Slayers (Jake Hawkins Book 1) (12 page)

“
A national
…
?
”

A hint of a smile danced across Link
’
s lips.
“
You haven
’
t turned the television on today, have you?
”

“
I
’
ve been asleep.
”

“
Your face has been on every station all day.
”

Jake gulped. He wondered what his dad was thinking, what Liam was thinking, what everyone who had ever known him thought of him right now. He was a new person.

Link brought him back to reality.
“
At least you have some serious incentive not to leave the house now. No matter how hard Wolfe pushes you.
”

Jake searched his face for any hint of sarcasm. There was none.

“
It can
’
t be that bad, can it?
”
he said.
“
I can handle pain.
”

Link shook his head.
“
It
’
s not just pain, my friend. You need to be conditioned, and that means for the next few weeks, at least, your life is going to be miserable. You
’
re probably going to hate us. But it
’
s necessary. We need to push you to your limits. I went through all that. When I joined, I couldn
’
t believe how deadly the other five were.
”

Jake recalled Wolfe saying that Link had been recruited later on.
“
Those other five are the Delta Force squad? The one that was ambushed?
”

“
Yes. Wolfe, Felix, Crank, Thorn and Sam. When you see them in action
…
it
’
s breathtaking. They knew they needed to lift their game when they left the Delta Force. They
’
d entered a whole new ballpark. And so they did
–
they applied themselves and moulded themselves into slayer hunters. It takes devotion. But I got there, and you can get there too.

“
Trust me, you need a different mindset to how you usually train. This isn
’
t to give you the perfect beach body. It
’
s for survival. You need to remember that. If you don
’
t reach our level, you
’
ll be outmatched by slayers, and you
’
ll die.

“
That
’
s what you need to repeat in your head over and over again to get through the next few weeks. Just keep telling yourself that, Jake.

“
You adapt, or you die.
”

Wolfe had him up at five the next day.

The sun was yet to rise. Jake clambered out of bed, groggy, bleary-eyed, dragged down by an overwhelming helplessness as he contemplated what lay ahead.

“
Do I have to do this?
”
he muttered.

Wolfe heard.
“
Take it one day at a time, kid. You
’
ll be right.
”

He led Jake down to the basement.

Crank was working out silently in the corner. He kept to himself, giving nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement in Jake
’
s general direction before turning back to the squat rack. Otherwise, the basement was empty. It felt colder when it was unpopulated; larger, more intimidating.

Wolfe took Jake through a two-hour workout session consisting of nothing more than heavy weights training. Low repetitions, high intensity.

Halfway through, after what felt like an eternity had passed, Jake collapsed. Rugby training was nothing compared to this torture.

“
Up,
”
Wolfe barked, his voice stern.

Jake sucked in air. He was sweating profusely, yet he was cold. He felt sick. His skin was clammy. For a fleeting moment, his stomach heaved and he looked up at the bleak surroundings with trepidation.

“
I don
’
t want to,
”
he said.

Wolfe crouched.
“
You
’
re barely an hour in. You
’
ll never survive if you keep this attitude up.
”

“
This is too hard.
”

“
No, you
’
re just overwhelmed. Shut your mind off. I don
’
t want to hear another word of complaint. Now get up.
”

Jake had never seen Wolfe like this before. The friendly demeanour had vanished. It was somewhat encouraging. He rose, forcing away the pain, and continued.

*

With a strain and a grunt of exertion, Jake faltered. Veins in his head throbbed, as if set to burst. Blood rushed to his face, turning his cheeks a shade of crimson.

The bar had stalled halfway through his final set of bench press. It hovered over his chest. Heavy plates were stacked on both sides, threatening to crush him if he couldn
’
t finish.

Wolfe hovered overhead, spotting him. He was ready to catch the bar if Jake
’
s arms gave out.

“
Take it,
”
Jake gasped, his face beet red.

“
You don
’
t need me!
”
Wolfe yelled.
“
I
’
m the easy way out!
”

Jake flicked an internal switch and heaved with a final, desperate reserve of energy, his muscles screaming. The bar rose just a little, but it was enough. He let it fall back into its supports. It came to a jolting, crashing halt. The weight plates crashed together, echoing through the empty basement. Crank had long since disappeared.

“
You
’
re done,
”
Wolfe said with a grin.

Jake retched.
“
Ahh
–
I didn
’
t think I
’
d make it through that.
”

“
But you did.
”

Wolfe extended a hand. Jake took it and rose up off the sweaty bench.

“
Listen, buddy,
”
Wolfe said, draping a muscular arm over Jake
’
s shoulder.
“
You just did that. Be proud of yourself. Your training schedule looks daunting, but you and me, we
’
ll get through it.
”

Jake revelled at the change in atmosphere.
“
Why are you so friendly all of a sudden?
”

Wolfe grinned.
“
I
’
m hard when I need to be. But I
’
m not here to be mean. I
’
m here to get you through this. I
’
m your friend.
”

“
Thanks, Wolfe.
”

The two bumped fists.

They were up in the kitchen eating breakfast by seven-thirty. Jake had never been worked like that before. Rigorous kickboxing training in the past had lent him a high fitness level, but Wolfe
’
s regime had targeted areas of his body he hadn
’
t known existed. It had been grueling, but the no-nonsense approach had worked.

Now, Jake was spurred on by a burst of confidence.

One session down,
he thought.
Take it one day at a time.

Thorn cooked breakfast. Although his seven-foot frame looked odd handling kitchen utensils, he proved a surprisingly competent chef.

“
Eat as much as you can,
”
he told Jake.
“
You need fuel for the rest of the day.
”

After wolfing down a plate piled high with eggs and draining a protein shake Thorn had crafted, Felix accompanied Jake to the shooting range. He was already lethargic from the early morning workout, but he pressed on. Wolfe
’
s words rang in his ears.

