Sinners 01 - Branded (34 page)

A few days later, Keegan stomps into my room. “Get up!” He yanks off my blanket and
tosses it to the floor. “We’re running out of time. If you want to fight, like you
said you did, then get your ass out of bed and to the training center.” He throws
my clothes at me with a look of annoyance.

I sit up slowly and inspect the shirt. The last time I wore it my heart was torn to
pieces. I catch a faint whiff of Cole’s cologne and swallow hard to keep from crumbling.
Ugh.
I look up in time to catch my boots in midair.

“We don’t have time for you to lick your wounds.” He stands over me, a dark shadowy
figure.

“I’m not licking my wounds. Let’s go.”

“He’s no good for you and you’re going to lose him one way or another. I’m not making
this up. Your relationship will never end well.”

“Shut up. Teach me to fight.” I cut him off.

“Now
that
I can do. Let’s go.” A real smile seems to appear at the corner of his mouth.

I’ve lost everything. I’m done losing people without fighting back.

“Lexi, I know how you feel… I’ve lost a lot too. It might not seem like it, but I
miss Dad.” Keegan puts a hand on my shoulder.

A tear trickles down, but I wipe it away. My father loved me deeply. He never yelled
but always treated me with dignity and quiet respect. I never went to bed without
a hug and kiss from him. Every night the last thing he would tell me was, “Remember,
you can overcome anything short of death. I love you.”

“I lost you, I never wanted to leave you, but it was a choice I had to make. Can’t
you see that? Sometimes we all have to make sacrifices.”

I wipe my tear away and shrug off his arm. “I don’t hate you for leaving… I understand
now why you left. But as for sacrifices, I’ve made enough.”

He looks into my face. “What can I do to make it up to you? Besides the obvious.”

I take a deep, painful breath. “Get me the hell out of here.”

He reaches out his hands. I take them, and he gives me a strained smile. “Then let’s
get started. It’s time you learned how to fight.”

His words make me cringe. I close my eyes and remember Cole’s face when I told him
Bruno was teaching me. He was so accepting of it, so understanding about why I wanted
to learn.
Yet he didn’t want me to fight for the one thing I hold most dear.

“I started learning some already,” I say while pulling on my boots.

“From who?”

“Bruno,”

“
He
allowed that?”

I can tell whom Keegan means by the way he says
his
name.

“Yes,
Cole
did.” My fingers pull the laces tight as I say his name.

“Well, I’m sure it was just simple stuff like self-defense moves. That won’t help
you in the least in this. You’ll learn the hard stuff now.”

I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean the
hard stuff
?”

“Like how to kill people,” he says in a nonchalant manner.

I raise my eyebrow with skepticism.

“I know what you’re thinking, but guards aren’t people.” I give him an indignant look.
“Well, most of them anyway. They’re animals,” he says. “Channel all your anger into
your training. It gets easier as you do it. Believe me.”

His words reflect his cocky ignorance, but I refuse to get into an argument with him.
After all, he’s had to survive here a lot longer than I have and has probably seen
worse things.
Maybe.

“Now get focused and put these on.” Keegan throws worn wraps on my bed. “We train
for two hours in the morning and three in the evening. If you want to fight, these
sessions are mandatory.” His tone demands obedience and I get the feeling he’s used
to having orders followed.

“Wait.”

“You changed your mind?”

“No, not about that, but I wanted to ask you if you could get me paint?”

“What are you talking about? You want paint?”

“Yes, I need to paint. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s like my therapy.”

He gives me a funny look and sighs. “Whatever, if it helps you get over what’s-his-face.
I’ll get you paint.”

I exhale and pull myself upright. I feel numb, detached from the world. I don’t care
if the whole place caves in at this rate. I just can’t shake the disparity of my situation.
Cole is gone.
Why couldn’t Keegan let him stay in another part of the compound?
Or trust me.

I stand in front of the mirror and pull my greasy hair into a bun. Then I wrap my
hands the same way Bruno taught me. They’re so tight the blood flow is partially cut
off to my fingers. I shake my arms and legs out to relax myself.
I can do this. It’s just a couple of hours
.

