I wake to the sound of Erik's vintage-style alarm clock ringing. Taking off the navy-blue blankets, I stretch and yawn. After yesterday's events, we had all decided to call it a night and head to bed early. After finishing some canned food that we had found in the pantry, Erik had shown us off to our rooms. There's the master bedroom, where Erik sleeps, plus two extra bedrooms, with two single beds in each. They're small rooms but considering it's a cottage and we were all worn out after our encounter with the assassins, it's more than enough.

"Training will begin tomorrow," Erik had said to me, much to my delight. "Six o'clock sharp." Which wasn't so much to my delight.

It's one of those old alarm clocks that had a radio, and it takes me a while before I figure out how to turn stop the constant beeping. I look down at my clothes, the same ones I wore yesterday, dirty and torn. I lift up the hem of my shirt, revealing the clean bandage I had wrapped around my stomach. Thankfully, it's stopped bleeding, as have the cuts on my hands. My knees are sore but fine.

I hope Erik can take us to a town nearby. I really need some clean clothes if I'm going to be staying here for who-knows-how-long.

I brush down my dirt-stained denim shorts, hoping to look a little more presentable. Realising the dirt is insistent upon remaining, I sigh before walking out the back door into the fresh morning air.

"Good morning." Erik nods at me from where he stands on the grassy hill.

"Morning," I reply walking out to meet him.

This part of the hill would be beautiful to stand on at night to observe the twinkling lights of the city below. It'd also be a pretty nice spot for a campfire or stargazing, I observe.

"I want you to do a few basic stretches to warm up. Then I want you to do thirty push-ups and fifty sit-ups to start off with," Erik orders, drawing my attention back to the task at hand.

Without wasting time, I begin, the determination from the night before returning. While I continue with the warm-ups, Erik talks.

"I can take you down to the shops later if you want. The town's only about five to ten minutes driving distance."

I look at him gratefully while doing a few lunges.

"Wait," I say, confused. "Driving distance? We don't have a car anymore."

Erik smiles and walks over to the side of the house, where a black sheet lay covering a fairly large object. He pulls the sheet off, revealing probably one of the tiniest cars I've ever see. Still, it's a five-seater, something I find miraculous as the dark blue car is so miniature. I look at the surrounding woods, wondering how on earth it could have gotten here, hidden amongst the woods. Then I see it, to my left. The trees were standing at the farther distance between each other forming a narrow dirt path, just big enough for a mini car to fit through.

I'll bet that the dirt path leads onto the main road, I think, partially impressed, as I get down to begin my push-ups.

"How...?" I start to say, but Erik answers before I can even finish my question.

"I'm not too sure. I didn't build this house, but I did have to reconstruct it quite a bit. I assume someone else used it before me, but to what purpose I wouldn't know. All I knew at the time was that the house obviously hadn't been used for quite a while as a lot of repairing had to be done, and the dirt road was covered in many twigs and brush."

I grunt in response, my arms shaking as I make it to fifteen push-ups, then twenty. By the time I reach thirty, my arms are already burning. I move onto my sit-ups, ignoring the pain as I resist the urge to lie back. And these are just warm-ups!

By the time I finally finish, which seems like hours later, though in reality, it can't have been more than fifteen minutes, Erik has picked up the mitts that lie on the ground beside his feet, and is waiting expectantly for me to stand.

"Punch as hard as you can," he tells me. "Ten on each side. I want to see how strong you already are."

I strike out into the mitt.

"Centre of the mitt, Audrey. Concentrate!"

I concentrate on the white circle in the centre of the mitt and strike harder. That being said, it still makes a pathetically weak sound as my fist meets the mitt. It just isn't as pathetic as the first time around.

"Better, keep going!" he encourages.

I continue punching, focusing all my energy into the mitts.

"By the way," I huff, striking out. "I don't have any money on me to go shopping. You told me not to bring any valuables."

"Don't worry about that," Erik says.

I'm about to question him but decide against it. As long as we don't go stealing from stores, I don't see a problem. As secretive as the man is, I'm growing a liking to him. It's true he seems a bit rough around the edges, but I can't help notice that he's not as tough as he makes out to be.

"Hey." I turn to find Mark standing outside the cottage, his hand on the doorknob as he closes the back door behind him. I note the fresh clothes he's wearing, denim jeans and a dark blue and black flannel shirt. The shoes, I notice are the same black Vanns as yesterday.

"Where did you get new clothes?" I question.

Mark smiles. "I've come here a few times. I've learnt to keep some spare clothes, just in case."

