Hitman: Captured | #1 - HIATUS

► Chapter 11

"Get on."

"No."

"Matt, just get on, you'll be fine."

"Fine? Like you told me yesterday that I was going to be fine and I ended up limping all fucking day? I told you to stop going so fast and did you listen? No, you never do."

"Well maybe if you did what I told you when I said to keep going, it wouldn't have happened. I was holding you the entire time."

I give the blonde Hitman a glare; his short blonde tresses drops down to his forehead, honey hazel eyes glowing in annoyance. His toned arms crossed over his chest as his flesh pink lips release an exasperated sigh, "Please, get on the treadmill. I'll make you whatever you want after this." My ears perk up at his words, blue eyes gazing at him in hope. I was getting tired of the stupid diet this asshole put me on because it would 'help me recover faster'.

No matter how many times I said I didn't need the diet, he decided to say I was ten pounds over the average weight. In other words, he called me fat. "You will?" I question still unable to believe that after ten days of strict diet, Neil is finally going to let me eat real food. He rolls his eyes, "Yes, whatever you want but you have to do what I tell you first."

I scoff at him, leaning further on my left leg as my right trembles by the simple attempt of moving it after Neil pushed me past my limits yesterday. He patiently waits for me to respond or make any indication toward the machine; I don't move, eyes drifting to the equipment—staring for long several seconds.

Exhaling, I finally comply and step onto the machine with a disgruntled expression. Neil appears satisfied, extending his arm to change the settings accordingly. It jerks me as a warning, my hands on either side of the heart rate sensors as I steadily begin to walk, "Yesterday we did forty-five minutes. We're going to do it for forty-five minutes again but you won't run." I glower down at the man when I heard I have to do it again then seemingly calm down knowing I don't have to run.

Aside from that, the part I hate the most is what he is about to do now. Moving away from the side of the treadmill, he hops on behind me, his feet on either side of the foot rail. "Do you have to do this every damn time?" I inquire with thick annoyance in my tone. My right leg twitches once in a while, muscles tensing as it tries to keep up with the machine; I refuse to let go of the heart sensors until I am sure I won't fall and hit my face.

The brawny man's figure behind me—hovering over my shorter, fit frame. "I need you to be at a certain pace, if you slow down there wouldn't be any point." Neil responds nonchalantly.

"Yeah, it's so going to help you standing behind me like a stalker."

"Do you prefer I let you fall and break your face?" I shut up afterward, huffing and grunting in response. His strong gaze rakes through my body, observing every movement of my build from behind. It unsettles me. Fills me with anxiety.

It's so strange to have him dangerously close to me, the heat of his form reaching my back sending a tingling sensation throughout my fair skin. Blinking to regain focus on the task at hand, I regulate my breathing making sure I exhale more than I breathe in.

As the machine gradually increases its pace, I sense the Hitman moving further back from me to give me enough space to jog but not too far to be out of reach to catch me. I bit my lower lip carefully, cringing my nose at the tightness on my thigh sending agonizing sparks through my leg.

My leg is losing strength.

Barely ten minutes and I still have thirty-five more minutes to go. With that goal in mind, I push myself to continue, the amount of times I feel like I will lose my footing as soon as my feet lands on the running surface are becoming too frequent. Disregarding it, my mind drifts back to what I've been thinking about the past week.