Page 42 of Corrado

“What do you need?” Cree asked before Alessio had even spoke behind him.

He sighed. “I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Know where I am.”

“Yes, it’s a terrible thing that I concern myself with your whereabouts so that I can make sure you’re not finding some trouble when I’m not looking.”

Just like Dare.

Alessio decided he wasn’t falling down this rabbit hole again today. He’d done that already with Dare, and he wasn’t doing it with Cree. It would end worse than the first time, that was a fucking guarantee. Cree was even less likely to take his shit.

“So, what do you want?” Cree asked.

Alessio’s gaze cut to the mat when a smack echoed. The stick of bamboo Oliver was using as a stand-in for a weapon—it still hurt like a motherfucker, but it was safer—cracked against the back of Corrado’s legs, and sent him sprawling to the mat with a hissed shit falling from his cringing lips.

He flinched, too.

That one hurt.

On the other side of the mat, watching from a safe distance because it probably wasn’t his turn yet, Chris clicked his tongue, and looked like he was ready to back away altogether. That was the thing about The League.

No one said the training was stupid.

The same shit they used to break them with were the same tools they used to train them later. No doubt, the twins had more than enough of bamboo sticks being used to leave bruises on their body after the rooms downstairs. So, that meant they were either going to learn fast how to avoid those fucking strikes, or they were going to get knocked down time and time again.

It was a mind fuck, really.

“Les,” Cree said again.

Yeah, yeah.

The whole reason he was here, right.

He kept one gaze on Corrado who pushed up from the mat with a snarl under his breath to face Oliver once again. Only this time, Oliver was smirking a little too much for Alessio’s liking. It was one thing to be trained, but it was quite another when someone took it a little too far, and began taunting you at the same time when you failed.

“Dare,” Alessio said, “you need to talk to him.”

Cree raised a single black eyebrow, but didn’t look away from the mats. “Why would I need to do that?”

“I want an assignment.”

“And he won’t give you one?”

“Exactly that.”

Thud.

Alessio turned in just enough time to see Corrado crash to the mat, only this time, on his back. His arms flew out wide, and his eyes squeezed shut as the air rushed from his lips with a heavy whoosh. Oliver’s laughter echoed in the gym as he pointed the stick of bamboo in Corrado’s direction on the mat, his sneer wicked and amused.

“Come on, now, get up,” Oliver said, his hand tightening further around the middle of the stick as he rounded the mats to come slightly closer to Corrado’s prone form. “I heard you kept doing that in the dark room, yeah? You kept getting up, didn’t you? Even when you were supposed to stay the fuck down, so don’t disappoint me now, shithead. Get up.”

Alessio scowled, ready to tell Oliver where he could shove his fucking taunts. After all, Corrado wasn’t the only one who spent time in those rooms downstairs, and Alessio had been in the complex two years ago when Oliver was trained, too.

He remembered how the man begged.

How he cried.