Crossfire (Book 1) (The Omega Group)

by Andrea Domanski

Mirissa quickly flipped through the pages. There were drawings of each of the queens, presumably added at the beginning of their reigns. The language used changed several times throughout, until it finally became English. Several pages later, she found the one picture she had been waiting to see—her mother’s.

  In the pages that followed, her mother had recorded everything she knew about the current force of Amazons. From their geographical locations, which spanned the entire world, to their training methods and weapons, which were almost as vast. She’d detailed everything she knew about the Kakos; how they fought, how they lived, and, most importantly, how they died.

  Mirissa was enraptured by the story. Her mother had done so much, saved so many, and she’d done it all in secrecy. It was unbelievable.

  After reading the last page, which spoke of an unusually difficult coven of Kakodaemons that were plaguing her mother, Mirissa closed the book. Only then did she remember the second item in the chest.

  It was a single skeleton key. She held it up to the light but found no identifying marks of any kind.

  “What does this open?” Mirissa asked both men, not knowing which of them would have the answer.

  Steve and Greco shared a confused look, and said at the same time, “No idea.”

  “All right then. I guess I’ll figure that out later,” Mirissa said. “So, what’s this training you mentioned?”

  Chapter 11

  The next few months for Mirissa were a blur. Training, in Greco’s world, was more like hardcore boot camp. Mirissa remembered her father talking about his SEAL training and thought that the Navy didn’t have anything on the Amazons.

  After she said goodbye to her father, promised to call him every night, and gave Henry one last kiss on his head, Greco had taken her to a farm outside of Ocala, Florida where a sweet, older couple was waiting in the kitchen. They introduced themselves as Walter and Laura Baxter. Walter stood about five foot ten. His short gray hair was still thick and he had an easy smile. Laura was a good six inches shorter than her husband and could easily be mistaken for Mrs. Claus if she wore a red dress. They said they’d been the caretakers of the farm for over twenty years.

  Looking around, Mirissa couldn’t understand why Greco brought her here. The farmhouse was exactly like she’d expect one to be. The living room was small and cozy, with a big wood-burning fireplace in the corner. The walls were covered in prints that reminded her of the Norman Rockwell paintings she’d seen when her twelfth grade class had taken a field trip to the Cummer Museum. The kitchen, though definitely not what you’d call luxurious, was simple and comfortable. The whitewashed cabinets perfectly blended with the homey feel of the house.

  Although Mr. and Mrs. Baxter seemed content to let Mirissa wander through the house, Greco was getting a little testy.

  “Put your things in your room so we can get started. I’ll meet you in the barn.” With that, Greco walked out the old wooden screen door and let it slam closed behind him.

  “Pay no mind to him, sweetheart. Some men are all business. Let me show you to your room.” Mrs. Baxter put her hand on Mirissa’s elbow and showed her down the hall to the bedroom that was to be hers for the foreseeable future.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Baxter.” Mirissa said with the first smile she’d had since the deliveryman came earlier that day.

  “Please, call me Laura, and I suppose you better get moving before your Guardian gets a hankering to come back and get you.”

  Excellent point, thought Mirissa. With another quick smile at the woman who’d made her feel at home so quickly, Mirissa trotted out of the house in search of the barn.

  Greco was waiting outside the huge wooden door that led into what looked to be a condemned fire hazard posing as a barn. One strong breeze and this whole thing will come down, Mirissa mused.

  As though sensing her trepidation at going inside, Greco smiled—actually smiled—and said, “Don’t worry. Things aren’t always what they seem.” With that, he opened the door and waited for Mirissa to go in.

  “Holy crap!” Mirissa blurted out. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The barn, if you could call it that, housed what looked to be a state of the art gym along the left wall, followed by a full sized boxing ring. The gym had free weights of all sizes and every machine she had ever seen in the many gyms she’d belonged to. On the right, there was a tactical firing range complete with ballistic rubber tiles on the walls and ceiling, suspended targets, and ballistic glass separating the lanes. Every inch of the interior walls and ceiling of the barn was covered in soundproofing acoustical foam, giving the entire space a rather intimidating feel.

