Page 19 of Rescuing Sophia

“Yeah, she’s hanging with me all day long.” Blake steps in, placing a reassuring hand on my back.

“Sounds like a plan. Come on, ladies, time to show Sophia whatwe can do.” Ethan adjusts his stance, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm.

The men’s banter washes over me like a warm wave. It’s so different from what I’m used to—my former guards’ cold, formal demeanor. These men are close friends, and their camaraderie is evident in every joke and playful shove.

Gabe nudges Rigel with his elbow. “Hope you’re ready to eat mat today, rookie. I’ve been practicing my throws.”

“Rookie? In your dreams, old man. I may be new to Charlie team, but I know my shit.” Rigel scoffs, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “I’ll have you tapping out in five minutes flat.”

“Oh ho!” Walt slaps Rigel on the back. “Big words from the baby of the team. Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

“How about this—loser buys drinks for the whole team tonight?” Hank jumps right in, not missing a beat.

A chorus of agreements and whoops follows this suggestion.

“Don’t let them fool you.” Blake, walking beside me, leans in close. His breath tickles my ear as he whispers. “Hank’s the real shark here. He always cleans up on these bets.”

I suppress a shiver at Blake’s proximity, forcing myself to focus on the conversation around us.

“And the overall loser has to run the obstacle course in full gear—backward.” Ethan’s unable to hide his amusement.

This announcement is met with a mix of groans and laughter.

“Better start stretching, Gabe,” Walt teases his teammate. “Those old bones of yours aren’t going to like running backward.”

Gabe responds with a rude gesture that makes everyone laugh again.

As we enter the gym, the playful atmosphere lingers, starkly contrasting the intense training I’m about to witness. I can’t help but smile, caught up in their infectious energy.

The gymnasium is even more impressive up close. The polished floors gleam under the bright lights, and the air is thick with the scent of rubber mats and determination. The team spreads out, pairing off for sparring. I settle on a nearby bench, my eyes drawn immediately to Blake.

He steps onto the mat, squaring off against Hank. They exchange a nod, a silent agreement to give it their all. A moment later, they begin, their movements a blur of precision and power.

It’s like watching a deadly dance, each strike and block flowing seamlessly into the next. Blake’s style is aggressive, constantly pushing forward, while Hank relies more on counterattacks.

“That’s Krav Maga.” Walt sits beside me on the bench, his voice warm and friendly. “It’s an Israeli fighting style. Brutal but effective.”

I startle, surprised. Too engrossed in watching Blake, I missed Walt’s approach, but my attention snaps back to the mat. Blake executes a flawless throw, sending Hank flying through the air. Hank recovers swiftly, sweeping Blake’s legs out from under him.

They grapple on the mat, a tangle of limbs and muscle. Blake counters with a deft twist, using Hank’s momentum against him. Hank rolls, trying to leverage Blake’s arm, but Blake anticipates the move, slipping free and flipping Hank onto his back.

The intensity of their sparring is mesmerizing, every move calculated, every counter executed with precision. Blake finally gains the upper hand, pinning Hank to the mat, his powerful frame commanding the scene. Their heavy breaths underscore the sheer exertion and skill woven into their combat.

“Wow.” The word slips out, mesmerized by the display of strength and technique before me.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Walt chuckles softly beside me, leaning closer. His eyes follow the action. “Blake’s one of the best. He’s not just strong, he’s smart—always thinking three steps ahead.”

“You’re slipping, old man.” Blake wipes the sweat from his brow, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Just setting you up for a false sense of security.” Hank grins, a playful glint in his eye.

The display of raw power and skill leaves me in awe, a flutter of excitement and admiration stirring within me. My gaze stays fixed on Blake as he helps Hank to his feet, their camaraderie clear in the exchange of grins and pats on the back.

I glance around the room, noticing the other pairs. Gabe andRigel are focused on knife defense techniques, their movements swift and precise. Ethan watches intently, offering corrections and praise in equal measure.

“This is so different,” I muse aloud, the words escaping before I can stop them.

“How so?” Walt’s eyebrow arches, curiosity written across his features.

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