“
You were in the Delta Force before this?
”
Jake asked as they descended back down into the basement.

“
I was,
”
Felix said. He had trimmed his beard since Jake had last seen him. There was still not a hair to be seen on his scalp.

“
What was that like?
”

Felix hesitated.
“
If you don
’
t mind, Jake, I
’
d prefer not to talk about it.
”

Jake paused.
“
No problem.
”

“
We
’
re here to focus on your training.
”

There was no anger in the man
’
s voice. Jake found his tone almost apologetic. He got the sense that Felix was being deliberately cautious, keeping his distance, as if fearful to divulge something he shouldn
’
t. But what? What did these men have to hide?

Eight to ten was dedicated to weapons training. Jake fired magazine after magazine into the targets until they began to blur before his eyes. It was monotonous, robotic work
–
less physically demanding than a workout but just as mentally draining. Halfway through the session, Jake found himself less accurate than when he had started.

“
I
’
m not improving, Felix,
”
he said.

“
You
’
ve been at it fourty-five minutes,
”
Felix said.
“
Everyone in this house has fired millions of bullets to get to where they are. Keep going.
”

“
Shouldn
’
t we
–
you know
–
space it out a bit more? I
’
m seeing double here. Two hours is a bit much.
”

Felix smiled wryly.
“
When you
’
re in a life or death situation, hitting the target has to be hardwired into your system. You can
’
t miss. It has to be instinctive. This is how you get there.
”

“
Is that what they taught you back in the Delta Force?
”

“
Jake,
”
Felix said, staring at him.
“
Don
’
t push it.
”

He slaved away at the weapons range for the next hour, until his trigger finger began to cramp from the repetitive motion. When Felix called for him to drop the pistol, he audibly sighed.

“
I can
’
t see an improvement,
”
he observed, squinting at his results.

“
It
’
ll come.
”

Following weapons training, Jake was thrust straight into combat lessons until the early afternoon. He exited the shooting range to see Crank standing on the wrestling mats, slipping gloves on. His cheeks flushed, and not from exertion.

“
Look, Crank,
”
he said.
“
I
’
m sorry again for the other day.
”

Crank looked up and nodded.
“
Don
’
t worry, kid. We knew you had a temper.
”

Jake cocked his head, irked by the thinly veiled insult.
“
Alright then.
”

Crank hesitated a second longer, then smiled.
“
I
’
m just playing. I do need you angry for this, though.
”

“
Why?
”

Crank winked.
“
You fight better when you
’
re angry.
”

Combat lessons vastly differed from kickboxing training. The basement was not a friendly environment. Crank showed no camaraderie towards Jake, who was harshly reminded over and over again that he was nowhere near competent enough to deal with a slayer. Crank provided him no leeway whatsoever.

“
The claws of a slayer are vicious,
”
Crank said as they fought.
“
And they
’
re lightning quick. You need to be able to react in an instant.
”

“
I
’
m not that bad,
”
Jake said.

“
No, you
’
re not. You
’
re faster than anyone your age, but to be perfectly honest, not fast enough.
”

By early afternoon Jake lost count of the number of times he was winded. Crank did not hold back. He pounded him in the gut, the chest, and sometimes the face. Jake was forced to quickly learn the consequences of being too slow.

“
There
’
s something about you, Crank,
”
Jake said during a break, in between deep breaths.
“
You
’
re not as friendly as everyone else.
”

Crank looked at him and said nothing.

“
You
’
re quieter,
”
Jake said.

“
I
’
ve never talked much.
”

“
Why?
”

No response.

“
Come on,
”
Jake pleaded.
“
You
’
ve just beaten me into the ground. You owe me something.
”

Crank looked up.
“
Sometimes I feel like I don
’
t fit in. All the others were in the military by choice.
”

“
And you weren
’
t?
”

“
I had nowhere else to go.
”

Jake raised an eyebrow. Crank seemed hesitant, but after a few seconds he continued.

“
I was raised in poverty,
”
he said.
“
In Italy. I
’
m half Italian, half American. I went to one of the worst schools in the country. Didn
’
t do well at all. But I was good at fighting. And doing what I was told.
”

“
You must have been good at something to make it to the Delta Force.
”

Crank shrugged.
“
Maybe. But life before the military taught me not to say much. To be honest, I only went along with the slayer hunting operation because I had nowhere else to go. These guys are my only friends.
”

“
Would you leave now?
”

Crank shook his head.
“
Hell no. Once you
’
re in, it
’
s too hard to resist. Now that
’
s the most you
’
ll get out of me. Break
’
s over.
”

When lunchtime arrived, exhaustion was setting in. Jake staggered around, his legs threatening to falter. His mouth had turned dry hours ago. He tried to recuperate what little strength he had left during lunch.

He had an hour
’
s rest; no more, no less.

After lunch was when the real training started.

Power training. That
’
s what Thorn called it. It consisted of hauling tree trunks around the rear grounds of the mansion. Jake tried to lift one, and found it near impossible. His muscle fibres strained in protest. Thorn had to assist, and even then it was grueling.

All six men participated in the workout. It was torture. As time passed, Jake began to get a sense of just how powerful Thorn was. The big man tossed the trunks around like they were cardboard cutouts. It was mesmerising to watch.

By now, Jake had adopted a steely demeanour, repeating Wolfe
’
s words over and over until they had become ingrained into his system. He
had
to finish. He couldn
’
t let these men down. They had accepted him into their ranks, and he couldn
’
t disappoint.

“
Done,
”
Thorn called, exactly one hour after they had begun.

Jake lowered the log he was holding. It hit the ground with a heavy
thump
.

“
Am
I
done?
”
he gasped.