  Greco led her over to the boxing ring, shrugged off his lightweight jacket, and said, “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Now we’re talking, Mirissa thought. Although her consciousness had been sparring in Tritonia, her body was still waiting for its turn. She needed a good bout to help focus her mind after all of the craziness this day had flooded her with, and, she had to admit, she was kind of looking forward to kicking Greco’s ass.

  Climbing in the ring, Mirissa watched Greco loosen up with some side stretches and shoulder rolls. He’s confident, she thought. Most men were when faced with a female opponent, so Mirissa just smiled, looking forward even more to taking him down.

  The match started slowly, with both of them circling, sizing up their opponent and deciding on the best way to incapacitate them. Mirissa was the first to make her move, with a head fake to the left, she let loose a vicious blow to Greco’s mid-section, only to find that he had anticipated her move and pivoted easily out of her reach. OK, she thought, he has some skills. Stepping back to regroup, Mirissa decided on a different tack. She pivoted on her front foot and gave a roundhouse kick aimed at his head, only to be blocked by a quick forearm move. Not waiting this time, she followed up by planting her right foot and using her momentum to spin around into a back kick. This one landed.

  Greco let out an “Oomph” but recovered quickly. Sensing weakness, Mirissa went in for the kill. A straight punch to the chest, followed by a flurry of combinations, pushed him against the ropes and Mirissa knew the fight was over. She stepped back, lowered her hips, and took out his feet with a sweeping kick. Once he was on the mat, she put her foot on his chest and said, “So, are we done?”

  “Not even close,” Greco said as he pushed himself up off the mat. “Now let’s see how you do when I actually fight back.”

  It took Mirissa a moment to realize that he was right. He hadn’t thrown even one punch the whole time she was attacking him. Feeling a little embarrassed by her misplaced bravado, she just nodded her head.

  “Ready when you are,” she challenged.

  This round was a little different. Mirissa still took the lead with an opening move of a punch to his chest, but this time, after Greco easily blocked it by pivoting and pushing her arm to the side, he followed with a sharp jab to her kidney. Although he could have continued, he simply backed up a few steps and waited for Mirissa’s next attack.

  Mirissa realized that she had seriously underestimated Greco, and in doing so, had allowed herself to fall into old habits. She’d learned early on in her martial arts training that decimating her opponents, although fun for her, didn’t go over well with her fellow students. So she had begun holding back in her matches, allowing her opponent to land strikes that she could have easily blocked or dodged, and not using her full force or speed in her own attacks. She would give just enough to win the match but no more. That was a mindset that would do her no good here, so she decided to put it aside and give this fight everything she had, something she hadn’t done in a very long time.

  This time it was Greco’s turn to advance. He came at her with a right leg sidekick that Mirissa dodged by moving slightly to his supporting leg’s side, then she countered with a right leg roundhouse to his body. When her leg came down she was too close for another kick, so she went with a left uppercut to his jaw and a right hook that would have landed just above
Greco’s left eye, had he not blocked it.

  “Now that’s more like it,” he said while bouncing on the balls of his feet, readying for his next attack.

  Greco came at her with a 360-degree spin kick, forcing Mirissa to block instead of dodge, leaving her open for his left hook. All she could do was pull in her chin and lower her hips to lessen her head’s exposure to the punch. Shaking off the momentary disorientation caused by the impact, Mirissa jumped high into the air, gathering her knees to her chest, and lashed out with a stunning side kick to Greco’s chest, knocking him far enough back and off balance that she could lay a combination of kicks on him before he fully recovered.

  Feeling more confident now, Mirissa ducked under and inside Greco’s reach and laid an upward elbow strike to his abdomen, rising into an open palm to his jaw, then swinging her elbow in from the side to shatter his cheek bone. A split second before impact, Greco pulled his head back, her elbow sailing past his face, hitting nothing, and he countered with an excruciating punch that landed right between her shoulder blades.

