than the number represented here. Each is currently deployed as a security support force in the Middle East.
All eyes are on the six-foot-five black man with a shaved head and a thousand-dollar suit. He’s been on the hill early today. Despite his CEO appearance, we all know who the guy is: a former SEAL who’s kicked more asses than we’ve even fought against.
