Iron Princess (Iron Palace Book 2)

by Lisa Ferrari

  “We hitting the fitness center?”

  “Not quite.”

  With great suspense, I follow Kellan outside. Night has fallen. The hotel is ever more lovely at night, with all the lights on the buildings. The pool looks beautiful.

  We walk through the grounds. Kellan points out quite a few overweight tourists and hotel guests. Men with big, round bellies and sagging man boobs. Women with big thighs and floppy triceps and double chins.

  Kellan points out all of them, most of whom are sitting and eating large platters of food.

  I’m on the verge of being offended on their behalf. It’s not like Kellan to be so pernicious and hurtful.

  Kellan tells me to keep those people in my mind. He then tells me to focus on having the body I’ve always wanted, to picture it, to think about Stacy or Denise or whoever because success is the best revenge.

  “Right?” he asks me.

  “Right.”

  “Right?!”

  “Right!” Jeez, what is with him tonight?

  “Every time you think about giving up,” he says, “think about all the motherfuckers you have to prove wrong. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?!”

  “Okay!”

  Kellan is getting loud. Good Lord. People are starting to look and point. They must fear domestic violence is afoot.

  Kellan leads me down the paved path to the beach, and out onto the sand.

  “What are we doing out here on the beach? Are we going jogging?”

  “Not exactly. Look.”

  Under the light of the full moon, a group of men materialize on the beach.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Just some friends. Guys I know. A few of them are clients.”

  “But who are they?” I can see ‘SEAL’ on their tee shirts in yellow letters. “We’re going to work out with the Navy SEALs? Are you kidding?!”

  “Calire… What did we just say about all the motherfuckers you have to prove wrong?”

  Kellan is pretty much glaring at me. If it weren’t for his baby-blues and the full moon, I might be scared right now.

  “I called Tank and asked if we could work out with them on the beach tonight,” Kellan explains. “He said sure.”

  “We’re going to work out on the beach? We don’t have any weights or equipment. And who the hell is Tank?”

  “Tank is a friend of mine. Don’t worry, this is going to be a different kind of workout. Sometimes it’s good to get out of the gym and do some real-world training, to mix things up and push yourself in order to keep yourself growing. Physically and mentally.” Kellan taps the side of his temple. “Now, these guys are… how should I say this? Uh, they’re a bit crazy. They kind of have to be to do what they do. But they’re solid. Just talk lots of trash and you’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t know how to talk trash.” What is happening?

  “You’ve got about ten seconds to learn.”

  I resign myself to public humiliation. Maybe I should go back to our hotel room. I could be one of those people inhaling barbecued chicken wings dipped in Ranch within the hour.

  Good, Claire.

  I sigh. “Okay. Well, let’s just hope they can keep up.”

  Kellan laughs. Heartily.

  “What’s so funny, Kearns?” one of the guys calls out from the shadowy moonlit beach.

  “Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to someone very special to me. This is my girlfriend, Miss Claire Valentine. Claire, this is Tank, Dexter, Jenkins, Chavez, Newberry, Parker, Rodrigues, and Washington.”

  Each one of them shakes my hand; it takes a long time; but they’re very polite, which is nice. I immediately forget the name of everyone except Tank, who is the biggest, and Washington, who was the last name Kellan said. “You guys should all be wearing fucking name tags.” Oh boy. I don’t know why I said that. I think my fear is making me angry and thus bold.

  All the guys laugh, including Kellan.

  “None of us can read anyway,” says one guy. I think his name is Chavez.

  “Each one of them is a certified frogman,” says Kellan.

  “Certified?” I ask. “Is there a four-hour frogman seminar?”

  Everyone laughs again.

  “No, darlin’,” says a tall skinny guy with a southern, probably Texan, lilt. Newberry, I think. “Bein’ a frogman is a rite of passage. A pact between you, your fellow SEALs, and God.”

  Several of the guys say, “Amen.”

  “I bet you’re wondering what three crackers, three spooks, and a couple of wetbacks are doing on a beach in the middle of the night,” says Dexter.