  Knowing she was exposed, with her back to her opponent, Mirissa let her momentum carry her around until she could execute a back kick followed by an immediate sidekick. Back on even footing, she let loose a flurry of punches—hooks, jabs, uppercuts, rabbit punches—but so did Greco. Then came the kicks—side, front, back, and axe. Both of them striking, blocking, and counter striking at furious speeds, almost like a choreographed dance. Mirissa imagined it would look quite beautiful, if you could ignore the underlying violence and pain involved.

  With one final sidekick that succeeded in pushing Mirissa back against the ropes, Greco stopped. “That’s enough for today. Go back to the house and get cleaned up for dinner,” he said.

  Mirissa nodded and climbed out of the ring, trying to bring herself down from the adrenaline rush caused by sparring with someone that matched her in both ability and speed. How was that even possible? Other than when she’d visited Tritonia earlier that day and sparred with Asteria, Mirissa had never gone up against an opponent that could keep up with her when she didn’t hold back. She made a mental note to ask Greco about that, assuming, of course, that they would have an actual conversation at some point.

  When she walked in the front door to the farmhouse, Mrs. Baxter was waiting for her with fresh towels and a bag of toiletries. She obviously knew that Mirissa was going to need a shower after visiting the barn and showed her to her bathroom.

  “Dinner will be ready in a half hour,” she said over her shoulder as she left Mirissa to get cleaned up.

  Twenty minutes later, showered and feeling hungrier than she had expected, Mirissa walked into the dining room. Like all of the other rooms in the house, it was small and cozy. More prints that still looked like Rockwell paintings hung on the walls, and fresh flowers in a vase shaped like an old watering can sat on the wood dining table that looked like it had seen better days.

  Mr. Baxter was already seated at the head of the table, with Greco at the opposite end. When Mrs. Baxter came out of the kitchen holding a huge serving bowl of spaghetti and meatballs, the incredible aroma immediately filled the room and Mirissa’s stomach let out a growl.

  “Sounds like somebody worked up an appetite,” Mrs. Baxter said as she motioned Mirissa to one of the empty chairs. “Dig in, honey. You’re going to need some extra calories while you’re here.”

  The spaghetti was delicious and the peach cobbler they had for desert was the perfect end to a superb meal. I could get used to this, Mirissa thought. Not that she didn’t eat well at home, but neither she nor her father had ever been culinary experts, so most of their meals either came from a box or were simple meat and potatoes. She told herself to remember to ask for Mrs. Baxter’s recipes to bring home with her when this was all through.

  Once Mirissa got her fill of the meal, she turned to Greco. “So, tell me about my ring. What is its significance?”

  “When you’re ready. And, before you ask, you are definitely not ready now,” Greco said, and left the table before she could push any further.

  “Thank you very much for dinner, Mrs. Baxter. It was really fantastic.”

  “You are very welcome, dear. It’s always a joy to cook for someone that loves food, but remember, please call me Laura.”

  After helping to clear the table and clean all of the dishes, Mirissa went back to her room to call her father.

  “Hey, sweetheart! How’s it going?” Her dad tried to sound happy and upbeat, but he didn’t quite pull it off, and Mirissa found herself wishing that he were with her. It hadn’t even been a full day, but she already missed him terribly, and she knew that with all of this craziness that was now her life, she would need him more than ever.

  Giving him the same, fake, upbeat tone, Mirissa went through all of the details of her day, spending more time than was probably necessary describing their dinner, and assured him that she was doing fine.

  “I like the sound of those Baxters. You make sure they take good care of you, and if you need anything, anything at all, you just call me. I can be there in a couple of hours.”

  Feeling better knowing that her dad would come running if she needed him, they said their goodbyes and Mirissa faded off to sleep.

  Chapter 12

  A loud knock on the door woke her from a deep sleep. Taking in her surroundings, her brain slowly got up to speed with where she was. She climbed off the bed, still wearing her clothes from the previous night, and opened her door.