*   *   *

A blow to my cheekbone rouses me.

“Come on, Lexi, you’re getting your ass kicked,” Keegan shouts across the room.

I rub my face in surprise. A girl dances across from me with her fists raised. She’s
taller, with straight black hair and a nasty glare. She hits me with a hook on the
side of my head.

I groan.

“Protect yourself!” he yells at me again.

I won’t be humiliated anymore.
Focus. Just focus.
I jab and then hit her with an uppercut right in the sweet spot, and she stumbles
backward.

“Better!” Keegan claps.

We do push-ups every ten minutes. We run sprints to warm up and run sprints to cool
down. In the mornings, I learn hand-to-hand combat, and in the evenings, we go through
weapons training in an indoor range.

When Keegan hands me a gun, my hand shakes so much that I don’t hit anything near
the target. Last time I attempted shooting, it was to save Cole and Bruno. It’s not
as easy when I have to think about it.

Keegan stands behind me as I try again and seems agitated by my lack of focus. He
hands me a smaller pistol. “Here, use this one. It’s more your size.”

“What kind is it?”

“It’s a .40 caliber Glock. It’s a subcompact so it’ll fit perfectly in your hands.
Just try it.”

I stand with my feet shoulder-width apart, using both hands to steady myself. I shoot
and miss the red circle around the target.
Crap
. I glance at others as they shoot, feeling self-conscious because they all seem comfortable
with what they’re doing. Even the younger citizens seem at ease.

“It’s okay. You’ll get better with practice—lots of practice.” Keegan encourages me.

I exhale. I’ve got to improve. I fill my clip again and try from a closer standpoint.
The gun kicks as I squeeze the trigger, but a small hole appears in the target. Excitement
over this small accomplishment gives me some satisfaction. I try again and hit it
again. It’s not close to the first hole, but I hit it twice in a row.

Saturday. I wake up and see two tin cans sitting in the corner of my room with two
paintbrushes lying on top. I jump out of bed and touch them to make sure they’re real.
Black paint fills the first one and the second one contains red. I inhale, and the
fumes make me light-headed, but I don’t care. It’s here. It’s real, and I get to paint.
Thank you, Keegan.

After grabbing a small breakfast at the cafeteria, I shuffle back to my room. I keep
my head low, making sure to avoid eye contact with everyone. I have no desire for
small talk. The only goal I have right now is to get back to my room without an incident.

I balance my body just right to ensure I don’t fall over when painting. This is different
from anything I’ve ever painted before. It’s the future. I arrange the tins perfectly
in order to access both colors. I brush up and down, left and right, red and black,
black and red. My arms go numb from painting so long.

When I’m not eating, sleeping, or training, I paint. The tension melts away as I do
it. I draw the silhouettes of my father and Alyssa sitting on Lexington bay, watching
the waves roll in and out.

“What’s that?” Keegan asks as he points to the Monet-style paintings.

I jump, almost falling off the stool.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Just watching.”

I begin putting the brushes away and placing the lids back on the cans. “Squint your
eyes and look left to right.”

His eyes widen as he inspects my work. “Holy cow. It’s the Hole getting blown to pieces,”
he says while shaking his head. “Damn, that’s amazing. I didn’t know you could paint.
It’s kinda Gothic. I like it.” He smiles with satisfaction until his eyes come to
rest on part of the painting.

“Is that…?” He stares at the figure of our father.

“Yes, and my friend Alyssa who died of some kind of virus.”

“Was she from the outside?” He sits down on my bed, taking in the bay. It’s breathtaking
even when painted in black and red.

“Yes, but she was exiled to the Hole.”

“So how’d you meet her?”

“At the hospital. She was very sick. Sutton did everything he could to save her.”

He looks at me with questioning eyes.

“There’s not a lot of meds available here. Maybe she would’ve survived if she was
treated in another place.” It feels like years ago now but hurts all the same.

Keegan shakes his head in loathing. “That’s disgusting. How can they deny a life?”

“You’re a hypocrite.”

“What? How?”

“You’re going to deny lots of lives with this revolt.”