  Holy crap; I’m shocked by the racist lingo. “Do you guys always talk like that?”

  “Hell yes we always talk like that,” says Parker. “There’s no room for political correctness in the teams. Our job is to accomplish whatever mission is put before us. We kick ass and take names. We’re in and out before anyone knows we were even there. Like Killer said, we’re all frogmen. That’s all that matters.”

  Kellan says, “I told Claire you guys were kind enough to let us work out with you tonight. She said she hopes you guys can keep up.”

  Everyone laughs and hoots and groans appreciatively.

  “Claire is up for a role in a big Hollywood movie,” Kellan continues, “and she needs to get in shape. Real shape.”

  “You ever met a frogman before, Valentine?” asks Jenkins. From his tone, I swear he’s offering me dick.

  I push down my fear and say the first thing that comes to mind. “No. But I cut one open in eighth-grade science class once.”

  Everyone laughs again.

  “Damn, Kearns,” says Chavez, “she’s a keeper. Iron Born all the way. You ready to get wet, Valentine?” His question is less salacious but still loaded with innuendo.

  “Hey!” Kellan reprimands him.

  I put both arms around Kellan. Then I smack his ass. Hard. “I’m always ready to get wet.”

  All the guys laugh and hoot.

  “Okay, princess,” says Chavez, “follow me.”

  All the guys do some loud frogman chant thing, they yell one time, and take off running toward the water. Kellan goes with them.

  Their sudden departure surprises me.

  Before I can react, Chavez comes back and yells, “Move it, Valentine!”

  I run with all my might for the water.

  When Chavez and I get there, we all start doing pushups on the cold, wet sand. A big wave comes and soaks all of us.

  Holy Pacific Ocean! The water is freezing! It takes my breath away.

  Everyone runs out of the water, heading back to where we just were. My sports bra and tee shirt are soaked. It’s dark but I hope no one can see my nipples, which are so hard right now they could cut glass.

  “Haul ass, Valentine!” Chavez shouts at me over the crashing waves. I run to where the other SEALs and Kellan are doing pushups in the sand.

  Chavez and I get there, drop down, and I do four measly pushups before everyone jumps up and runs back to the water.

  I do a better job of keeping up.

  The water seems colder this time.

  I start doing pushups. I look over at Kellan, whom I can barely see.

  Kellan is busting out pushups as hard and fast as he can. He’s soaked. His shirt and shorts are stuck to his body.

  My shirt and shorts are stuck to my body, too. And I’m wearing a thong, a purple lacy one from Walmart that I thought Kellan would like, and a matching sports bra. My Iron Born tee shirt is completely sucked to my body. A lot more than my nipples are now visible. There’s already sand in my butt crack.

  One of the SEALs screams, “OUT!” and we all get up and run back up the beach.

  When we get there, someone yells, “On your face!”

  Everyone hits the deck and starts low-crawling through the sand. I mimic their movements and do my best to keep pace.

  After about a hundred feet, someone shouts, “Carry!”

  Every
one jumps up, pairs off, and one guy throws the other guy over his shoulder and does a fireman’s carry, and takes off running.

  Chavez, who is the smallest, and standing pretty much right next to me, shouts, “You think you can carry me five hundred yards, Valentine?”

  Before I realize what I’m saying, I shout through chattering teeth and a mouth full of crunchy sand and salt-water aftertaste, “Do Mexicans wear funny hats?” I think I may be urinating on myself.

  I do my best to pick up a grinning Chavez over my shoulder. He’s heavy, but not as heavy as the bar on my back at Iron Palace when Kellan and I squat.

  I haul ass in the same direction everyone else is going.

  “Christ, Valentine,” grunts Chavez as he bounces up and down on my shoulder, “you are made of iron.”

  Someone yells, “Switch!”

  Chavez hops off my back and throws me over his shoulder like I’m nothing. With each step he takes, the air is forced out of my lungs.

  We get back to where we started and someone yells, “Lunge!”

  Chavez sets me down.

  Everyone starts lunging up the beach.