  “It’s time to go to work,” Greco said and then walked down the hall toward the kitchen.

  Well, good morning to you, too, she thought. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she changed into workout gear and padded over to the bathroom to brush her teeth and splash some cold water on her face. Feeling almost human, she went to the kitchen to meet Greco.

  As soon as she walked in, she was greeted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Finding the mugs in one of the cupboards, Mirissa grabbed one and filled it to the brim with the hot, liquid heaven that she desperately needed this morning. She drank it black because that was how real coffee lovers drank it. Cream and sugar were for pretenders. Taking her first sip, she may have actually groaned at how good it tasted. Even the Baxter’s coffee was delicious.

  Halfway through her cup, she heard the front door open and close, and Greco came walking into the kitchen. Without saying a word, he grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee, adding both cream and sugar. Of course, she thought.

  Watching him stir his coffee, Mirissa sipped hers, waiting for him to speak. He was really going to have to work on his conversation skills if she was going to be spending every day with him.

  “We have two hours before breakfast, so let’s get going,” Greco said as he walked out of the kitchen, then out of the house.

  “Yes, sir.” Mirissa said to the now empty room and then followed him outside.

  The day started with a ten-mile run around the property. It took her a couple of miles to find her groove, but once she did, Mirissa found herself focusing on the landscape around her instead of the run. The woods were thick, and even though the sun had already risen, the canopy created the look of never-ending dusk. It was a really peaceful place, she thought as she wound her way around the trees following Greco. They passed a good-sized pond that lay a few hundred yards behind the barn, and later a vegetable garden that Mirissa assumed Laura used for her cooking.

  Nearing the one-hour mark of their run, Mirissa figured they should be fairly close to done. Without knowing the route they had taken, she had no way of knowing the distance they’d run, but she felt as though she had stayed at about a six minute per mile pace—not terribly difficult but enough to get her blood moving. When they followed the path out of the woods, her thoughts were confirmed when the front of the barn came into view. Slowing to a walking pace to let her heart rate come down to normal, and downing the last of her water, Mirissa saw Mr. Baxter—he hadn’t told her to call him Walter—chopping wood in the hou
se’s back yard. He looked up and gave her a smile and a wave, which she happily returned, as she walked over to Greco.

  “What’s next, coach?” Mirissa asked with a cheeky grin, trying to show Greco that she could handle more than just a long run.

  “Let’s head inside and start the workout.”

  Start the workout? Maybe she shouldn’t have tried to show off so soon. This was definitely going to be a long day, Mirissa thought as they entered the barn.

  Apparently Greco decided to test her abilities to ascertain just how much work they had to do, so he had Mirissa sit on a large blue mat near the center of the exercise area. First, he timed her for two minutes while she did push-ups, to see if she could reach 100, which was considered optimal for Special Forces recruits. She did 104. After resting for sixty seconds, she did sit-ups for the same amount of time, beating the Special Forces’ standard of 100 by six this time. Her last test was pull-ups. Do as many as you can, before your body fails. Moving over to the pull-up bar that was suspended from the ceiling, Mirissa completed twenty-three full pull-ups before she wasn’t able to do any more.

  Greco seemed almost pleased at her less than stellar performance on the pull-up bar. Special Forces guys had an optimum goal of twenty-five and she had just missed it.

  “Not bad,” he said, “but we have some work to do.” He clearly didn’t see any need to compliment her on her performance. “Go on into the house and get ready for breakfast.”

  Now that was something she was actually looking forward to.

  After an amazing breakfast with the Baxters of pancakes, eggs, and sausage, of which Mirissa ate more than her fair share, it was off to the barn for some target practice.

  The firing range had three lanes measuring twenty-five yards long. At the front of each lane was a waist high counter for laying your weapon and ammunition down. Mirissa followed Greco to a small room in front of the range and waited for him to enter a code into the electronic lock on the door. When the lock disengaged, she went inside to choose her weapon.