“Unless you’re involved in an operation, you’ll start each morning here,” Maria said, pulling open a door. She led him into the most amazing gym he’d ever seen. Every imaginable exercise machine—treadmill, rowing machine, NordicTrack—you name it, and it was here. Along the back wall were weightlifting benches, and there was even a boxing ring. About a dozen people were inside, working out on the various machines to the sound of high-energy rock music blaring from overhead speakers. Two men Cody pegged as personal trainers were walking around the room, stopping now and then to assist someone.
He spied his other former SEAL teammates, Kincaid, Buchanan, and O’Connor. Kincaid was the first to notice him and gave a slight lift of his chin, indicating Cody should join them.
“Hit the deck,” his boss said, when Cody reached them. “Last one to a hundred gets in the ring with me.”
Hell. That was going to be him, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t give it all he had. He dropped alongside the others and powered through the first seventy-five push-ups, then with his arm muscles quivering and sweat pouring off him, he got to ninety-two before he collapsed facedown on the floor. What was about to follow was going to hurt.
Kincaid stared down at him, his lips curling in disgust. “Five o’clock, Dog. In the ring.”
Cody gave a curt nod, embarrassed about his poor showing. On the plus side, he had until five to recover before he had to step into the ring and get knocked on his ass by the boss.
He spent the rest of the day familiarizing himself with K2 and the current operations going on in various parts of the world. Several times, he caught his thoughts straying to his neighbor, wanting to crack a smile at her giving him the finger. She was a feisty one. If he were in a better place . . . he quickly shut that kind of thinking down. Between being screwed up, starting a new job, and cutting down on the booze, he didn’t have any room left for a woman. Even if a certain part of him down below disagreed.
All too soon, the day passed, and he found himself in the ring with Kincaid. Reluctantly in the ring, he amended. The rest of the team, along with other K2 employees, lined the perimeter, and after no one would bet on him, they gave up trying to place wagers. That was a boost to his ego. Not.
The only edge he had was that he was crazy. In their frequent bouts in-country, his team had all been leery of him, including the boss, as they never knew what to expect from “Dog.” That would be his only advantage in the fight about to happen. The rules were that there were no rules, and although he’d come out on top more often than not with his teammates, he’d never bested his commander. Even a fool could predict that wasn’t going to change today, and he just hoped Kincaid wouldn’t hurt him . . . too much. That was his last thought as his vision centered on the fist coming at him.
“What happened?” Cody asked from his position, flat on his back on the mat, as Doc stared down at him. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs.
Ryan O’Connor snorted. “First punch, you were out like a baby.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“You were today. The others left, didn’t want to stick around and shame you.”
And wasn’t that humiliating? Cody pushed up and glanced around. There was no one in sight. “I thought he’d let me play with him for a round or two first, that maybe I’d get a lucky hit in.”
“He was teaching you a lesson.” Ryan stood. “Since you’re not dead, I’m outta here. Got a hot date with my girl.”
Alone, Cody tried to stand, only to end up back on his ass. As he sat, waiting for the fuzz in his brain to clear, he bristled at being likened to a baby. Okay, Ryan had intentionally said it to motivate him. Yeah, he got that. Well, he did once the fog lifted. And the boss, same thing. Getting knocked on his ass with the first punch was definitely a motivating message.
He pushed up with one hand while using the other to rub his aching jaw. Getting back in fighting form would be a piece of cake. First thing in the morning, he’d begin a training regimen. Between that and the workouts they all participated in during the workday, in two weeks, three weeks max, he’d be back in shape.
The getting his act together? Whole different story. At least, he could admit his head wasn’t where it should be. That was a good thing, right? You couldn’t fix a problem if you didn’t acknowledge it. The nightmares weren’t helping, nor was not sleeping. Damn strange how he had never had a problem with either of those things until he had opted out of the SEALs.
It was like as long as he was doing his job of killing people, he was good with it. He’d followed the ROE to a T, and those Rules of Engagement had been frustrating at best and downright stupid at worst. Too many times, he’d let a man live who he knew down to his toes was a terrorist, because in a military court his only defense for the kill would have been, “I just knew.”