  I begin lunging as fast as I can. Sand flies everywhere. Somehow I manage to kick it into my own face. My feet slip repeatedly. Everyone is getting further away. Everyone except Chavez, who is huffing and grunting somewhere in the darkness behind me.

  “Their legs are longer so we have to work harder,” he growls. “Pick it up!”

  We reach the point where everyone is bent over, breathing and trying to recover.

  “That’s it?” I ask, doing my best to sound unimpressed and not winded, though I very much am. I have a horrible pain in my side. I’m already thinking of a hot shower. With Kellan. If I don’t die first.

  “That’s only the first rotation,” says Dexter.

  “How many… rotations… are there?” I gasp.

  My thighs are on fire, which is an odd sensation because I’m soaking wet and my skin is cold and covered in sand. I can feel it inside my shorts and between my thighs, chafing. Cold and gritty. I adjust my shorts, trying to shake some of it out. Everyone is watching me but I don’t care.

  Newberry says, “Is it okay to get sand and seawater in your vagina?”

  “You would know,” I say without even thinking.

  Everyone laughs.

  Tank shouts, “If you’ve got air to laugh, you’ve got air to run, ladies. Sprint!”

  Everyone takes off.

  Tank grabs the front of my tee shirt and pulls. “Go!” he shouts.

  I take off running.

  Tank runs alongside me. “Faster!”

  I run faster.

  “Faster! You’ve got enemy combatants on your six, Valentine! Run, goddamnit!”

  I run even faster.

  I’m passing Chavez.

  I keep waiting for everyone to stop. I don’t think I’ve ever run this long without stopping. Certainly not like this.

  Finally, someone shouts, “Wheelbarrow!”

  Everyone stops and pairs off. Chavez runs up to me and gets on his hands and knees. “Grab my feet!” he pants. He sticks out one leg and I grab it. He gives me the other one but I lose the first one. We try again but his skin and socks are wet and slippery.

  All the other guys are heading back the other way. Kellan is marching across the sand on his hands with Tank holding his ankles.

  “Today, princess!” Tank shouts as they go by.

  “Grab my socks!” Chavez shouts.

  I grab fistfuls of his white tube socks and manage to hold on and stagger along behind him as he wheelbarrow-walks on his hands. He’s fast and we start to catch up to the others.

  We pass Newberry and Parker. Newberry looks at me and yells, “Switch!”

  I drop Chavez’s feet and get on my hands and knees. Chavez grabs my ankles.

  “This is more like it,” he quips.

  I start walking on my hands. I slip and faceplant into the sand. It sticks to my face and fills my mouth. I’m crunching it between my teeth and trying to spit it out.

  “Move it, princess!” Newberry shouts as he and Parker pass us.

  I resume walking on my hands, as fast as I can. I’m not getting any closer to Newberry and Parker but they also aren’t getting any further away. My triceps and shoulders are beginning to burn, but I feel like I can keep going. I credit the supplements Kellan has me on. He said they increase endurance. We’re going to find out tonight.

  Someone shouts, “Water crunch!”

  Chavez drops my ankles and sprints for the surf.

  I fall on my face again.

  Newberry grabs me and hauls me to my feet.

  We splash into the waves where everyone is lying on their backs in the water, doing crunches with their legs in the air.

  I flop down between Kellan and Tank, lift my legs and begin crunching. I peek over at Kellan just as a wave crashes over all of us and we are all sent sprawling and spinning across the sand.

  Cold seawater fills my nose and mouth, goes in my eyes and ears. My hair is soaked once more. But my pony tail is still mostly intact.

  Everyone is still crunching.

  I lift my legs and resume crunching, too.

  Another wave rolls in and everyone gets scattered again. But we all continue crunching.

  I’m wondering what the next call will be.

  “Sprint!” Tank yells.

  I jump up and take off running behind Kellan, who is following whoever is in the lead.

  We’re running parallel to shore. Several of the guys pass me. Washington comes even with me. He’s a lean, muscular, good-looking black guy with no hair. “Count to ten and yell ‘Lunge’ as loud as you fucking can,” he says, eyeing me. He keeps running, pulling ahead of me.

