Chosen Soldiers

by R. H. Scott

  “What’s going on, Radcliffe?” He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his broad chest. She explained what she was going to ask for from the Order when she won and she watched the incredulous look grow on Stone’s face. He stifled a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “All I can tell you is no one has ever asked for that.”

  “But I am allowed to ask for it?”

  “You can ask for anything aside from a direct Dismissal of another student,” he answered.

  To Jared’s great annoyance. . .

  He cleared his throat. “But it is unorthodox and—­”

  “But, sir—­”

  He raised a hand to ward off her protest. “I’m not saying don’t do it, Radcliffe, I am just saying”—­he lowered his voice, speaking softer but somehow more seriously—­“you’re walking a fine line when you try to defy the Order . . .”

  Sloan took a deep breath, taking in his ominous words. She knew that he was right. She thought of the fight they had forced her and Jared into; she thought of how they could give her away to Elijah if they so chose; she thought of Romani and his objectification of her; she thought of Tandy and Kenny . . .

  Screw the Order—­they were the ones walking a fine line by testing her limits.

  “I’m not afraid,” she answered boldly, acknowledging the fact that she did have something to be afraid of by pursuing this train of thought.

  He nodded at her slowly, understanding her motives.

  “Radcliffe, about the other night, and everything that is going on with you and Dawson and Daniels—­I am sorry . . .” he offered, lowering his gruff demeanor, regarding her with sincere apology in his eyes.

  She shrugged, dejected, resigned to her role here—­to the way the Academy saw her . . . but she wouldn’t go quietly, she wouldn’t accept objectification without putting up a fight.

  “All I am in this place is property,” she admitted boldly. What did she have to lose in being candid? She trusted this man with her life. She expected him to understand, but even if he didn’t, what would it change? The Order didn’t care if she knew how they saw her; they believed there was nothing she could do about it anyway.

  “No, Radcliffe, not to me you aren’t. You’re the greatest student this place has ever seen. Believe me, I’ve trained them all.” He leaned across the desk, speaking so softly she almost didn’t hear him. “And that makes you dangerous.”

  Fight Night Prep was the preview sparring session between all the contenders—­while it was meant to be an opportunity to display exercise and control in the ring, it was really just a highlight reel of what was to come. Sloan paced, stretching out her arms. She looked to Jared, warming up with Will; to Maya Woods, speaking to a group of her friends; to Elijah, who watched her warily as he loosened up . . . and she felt nothing. She felt numb.

  Jared didn’t love her enough to change his mind, Elijah wanted her so badly he would hurt anyone in the process of getting her, and the Order—­the ­people whom she had put all her faith in—­viewed her as their property, as a prize. There was only one person in this entire Academy who could see her for what she was—­Stone. She was dangerous. She had been pushed too far.

  Stone cleared his throat loudly. “Daniels and Radcliffe, Dawson and Woods, front and center. Everyone else, take a seat—­this is Fight Night Prep!” His voice boomed through the hall. Students began to file into the stands as the four of them congregated on the training mats, circling Stone.

  “Dawson—­spar with Woods; Daniels, you take Radcliffe. When I blow my whistle, you swap whom you’re sparring with.”

  Sloan squared off with Elijah. She hadn’t spoken to him since that night in the rain. She didn’t want to speak to him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, eyeing her up cautiously. She said nothing, her hands tightening into fists, squaring off with him.

  She found her balance, rolling her head around, loosening up her neck. At the sound of the whistle, she gave in to her basic nature. She felt the adrenaline speed through her, she found the silence in the room despite all the noise, her vision narrowed in on her target, and she jumped—­aiming a spinning kick at Elijah.

  He blocked, narrowly escaping her assault. She spun and connected a roundhouse against him. He had a startled look in his eyes—­surprised by her unbridled attack.

  Still want me now? she thought, leaping forward and locking him with her legs in a scissor kick. He rolled to the ground with her—­and she came out on top. She struck at him violently with quick, precise jabs. She got his cheek, his neck and his temple. With a swift shove, he sent her flying off him. She was on her feet first and made the first strike—­she was too fast for him now.

