𝗧𝗼𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄'𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 | an apocalyptic novel ©

Chapter 37

Like Father, Like Son

2031

Aidan

"Come on, land a fucking hit," my training partner challenges me while he sneaks around me, looking for a place on me where I don't keep my guard upright.

"If you give me the chance!" I groan, frustrated. It's the next day, and of course, I spend it training again. The first session was already gnawing on every last nerve I had, but now the second session is beating them tender.

My fist jolts forward and lands in air.

The recruit signs for time-out. "You're not landing it right. Use your shoulder or you lose momentum and possibly strain a muscle."

I drop my bandaged hands limp by my side and follow his demonstrative movements.

"Come on, try it."

I sigh. Although my knuckles are wrapped in kickboxing bandages, they feel sore from all the flexing and punching.

Getting back into stance, I put up my guard and study my training partner. He is good at what he does, stronger than I am, possibly longer in the industry than I am.

We are unknown to each other, just assigned to train - which makes landing my hits way easier than having to think about my morals and friendship status if I had to beat up my friends.

For Jason, though, I'd make an exception.

"Now, land it."

I react fast and throw my punch, this time from my shoulder, how my partner demonstrated just now. The motion feels oddly normal.

It lands and sends him swaying. "Nice, now again!"

I throw another punch.

Training was grueling.

My training partner allowed a few good hits on my nose, although he taught me a new boxing strategy.

And he was strong with them, too.

To say the least, my nose is bleeding. If I know one thing now, it's to keep my guard up in my face.

"Who-hooo! Ten for the win!" Jason cheers when he busts into the barrack, seeing me sitting on my bunk bed, holding the shirt I wore for training against my nose.

Clearly he didn't lose.

Houston isn't with him, probably either with Sina or back in the kennel. I'd be happier about the latter, anywhere but with him.

He stops short, dropping his arms from pumping his fists into the air, and frowns. "What the fuck happened to you, man?"

I shrug. "What's it look like?"

Our eyes lock from across the room.

Something about him is constantly waking a part in me that wants to slam him against a wall and strangle the life out of him.

And this time I can't say I am surprised about my wild thoughts.

I sense a deeply buried hatred towards me boiling in him which causes mine to flare up too.

"Your nose is crooked," he finally says.

Is it? Reaching up to touch it, I suppress a wince.

I know my training partner landed hits on my nose, I didn't know he'd break it.

Jason's eyes follow my movements when I interlock my fingers around my nose and forcefully jerk them in one direction. Something I learned back at home. The hard way.