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Chapter Eight

The next two days and nights were a repeat of the first night, which consisted of some more shooting lessons, more of Taylor basically force-feeding me, and more sleepless nights.

I could tell Taylor knew I wasn't sleeping because his tossing and turning mimicked my own. It was his job, after all, to keep an eye on me and I knew keeping an eye on me also meant being awake with me. He never said a word though... probably figuring I didn't feel like chit-chatting at two in the morning. He was very much right.

The third day, though, was different.

"Today you are gonna learn how to kick ass," Taylor stated with a tone of determination and a very wide, excited grin. I felt a tad of annoyance at the fact that it was seven in the morning and I was still exhaustedly nestled warmly in bed while he stood right in front of me, looking as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as humanly possible.

This man was probably shooting straight caffeine into his veins.

I gave him one loud laugh at the thought of me "kicking ass". At my current height of 5'4'' and weight of 105, I couldn't do more harm to someone than a sloth could.

"I'm serious! I'm a very good teacher, I promise."

"Oh, I believe you. But...there's really not much to work with." I motioned down to my thin body with a sigh. He just shook his head and crossed his perfect, well-muscled arms.

Perfect arms? You sound like a fan-girl, Ariana.

"We'll fix that, don't worry. Plus, you don't need to be extremely muscular to fight. There are plenty of moves that don't need strength." Right...

I shrugged and said, "Well then, I'm ready to kick some ass."

Ten minutes later, I stood in front of the workout room feeling very puny. The enormous room held a bunch of complicated looking contraptions, several treadmills, and massive weights all lined up next to each other. Even though I had thrown on some athletic clothes, Taylor was the only one of us who seemed to fit right in.

"Is there anything this house doesn't have?" I asked, plucking my clingy tank top away from my body.

"I don't think so," Taylor replied, amusement clear on his face. His eyes glinted and he briskly made his way over to a large punching bag that hung from the ceiling, with me following close behind. He was definitely in his element.

"Okay, now punch me." He said as soon as he had turned around to face me.

My eyebrows immediately shot up at his request.

Punch him? What is he, a masochist?

Holding his hands firmly in front of him, Taylor gave me a small smile and nodded once, signaling me to do as he said.

"You won't hurt me. C'mon, give me a nice, solid punch. Oh and freeze where you are after you make contact with me."

I sighed but decided to indulge him. Taking a step back, I curled my hand into a fist and took a deep breath. Don't embarrass yourself. I quickly swung my arm forward with as much speed as I could muster and heard a satisfying smack as my hand hit his.

He didn't budge.

"Really? I put all my effort into that and you didn't even move." I let out a frustrated puff, keeping my gaze on our hands as he chuckled.

"Alright, first - you need to make sure your thumb is not trapped in your fist when you punch; that's very important. You don't wanna break your thumb." He slid his own fingers into my closed hand to open it before reconstructing my fingers into a fist with my thumb on the outside. "Second, a good punch is very dependent on your body structure. Throw your whole body into the punch instead of only swinging your arm. You can get a heck ton more power just from that."