Erik strides over to Mark, handing him the mitts. "Bring her inside and go through some techniques, will you? I'll go wake Justine up and see if I can find anything in the kitchen for breakfast, otherwise, our first stop is finding some food."

Mark nods. "Sure thing."

A nervous, fluttering feeling starts up in my stomach. I don't want Mark to watch me train. Not having any other choice, however, I follow him inside, where he leads me to a small and mostly empty room. There's a cupboard on the far side wall and a mostly-worn-out punching bag that's hanging up in the middle of the room. A small and dusty window is on the opposite wall, but other than that, the room is clear.

"Did you ever take self-defence classes?" Mark asks while strapping on the mitts Erik had given him.

"I did, for three years because Dad wanted me to," I explain. "But then I stopped a year ago when..."

"Your dad died," Mark finishes, nodding thoughtfully. "You still remember some of it, though?"

"Yeah, but I'm not very good..." I start.

"You remember how to block a blow coming to your head?" Mark questions.

"Um, yeah but..."

"Ready?" Mark comes at me with one mitt and before I can think twice, I block him. Granted, my arms at a bit of an odd angle, and the impact makes me wince, but I manage to stop him nonetheless.

I breathe out in wonder. "I remembered how to block!"

Mark grins, his brown eyes twinkling in the morning sunlight that's spilling through the window. "Of course you do. You really think I would strike out if I knew you weren't capable of blocking the attack?"

I stammer, "Well, I don't know..."

"Listen, I would never hurt you, Audrey." Mark places a hand on my shoulder, which is a little awkward considering that he's basically placing a mitt on my shoulder, but I see the kind intention and smile at him.

Mark clears his throat, stepping back. "I want you to try that block again."

He attacks once again, slower this time, and I block in the same manner as beforehand.

"Okay, hold that position for a moment." He takes off the mitts and holds my closed fist. "You need to angle your wrist on a forty-degree angle. Try again."

He punches in slow motion towards my head and I block him once more.

"Better." He nods in approval. "But use your hips more to really force the punch away."

I repeat the process a few more times.

"Okay, last time. Go," Mark instructs. I block, and this time Mark tells me to hold my position again. He takes off the mitts, placing them on the ground before walking behind me to place his hands on my hips. I immediately tense, and I feel my cheeks start to warm.

"Relax a bit. You're too stiff," Mark says gently.

I close my eyes, trying to think of anything other than his hands on me, and slowly relax.

"Okay, better." He twists my hips slightly. "Feel that? If you're too rigid, you won't be able to counterattack as easily. All your power comes from your hips. Remember that."

I don't reply. I'm not even sure I can without saying something stupid. All I can think of is how his fingers seem to be so warm against me.

"I need your hips to do that every time you finish a block. Don't be stiff, but make sure you lock your hips tight at the end of your block so that your movement is firm and powerful."

I nod my head in response, and after what seems like forever, he lets go of my hips. I let out a little sigh of relief.

"Tomorrow I'll teach you how to take people down. I think you can handle it." Mark beams at me. "You remember more than you think."

"You ready to go then?" I turn at the sound of Justine's voice at the door. I feel my face heating up. How long has she been standing there? I see a small smirk appear on her face and my mouth goes dry. Always the same old Justine. You never know how much she actually knows.

"Yeah," Mark answers in nonchalance.

We head outside and meet Erik at the car. I notice Justine is also wearing the same clothes as the previous day – jeans and black tank top with lace-up white ankle shoes. Erik, like Mark, is wearing new clothes, though I wouldn't really have noticed if I weren't paying attention. All his clothes seem to scream 'business-attire'.

"There is still a bit of food in the pantry and fridge, but I didn't quite stock up enough last time I was here," Erik explains. "We'll head into town and buy what we need, then we'll head back here. It's not safe to wander about for too long. Here." Erik holds out four different coloured caps.

"What's this for?" Justine asks as she picks out the blue hat.

"To put on your head," Erik smirks.

Justine gives him a condescending look. "You don't say?"

"It's to keep our faces hidden, isn't it?" I say, grabbing the pink one as Mark reaches for the black one.

"Someone is catching on fast." Erik grins at me. For the first time, I notice a hint of a British accent, and now that I've noticed it, I wonder how it was possible not to have heard it. I guess there's a lot I don't know about Erik. The thought is supposed to make me wary of him, but something about Erik just seems... safe.

Erik slides into the driver's seat, putting on the last cap, which is a beige colour. We settle into the car, Justine taking the front, as always, while Mark and I sit at the back. We buckle our seatbelts. I steal a glance at Mark, who catches me staring and I swiftly turn my head in the direction of Justine instead.