  I try to figure out what he just told me.

  Ten seconds later, he looks over his shoulder at me, his eyes wide, expectant.

  I take a deep breath and shout, “LUNGE!” as loud as I can.

  Everyone stops, turns around, and begins lunging back the way we came.

  After a few repetitions, I have an idea. I shout, “Lunge into the water, ladies!”

  Several of them groan but everyone shifts course and lunges toward the water until we’re all doing walking lunges in two feet of cold water.

  Some of the guys stagger and lose their balance and fall over and have to splash back to their feet to resume lunging.

  I lunge past Newberry.

  He sees me and redoubles his efforts.

  We’re lunging side by side.

  Someone shouts, “Water crawl!”

  Everyone flops onto their bellies, so I do as well.

  We’re crawling across the wet sand, through several inches of rushing foam that pulls sideways on me. Every ten seconds a wave crashes and knocks us around. Newberry and I continuously smash into one another. But we keep crawling.

  Newberry shouts, “Carry!” and essentially dives on my back just as I’m getting to my feet. I’m not ready for his weight. I fall.

  We both go into the cold water.

  He gets up first. He holds out his arm, waiting to help me up.

  I spit the cold, sandy water out of my mouth, grab his arm to haul myself up, and then use his arm as I shove my shoulder into his stomach, driving with my legs and hips and trying not to round my back, trying to do what Kellan says when we squat.

  I manage to stand upright with Newberry on my shoulders.

  He’s heavier than Chavez.

  A lot heavier.

  Kellan stomps past me with Tank on his shoulders. Tank is even bigger than Kellan. If Kellan can carry Tank, I can carry Newberry.

  I think.

  Kellan glances at me. Our eyes meet. His face is covered with sand and drops of seawater. His mouth is open and I see his white teeth clenched. He winks at me. He’s actually enjoying this.

  It rejuvenates me and I start walking. My goal is to catch Kellan. I don’t think about the man on my shoulders. For a brief time, I even fo
rget about him.

  I must catch Kellan.

  I want to stay with him.

  I want to stay right beside him.

  I walk faster through the water. It’s almost up to my knees at times and the rushing foam and moving sand make each step difficult.

  Each time the water recedes, I pick up the pace, until finally I’m by his side.

  Kellan looks over at me.

  He grins, and we keep walking.

  “Jesus Christ,” grunts Newberry, “you guys wanna hold hands?”

  I ignore him and keep walking. My legs are getting weaker. My lower back is on fire. I pray to God that I don’t step on a rock or something and twist my ankle or snap a bone in my leg. I look at Kellan again.

  He’s watching me.

  “Keep going,” he grunts.

  I shake my head; I need to stop.

  “Keep going!” Kellan shouts. “Don’t you quit on me, Claire! Ever!”

  I look over at him again. He’s grimacing, his teeth are bared. His blue eyes are more intense than I’ve ever seen them.

  I get a surge of adrenaline and keep walking.

  I pick a point down the beach, a lifeguard stand, a silhouette I can barely see, and focus on it.

  I keep walking. I am vaguely aware of Kellan splashing along beside me. His voice fills my ears above each crash of the waves.

  “Whenever… you… want to quit… just think… about… all the motherfuckers… you have… to prove wrong…”

  His words echo in my mind.

  The burn in my legs lessens.

  The searing pain in my lower back gets just a bit further away.

  I am less aware of Newberry sprawled across my shoulders.

  I keep walking…

  Through the surf.

  I keep walking…

  Through the night.

  I keep walking…

  Through life.

  I won’t quit.

  Ever.

  “Claire?”

  I hear Kellan’s voice.

  I look away from the lifeguard tower.

  I am alone on the beach.

  I look back.

  Kellan is on his knees in the surf. Tank is lying in the sand beside him.

  All the other guys are jogging up the beach toward us.

  I’m standing there with Newberry on my shoulders.

  Kellan scrambles to his feet. “Keep going!” he shouts.