  He swung at her but she ducked, coming up behind him and pulling him into a chokehold. He flung his body forward, sending her flying over the top of him. She rolled to the ground, ready to make her next move, as the whistle blew.

  Maya had leaped at the opportunity and Sloan barely caught the girl’s foot as it came flying towards her face. She wrenched Maya’s ankle, rolling to the side, and kicked at her knee. She jumped to her feet as Maya fell to her knees in pain.

  You really think you’re any match for me? She leaped, spiraling in the air, landing a back kick on the other girl. Maya fell back, rolling to the side, pushing herself up to her feet.

  Sloan took a confident step towards her, lowering her guard. “Is this all you’ve got?” she berated her. Maya swung but Sloan caught her wrist, twisting it inward until Maya buckled at the waist. Sloan kneed her in the chest, and if that weren’t enough, she kicked in the back of Maya’s leg, forcing her to the ground—­for good measure.

  Sloan held her down forcefully. Incapacitating her gave her a chance to see Jared and Elijah—­fighting full force for the first time.

  Every strike, every hit and kick . . . they were too similar. They moved with dangerous speed. Jared performed double roundhouse kicks, which Elijah blocked and answered with spinning hook kicks. They moved one another into locks as quickly as they broke free from them. They were incredible to watch.

  It filled Sloan with terror—­and with loathing. They fought so hard for her, to control her, to win her. She watched them move and saw the brilliance in their abilities and knew, with absolute certainty, that there was only one other student here who could fight like that—­her.

  She kept her eyes trained on them and found a deep desire to hit them—­to hurt them, the way they had hurt her.

  The whistle blew and Elijah immediately stopped his intended assault and turned away from Jared. Taking his exit as an easy opportunity, Jared nailed Elijah’s ribs with a heavy side kick. They all heard the deafening snap. The look on Elijah’s face confirmed the break.

  Stone blew his whistle sharply. “Dawson!”

  Jared paid no attention to Stone. He grabbed Elijah, ready to hit him again. The rules don’t apply to us—­not anymore, Sloan thought. She flung Maya’s small body away from her, and leaped towards the guys.

  She blocked Jared’s next hit and the look in his eyes was pure anger—­but it paled in comparison to her rage. He had devastated her—­she wanted him to know her pain.

  She hit him with a double upper cut, and stepping into him, she cuffed him with an elbow strike. Before he could pull away, she kneed him in the abdomen, and as he lurched back, she landed a forward kick. He moved to grab her, to cage her with his arms, but she was too fast. She ducked, grabbing his arm and pulling it back in a lock, using all her might. She kicked at his legs, landing him flat on his stomach. She kneeled, holding his strong arm back, and kneed him in the ribs, feeling him break against her.

  It hurts, doesn’t it—­being betrayed by the one you love?

  Sloan was startled as a strong arm began to pull her away from Jared—­it was Elijah. She spiraled in his grip, hitting him forcefully. He let her go and she struck a f
orward kick against his diaphragm. Jared was in front of her in an instant, in obvious pain, fear in his eyes as he watched her lose control.

  “Sloan,” he began, but she didn’t want to hear it. She backhanded him, turning in time to kick Elijah back away from her. In her periphery, she saw Maya leap.

  Stay out of this, amateur.

  Sloan caught the girl, striking her in the temple as she flung Maya to the side. Elijah and Jared stood beside one another, both bruised and broken, both keenly aware of her rage.

  Jared reached for her hand—­big mistake. She grabbed his wrist, viciously turning it back as she twirled in, landing a back kick against his chest. Elijah moved to grab her, and she struck at his throat. She fell to the floor and spiraled on her foot, using her extended leg to kick his feet out from underneath him.

  And then there was perfect silence—­a moment of pure stillness. She rested, perched on her haunches, ready to strike out. The boys rolled to their feet, slowly rising. Maya was still on the floor, nursing her wounds, barely moving.

