Saving Bennett Reid (Book 3)

Looking Out For Me

(Bennett)

My morning began early as usual. Ever since I was a child, at nine years old and training to become a pack warrior, my body had naturally trained itself to rise at four-thirty each morning. Only now, my morning training wasn't to stay at the top of my game as the elite of the elite warriors.

A morning jog followed by a regular training session to hone my skills were part of that schedule I kept the last four months.

It was now five-thirty and I was in the training gym Black Rock had built. It was nowhere as impressive as Marcana's, but it housed all essential equipment.

My training had become more rigorous than what the usual elites endured as it wasn't just about being the best anymore. It had all been about disciplining my mind, body, and emotions.

One of my frequent visitors at the rehab center had been my grandfather Kosta. An alpha by blood, a fifth-in-command by choice, and under his intense training regimen, he alone produced some of the best warriors Black Rock had ever seen.

Anyone trained by him had never been defeated, hence qualifying his students to train others. I was grateful to have been trained by him.

Against my best efforts, a memory assailed me from the time when I was nine. It was my first day in training, and all the kids of nine and ten years old had been gathered in the large studio building.

It was too large a class, so the instructors had split the class in two. We shared a room, but we had different teachers.

Unfortunately, I wasn't with the group I envisioned.

My father had been my instructor that day, while my twin brother, best friend, and the beta's son, Chester, were in the group trained by my uncle Beckett, grandfather Kosta, and beta Reuben.

It had been a humiliating day. Grandfather Kosta had a much laid back resolve when it came to training children. As we got older, he became harsher with his teachings because we were no longer little boys and girls. Disciplining our emotions meant standing firm when one screamed at you.

But not at nine and ten years old. We were expected to know the basics of self defense and offense. Grandfather Kosta could be incredibly soft hearted when he wanted, a complete opposite of his cold, rugged, warrior-like exterior.

That day, I was paired up to spar with Alistair Wilkins. He was two years older than most of us and had received training from Beta Reuben and my father. According to my father, Alistair was his best student.

He was also someone I hated with a passion. One of my many bullies who took great pleasure in abusing and provoking Bentley and me. Only, where most kids went straight to physical abuse, Alistair had yet to physically assault us. But his punches would have been preferable to his venomous insults.

"Bennett!" my father's angry voice suddenly boomed throughout the training studio. His sharp voice brought everyone to a standstill and drew their curious attention toward him, and then me. I was sprawled on the floor mat, with Alistair towering over me.

We had been practicing basic blocks and offense, but because Alistair was both taller and stronger, I had yet to flip him onto his back.

I guess daddy dearest had noticed my incompetence. I knew he would, though, since I had felt his burning glare on me the entire class.

"Get up, Bennett!" Alistair whispered in a rush, his frantic eyes dashing from my sprawled frame then to my angered father storming toward us. My heart was in my throat, my mind racing as my father approached. Alistair quickly shot a hand out to me, offering his help, but before I could accept it, I was hauled off the floor and roughly stood.