Page 12 of Knot Yours

Right on time, the crew filters in through the double doors and lines up on the mat in the forty-by-forty room. I take a deep breath and step toward the front to begin. We’re scheduled to practice Krav Maga today.

Krav is a fast, brutal, no-holds-barred fighting style that serves the armed forces well. I trained for years in the form and became a certified instructor to give my operatives legitimate instruction.

I run today’s training at a faster pace than usual, though it’s not intentional. With ten minutes to go still, the operatives are flailing. Even the Frenchman, Laurent, is quivering and dripping sweat. Looking around more carefully, I realize what I’ve done. Head out of your ass, Madden. Shame heats my face at my loss of control. “That’s enough. Get out of here,” I order the group.

The operatives file out, some nearly crawling, and I feel even more like shit. Grueling sessions are necessary to build endurance, but today wasn’t supposed to be one of them. I basically tortured these people because I’m angry about having a fucking crush.

Disgusted with myself, I release Piper to her outdoor play area and collect my gun from my locker. I need to shoot some shit. The operatives are probably napping in the showers, so the ranges should be empty. I steer toward the obstacle course, needing the adrenaline rush of a moving drill. I select from a series of difficulty options on the control panel, and while the randomized course activates, I check my magazine and pop in ear protection.

The course doesn’t count you in. Once you step on the starting pad, the program begins without warning at any given moment. The short lull allows just enough time for my mind to wander. An image of Marisol’s face threatens to wreck my concentration, but I shove thoughts of her away. Still, the green light surprises me even though I was waiting for it.

I rush forward in a crouch, knowing this section has laser-activated paintball guns. The first target pops up from between two equipment cases. I hit center mass with one shot and move on.

The main lights shut off, and a strobe fixture begins pulsing from the left wall. Nice touch. The effect is disorienting, which was the intention, I’m sure. Squirrelly yellow and purple lights from above begin dancing over the floor like some psychedelic lava shit. The many speakers in the room erupt with gunfire, grenade blasts, and yelling. What the actual fuck?

My next shot is a miss when the floor suddenly vibrates beneath my feet. Sparks fly from beneath a metal chest. I jump out of the way, not wanting my ass to be set on fire. Whoever designed this course is sick in the head.

My last six shots are hits, if not centered. By the time I hit the finish target, I’m convinced I’m about to have a psychotic breakdown.

The lights come on, and I walk back to the beginning, shaking my head. Sadie waits, leaning against the wall at the control panel, armed to the teeth and crossing her arms over her chest. “A little more than you were expecting?” she taunts.

Knot’s second-in-command stares unflinchingly, wearing a smug grin, and I notice the toggles on the control panel do not match the settings I put in. “I suppose I had that coming.”

Sadie relaxes and chuckles. “Nah. We all need to be shaken up every now and again. The question is, what’s shaken you?”

Besides being one of the baddest asses to roam these halls, I don’t know much about the former Marine Raider. We share a great mutual respect for each other’s service and experience, but personal matters have never come up in conversation.

However, given her approximate age, a few burning questions churn in my gut. Pride fights to keep my mouth securely shut, but memories of Amber’s betrayal remind me that I have no pride where the heart is concerned. “You’re about thirty, right?”

“Give or take,” she answers with a wink.

My inner battle rages, but my desire for Marisol wins out. “How old is too old?”

The only indication Sadie is surprised by the question is a slight widening of her eyes. At her reaction, I chicken out. “Forget it.”

“No,” she calls out, lurching forward. Sadie tosses her auburn braid over her shoulder and steps closer. “I just don’t understand what you’re asking. You’re not thinking about retiring, are you?”

“God no,” I scoff.

“Then, what are you talking about?”

I sigh at the genuine concern in her voice, deciding to get it over with and spill my guts. “Am I too old for someone who’s thirty?”

Now, Sadie grins hugely. “Hell no. Why would you ever think that?”

I don’t answer, and her grin spreads to her cheeks. “Who is she?”

My mouth opens to answer, but I catch myself. What is this, a slumber party?

Sadie waggles her eyebrows, and I smile despite myself. “None of your damn business.”

I walk off the range to find Piper. She’s happily running around her outdoor obstacle course, uncovering the treats hidden in the various challenges. By the looks of things, she’s having better luck than I am today.

Neither of us are active military, but we keep up our training just like every other operative here. We’re both certified for field work and are always ready to serve as an emergency backup for Knot Corp assignments.

My work is complete for today, but I have no interest in sitting at my desk for the afternoon like I usually do. Since no meetings are scheduled for today, I gather my keys and phone and call Piper. She bounds toward me from her fluffy bed near my desk, and we walk side by side to my Land Rover. She bounces like the change in routine means a treat of some kind, but my only plan is to go home.

Soon after walking in the door, I have food out for Piper and throw together a ham sandwich. I could have stayed and eaten at work. That’s what I usually do. Then, after lunch, I would almost always spend a couple of hours on periodical maintenance research. These studies can include studying medical stats recorded from operatives’ watches, reviewing training films for individual operative instruction, conferring with our doctor on health recommendations, or checking up on advancements in physical training.

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