“That doesn’t count.”

I don’t respond.

“Who’s that laying in a puddle of blood?” he asks, changing the subject. His eyes
squint as he peers at a small figure in the corner of the painting.

“Me.”

He nods with confusion. An uncomfortable silence lingers, so he stands and leaves.

I turn off my lights and lie in darkness. I smell like sweat, but getting in the shower
requires energy, and right now, I don’t have any reserves. I kick off my boots but
can’t kick this feeling of abandonment. I thought we both wanted the same thing—to
be together. Isn’t this the only way?

I squeeze my eyes closed, but his face, his beautiful face, is etched perfectly in
my mind—his long, dark lashes over his charcoal eyes, his dimples when he smiles,
his full lips kissing me. Oh God, I’m withering inside.

Tuesday. Target shooting.

Wednesday. Obstacles. Climbing ropes, scaling walls, running through a course, and
crawling through another. My hands are raw and my knuckles are scabbed over. It’s
the only thing that gives me comfort.

Thursday. Shooting moving targets, shooting while lying down, falling, running, jumping,
shooting everything.

Friday. Scenario training.

Saturday. Knife training. Bomb training. Training in everything. It feels good to
keep my brain busy.

Sunday. I run my finger up my calves and thighs, feeling the bumps and rigid muscles
forming. I’m secretly satisfied.

I unintentionally paint Cole’s eyes on the third wall of my room. I begin with an
oval, and next thing I know, it’s his eyes. Always watching me wherever I go. I can
train all day, every day, but he’ll never be far from my mind.

Monday. I wake up ready to kick some ass. After taking a hot shower, I pull on fresh
clothes. I bind my hair tightly while inspecting myself in the mirror. My face has
gained some color from eating better and exercising, but it’s still lean like the
rest of me. My form-fitting shirt flatters my athletic frame. I smirk, pleased with
my transformation.
I wish Cole were here to see it.
No… I can’t think like that today.
I squash the argument in my brain and bounce into the cafeteria. Keegan looks up
from his crowded table and stares at me, dumbfounded.

“Would it be all right if I joined you?” I say as I put my tray of food down beside
him. “I’m sorry.”

“
Finally
! Thank God, I was starting to worry that I lost you forever,” he smacks me on my
back. “Watch out, fellas, my little sister here is going to do some serious ass-kicking.”

“I don’t know about that,” I whisper.

“You will.”

“Oh really? How do you know that?”

“Because I can see all the potential you have. You’re just blind to it,” Keegan says.
“If you want strength, you need to eat.” He shoves more food in my direction, and
I laugh out loud.

“I’m going to barf if I eat any more.” I push his tray away. “So how do you get all
this food anyway? Everyone up top has to scrounge for it.”

“We grow some down here. We barter for the rest.” He shovels in a mouthful of potatoes
and keeps talking. “Told you we have connections.”

“Eww, your manners suck. You’re spitting food all over me.” I pick up a napkin and
wipe my shirt.

He laughs and more falls out of his mouth onto the table. “Like seafood?”

I swat him and laugh.
Some things never change.

The others at the table look at him and then at me. It’s the first time I really see
them. They smile politely and laugh along with us. We’re an athletic group, a multicultural
quilt of people. I feel at home here and almost safe.

This time I run faster, hit harder, and Keegan matches me up against some of his guys.
We wrestle, and I get pinned a few times.

“Damn it. Push yourself!” Keegan shouts. He circles the room, keeping his eyes on
everyone. He stops at my mat, evaluating me as I roll around. “Wow, that was impressive!
I’m glad you’re over that idiot.”

I clench my teeth and ball my hands into fists.
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Oh, but I would give anything to deck him right now.

“At least he allowed you to train well. That’s all the credit I can give that—Wow!”

I reverse my competitor’s guard and end up in a full mount. My smile takes up my entire
face. I stand up, and shake hands with my opponent. He’s a little taller than me and
slim, but I still beat him.

The training is rough. In the beginning, my body hurt everywhere, but I feel it adjusting
to the grind. The daily torture dampens my mental anguish because I’m too busy to
think about Cole.