Page 42 of The Endless Want

“All right,” he says, voice low but not unkind. “I’ve been told to run every one of you through the same drills. Some of you are going to be bored.” His gaze stops on Nadia for exactly as long as it takes to make a point. “The bored ones can help me.”

My stomach tightens at that. Maybe because it’s too close to the truth of what nearly happened. Maybe because I still feel Declan’s hands on me from that night—not the violent ones from the alley, but the ones after. The ones I haven’t been able to stop thinking about, no matter how angry I’ve been. No matter how abandoned I feel now.

It isn’t the alley that follows me around. I’ve had worse from people who wanted less. It’s that they were already there when I turned the corner, which means someone told them which corner.

Ronan continues. “This is not meant to scare you. It’s meant to build you. And if you can get through even half the shit I’m going to show you over the next few months, you’ll walk into every room knowing you can defend your life if you have to. Understand?”

“Mackenzie nods. Nadia lifts her chin, eager. I force my head to dip once.”

“Good,” Ronan says. “Then let’s begin.”

The Italians shift along the edges of the room like shadows, watching every angle while Ronan directs us into a loose semicircle. He demonstrates each move slowly at first—stances, strikes, escapes—and his patience is surprising for a man with his reputation. When he corrects posture or footwork, he is precise but gentle, adjusting an elbow or a knee with a featherlight touch.

But he doesn’t let anyone coast.

When Mackenzie’s punch lands soft, he steps close, holds her fist in place, and says quietly, “Your life is more important than his ribs. Hit like you want to stay alive.”

When I overextend on a kick, he taps my ankle. “Power comes from control, not rage.”

When Nadia slips into muscle memory—dangerously fast, scarily sharp—he tells her, “Good. But don’t forget these are defensive drills, not executions.” She only smiles faintly, something dark in her eyes that makes one of the Italian guards flinch.

And me? Ronan works me harder than anyone. He puts me on the mat three times in the first twenty minutes, and each time he watches how fast I get up instead of whether I do.

The fourth time, he offers a hand. “You’ve done this before.”

It isn’t a question, so I don’t answer it.

“You went for his eyes in that alley,” he says, pulling me up. “Nobody taught you that last week.” He steps back into stance. “So the problem isn’t your hands. The problem is you’ve decided that getting grabbed makes you someone who gets grabbed. Lose that. It’ll kill you faster than they will.”

I push harder.

By the end of the session, sweat clings to every inch of me. My hair is stuck to my forehead. My hands tremble slightly from adrenaline and exhaustion, but for the first time in weeks, it feels like the trembling belongs to me and not something that was done to me.

Ronan claps his hands once, loud enough to reverberate. “Good work. Eat something, and don’t sleep in a room with the window unlatched. Same time tomorrow.”

When he dismisses us, the women disperse slowly—some chatting, some silent. I start packing away the water bottle I barely touched, trying not to look as drained as I feel, when Ronan steps beside me.

“You did well,” he says.

“Barely.”

“Barely is better than nothing. And you didn’t quit.”

I swallow. “Do people usually quit?”

He studies me for a beat. “The ones who quit are the ones who came in thinking it wouldn’t happen to them.” He nods once. “You’ve never had that problem.”

“Will I?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “You’re built for more than you think.”

Those words shouldn’t hit me as hard as they do. I give a small nod before leaving the room, the Italians’ eyes on us until I step into the hallway.

The weeks blur after that.

Work becomes my anchor. My refuge. My distraction. I drown myself in it—spreadsheets, reports, strategist briefs, negotiation projections. Liam sends task after task my way, and instead of feeling burdened, I cling to each one like proof I still have worth in this place, in this war, in a world that feels like it spun off its axis the moment Declan walked away without looking back.

I check my phone more than I care to admit.