Whisper (Whisper #1)(10)

I feel his gaze leaving a burning trail along my skin like a tangible force.

I will not react. I will not react. I will not —

“Right, let’s get to work.”

Thank you, Enzo.

“I’ll meet up with you for lunch, Lando. You need to get out of here before JD spontaneously combusts. If her face turns any redder, she’ll melt the polar ice caps.”

I want the ground to open beneath me and accept my burning body as a sacrificial offering. But, like most things I want, that doesn’t happen. Instead, Ward’s dimpled smile causes my capricious heart to stutter in my chest.

“I mean it, Lando,” Enzo adds. “If JD’s been sneaking extra carbs, it’s my job to work them off her. I’ll drag your ass out of here myself if I have to.”

“I’d like to see you try. Remember what happened the last time you took me on?”

“Just go.” Enzo pushes Ward’s shoulder — hard.

“All right, all right, I’m going,” Ward says, his voice ringing with amusement. He turns toward me and adds, “See you in a few hours, Chip. Feel free to come dressed just like that.”

I have to put an end to this before it spirals out of control.

I may not have any power at Lengard, but I have managed to retain some semblance of self-respect.

Enzo reads the intent in my eyes, his own lighting in response.

“I’ve changed my mind, Lando,” Enzo says, reaching an arm out to stop Ward from leaving. “Why don’t you hang around for a few minutes. See for yourself what JD can do ‘dressed just like that.’”

Pointing to me, Enzo orders, “You, stretch.” His finger moves to Ward. “You, give us some space.”

Ward silently obeys Enzo’s command, watching me the whole time. His look is spine-tinglingly uncomfortable, but I switch off my awareness of him and focus on Enzo, who has stepped away to retrieve our boxing gloves.

I stretch my muscles in preparation for what is ahead. By the time Enzo returns to my side with his gloves already strapped on, I’m feeling confident about my decision to prove myself to Ward. I won’t let him mess with me. At least not outwardly.

Enzo passes my gloves over, and I look down at the garish hot-pink leather, resisting the urge to smile. I never see anyone at Lengard aside from the guards and the various evaluators during my scheduled sessions. That has always been the case, except for once. A few weeks after I first arrived, I began to feel trapped by the walls of Lengard and the realization that this place would be my prison for the rest of my life — however long or short that might be.

After a horrific day where Enzo knocked me unconscious in our sparring session and Vanik introduced me to one of his more … extreme experiments, I was curled up on my pallet, my body aching, my mind screaming, when the door to my cell slid open and Enzo hurried in. He held a finger to his lips as he approached my side, handing me a bag.

“It’ll get better, JD. You can survive this,” he whispered, glancing nervously back toward the door. “Every time you put these on, I want you to remember that, okay? Just don’t give up.”

I opened the bag to find the hot-pink gloves inside — the only hint of color I’d seen in weeks. A token of hope, perhaps, for a brighter future.

Apart from that one time, I’ve never seen Enzo outside of training. But his kind gesture made its mark, even if he had to take the gloves with him when he left that night so they wouldn’t be confiscated. Now he hands them over every day when we train, and his words are forever burned into my brain.

Don’t.

Give.

Up.

Those three words have helped me more times than I can count. They’ve helped me through the long hours of silence and isolation; they’ve helped me fight the memories and the nightmares; they’ve helped me survive the tests and the torture. No one could take them from me — not Vanik, not Manning … not even myself.

“You ready for this?” Enzo asks, pulling me back to the present.

I tighten the straps around my wrists, raise my hands and bounce on the balls of my feet.

Enzo grins at Ward. “I suggest you take some notes, Lando. You might think you can kick my ass, but it’s been a while since we last sparred. You’re about to see how wrong you are.”

Instead of listening for Ward’s comeback, I lunge forward and land a solid double punch to Enzo’s torso, then follow up with a roundhouse kick that has enough power to push him back a few steps.

I’m surprised by his lack of defense. Normally, he’s much more guarded. But he recovers quickly and begins his own attack in earnest.

Other than strength and endurance training — those being muscle-burning, high-intensity workouts — my physical sessions with Enzo cover all forms of martial arts, from Taekwondo to Aikido to Jiu-Jitsu, as well as boxing, wrestling and kickboxing techniques. I could train for a hundred thousand years and still have more to learn, but after the time I’ve spent with Enzo, I can hold my own against him — at least for a few minutes.

I’ve never fully understood why sparring is a part of my daily routine. When I first began training with Enzo, he started to explain about the importance of having control, before cutting himself off and instead sharing that physical health and mental health are interconnected. “Healthy body, healthy mind” is what he told me. I understood the implication. Lengard wants my body in peak condition so that my mind can handle whatever tests, whatever program, they’re running with me.