  “Radcliffe.” Stone’s voice filled the room. She ignored him. Jared and Elijah, probably unbeknownst to them, raised their hands slowly, offering peace as they regarded her with fear.

  Jared took a slow step towards her, extending his hand. She leaped to her feet, backing up. “Don’t touch me!”

  Her angry order echoed through the room. Stone slowly stepped onto the training mat. Sloan was aware that everyone was watching—­she didn’t care.

  “Sloan,” Elijah began but Stone grabbed the boy’s shoulder and held him back. “Don’t touch her. No one touch her.”

  Sloan’s breath began to return, slowly filling her lungs. She could see the look of fear in all of their eyes, she could sense the tension in the room, and the way they all circled her—­like she was a wild animal.

  She regained her composure, pulling her shoulders back tightly, looking at the damage she had done. She looked at the shock, the concern and the pain in Elijah’s and Jared’s faces. She shook her head. She didn’t need to be here—­she didn’t need to stay here. She looked from the boy who broke her heart, to the one who had wanted to win it, to the man who had trained her to be this lethal—­and she had no idea which one she was addressing when she spoke. “See what you’ve made me?”

  CHAPTER 5

  Jared had opted to sleep in the Infirmary for the rest of the week, managing to skillfully avoid her. She had taken to eating in her living quarters, a concession granted by John, the kitchen head, based on her promise to train his son privately. Even now, as she sat in class, trying to ignore Mika and Erica’s snide words about her, she played out the conversation she was going to have with Jared.

  Since her display at Fight Night Prep virtually everyone had given her a wide berth—­too afraid of her volatile nature. She glanced at the empty seats on either side of her—­she had become a pariah. She didn’t really care—­no one understood what she was going through. The path all this insanity had put her on was one she was certain she would have to walk alone . . . but she missed him.

  She wanted to tell him that hurting him had only hurt her more. That he was part of what had pushed her to such limits—­that his darkness had finally brought out hers. She wanted him to understand—­to change his mind about Fight Night while he still had time to do so. She wanted him to know that if he changed back into the version of himself she knew and loved then she would change back too.

  With a dull beep, the large metal door of the classroom slid to the side, revealing Elijah. Sloan eyed him suspiciously—­he wasn’t enrolled in this class. She watched as he walked over to Professor Masse, handing over a note. Masse looked it over, nodding. “Very well, take a seat.”

  He crossed the room, obviously still nursing broken ribs, and tossed his bag on the desk next to Sloan. “Is this seat taken?”

  Sloan felt the stares of her classmates, but she ignored their speculative eyes as she looked up at Elijah with confusion. “What are you doing here?”

  He winced in pain as he rummaged through his bag, taking a seat next to her. “I changed my classes around.”

  “Why?” she asked him in disbelief. He should have been as afraid of her as everyone else was now—­more so than everyone else. He had helped unleash her rage and he was a prime target of it.

  “Has anyone spoken to you since Fight Night Prep?” he whispered, arching his brow at her. She looked away—­he knew no one was speaking to her.

  She didn’t have time for his games. “What do you want, Elijah?”

  He readjusted in his seat, keeping a hand on his bro­ken ribs. “I told you,” he whispered, “I only want you.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “I attacked you,” she reminded him.

  He shrugged indifferently. “I still want you.”

  At that moment, Sloan experienced a feeling she had never expected—­flattery. His persistence was strong enough to survive her violent attack against him, and that—­being the exact opposite of the response she had expected—­surprised her.

  A hand tapped Elijah on the shoulder, and Sloan glanced back to see who it was. Tim Smith—­a captain on 38—­leaned over from the desk behind. “Careful, Dawson, her friends drop like flies.” Elijah looked back at Smith’s hand, resting on his shoulder, and then stared right into Tim’s amused face.

  “Talk about her again and I will break your hand, Smith.” Elijah’s whispered threat caused the boy to recoil, falling back in his seat. Even with broken ribs, there weren’t many ­people in the Academy willing to challenge him. Sloan looked to Elijah, silently thanking him for his determination to win her over. Having him, she supposed, was better than having no one.

  Sloan’s dislike of the Infirmary had intensified threefold recently. She walked the narrow corridor, feeling Tandy’s and Kenny’s presence at her side. She held her arms around herself, quietly navigating the clinical floor. The Infirmary had incredible technology: lasers that cauterized wounds, machines that scanned bodies in seconds and chip readers that could help identify unseen injuries. She wondered what damage would show up if she could be scanned now.

  As she moved through the rows of rest beds, she looked for number 314, where Nurse Patty had told her Jared was. As she approached the bed number she was surprised by the sound of voices.

  “She’s unhinged. She broke your rib, Jared.”

  “You deserve better.”

  Sloan pulled the white curtain back and found Jared, sitting up, flanked by Mika and Erica.

  She stood up straighter, glaring. “What are you two doing here?”

  Erica stood, crossing her arms over her chest. “Us? What are you doing here?” Sloan took a confident step towards the girl. She had no reservations about putting Erica down, not after everything. She was supposed to be Sloan’s friend—­but all of 27 had completely ostracized her since Fight Night Prep.

  “Get out of here,” she ordered the girls. They didn’t move.

  Sloan took a measured breath. “I said get out,” she repeated, her low voice an authoritative command. They would listen to her because she could pull rank on them or they would listen to her because she would physically enforce her order—­but either way, they would listen. Slowly, under her threatening glare, the girls grabbed their bags and filed past her.

  She waited until she heard their footsteps disappear down the hall. She glanced to the glass touch screen behind Jared’s bed; it flashed images of his ribs, as well as his vitals and monitors on his nutrition and medication. She touched the end of his bed gingerly.

  “I wanted to apologize,” she began, looking down at him.

  Jared scoffed. “For breaking my ribs?”

  She maintained eye contact. “Yes.”

  He shrugged his shoulders dismissively. “Whatever, you wanted to hurt me, so well done.”

  She sat on the end of the bed. “You pushed me to t
hat, Jared . . . You and the Order and Elijah.”

  “Well, none of it will matter for much longer.”

  “Jare, even if you win and send Elijah to Review, you know he’s too good to be Dismissed. Not even your bond with the Order could get them to get rid of someone like him.”

  Jared let his heavy gaze fall on her. “You have to know by now that I’m not sending him to Review.”

  Sloan’s breath caught in her lungs. Has he finally changed his mind? She reached over, grabbing his hands. “Thank you, I can’t tell you how—­”

  He snatched his hand away, cutting her off. “Sloan, I’m not sending him to Review because I’m going to ask for him to be Dismissed.”

  She shook her head at him. “We all know that’s not allowed.”

  He cocked his head to the side, seemingly enjoying telling her this. “Stone lied to us. It’s been granted in Winnings before.”

  Is that true? What kind of monster would have asked for someone to die in the ring? The kind like Jared. The dark answer quickly crossed her mind.

  “You can’t do this,” she pleaded.

  He smoothed the bedding over his legs, his hands still and controlled. “You will learn to live without him.”

  “Will you learn to live without me?” she snapped back.

  “We’ve been over this . . . I won’t have to. When I win, you will remain mine.”

  She shook her head at him, swallowing heavily. “Stop talking like that.”

  He said nothing. The pain she felt was immeasurable. She had learned that heartbreak was something you could physically feel. She had never endured a pain that she hadn’t overcome—­would this time be different?

  She stood and walked up to the side of the bed, leaning over his face. An odd calm came over her, a stillness before a storm—­this was their goodbye.

  “I love you, Jared Dawson, and I always will,” she whispered into his hair. She kissed him, bringing her hands up to his face, running them through his hair, pulling him in and savoring him. She wanted to breathe him in and remember this feeling. She ran her lips over his, tugging at them softly, experiencing him the way she had countless times before. Pulling away finally, she rested her forehead against his. They breathed in one another’s air, eyes closed, and she could hear his heart beating, slow and certain, undeniable proof that he still had one.