I don't know why I do what I do next. Perhaps it's simply out of habit, but before I can stop myself, I attempt to start a conversation with her.

"So, Justine," I say, rattling my brain for something to speak about. "What exactly are we going to do now that we're at the safe house?"

I can tell Justine is suspicious by my sudden interest in her, especially since this is a question I should be directing more at Erik, but for whatever reason, she keeps her suspicion to herself. "Well, Erik was hoping to jog your memory of your dad."

A sinking feeling occurs in the pit of my stomach.

I knew it would come to this eventually, but I much prefer to block out all memories of him. Whatever Erik's thinking of trying, it won't work. I highly doubt it, I think sourly.

"How?" I ask Erik.

Erik shrugs as he continues to drive in between the thicket of trees. The road main road, as I had predicted, is indeed only a couple of metres ahead.

"I'll find a way," Erik replies.

***

Once we arrive, Erik parks along a street where he thinks is safe. We get out and Erik locks the car doors behind us with his automatic car control.

"Shopping for clothes at a mountain sucks," Justine pouts. "There's no big malls or supermarkets. Only boutiques and cafes and restaurants. And they're all super expensive."

"Well, you'll have to deal with it, for now," Erik takes out a fat wallet from the pocket of his black leather jacket that he seemed to always wear, despite the warm weather. He hands Justine and I a wad of cash, much to my shock yet much to Justine's delight.

"Now we're talking." She grins.

"Spend it wisely," Erik warns. "I know you girls need clothes, but I'm not an endless bank." He's about to hand out some cash to Mark, but he shakes his head politely.

"I already have enough clothes at the safe house," Mark says.

"Suit yourself." Erik tucks away the money back into his wallet, which disappears once more into his jacket. I begin to wonder just how many secret compartments he has in his jacket, and how useful it must be.

Justine grabs my arm, interrupting my thoughts. Before I can protest, she begins to drag me along.

"Come on, Audrey! Whether you're mad at me or not, you can't shop without me and you know it!"

A small smile inches across my face. Who can stay mad at Justine for long?

We enter a few boutiques across the street, Justine forcing me to try on or buy anything she insists would look 'cute' on me. This is how it goes for about an hour or two, maybe more. But who's really counting? When a girl shops, time is irrelevant.

I have seen neither Mark nor Erik since we split ways earlier. "They're probably bored out of their brains waiting for us," Justine says to me in reassurance, seeing my worried expression.

The assassins, so far, are also nowhere to be seen, a sign I don't know whether to take as good or bad.

"Do you think Erik and Mark know where we are?" I say to Justine nervously.

Sensing my concern, Justine quickly reassures me. "Don't worry, Audrey. Erik would know how to find us if something happened. And they can look after themselves."

I nod my head. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry."

Justine holds up an off-the-sleeve black top which costed way more than I would ever be able to afford with my pocket money alone. "What do you think? Should I buy it?"

I shrug. "You're the expert."

She sighs, placing the shirt back on the rack. "Honestly, Audrey, you are no help."

I grin. "Nope. Not when it comes to these things."

We exit what must be the thirteenth boutique we've visited, and continue walking down the pedestrian pathway, Justine holding two bags of clothes and I only holding one. Not to mention that within these bags, are smaller plastic bags containing toiletries and other necessities, of which we had made a pit stop at the local chemist before heading to our thirteenth boutique. A cool breeze sweeps by, and I'm grateful that Justine made me buy that denim jacket two boutiques back.

"Oh, let's go into that one!" Justine points towards a quaint little boutique not too far up ahead.

I shake my head. "No thanks, I'm done. I'd like to save what little money I have left."

Justine shrugs. "Or you could just spend it all, but whatever floats your boat."

Knowing she has already pushed the limit on how many clothes I'll buy, she walks inside the store without another word. I clutch my bag of clothes and lean against the outside wall of the store.

My feet are killing me. I look down at the stained clothes I'm still wearing from the day before. I really need to change, I think, feeling disgusted by the state I'm in. My hair's probably a mess too.

I'm beginning to consider brushing my hair right here with the new brush I just bought, when something catches my eye. Across the road, a cop is standing at corner of street, alone, his back turned to me. Though seeing a man in uniform should reassure me, an unexpected shiver runs down my spine.

The man holds up a walkie-talkie and I watch in nervous silence for a moment before hastily entering the store. Something is wrong, I can feel it. And I need to warn Justine. Before I can do so, however, a hand suddenly grabs me, and I'm forced behind a tall rack of clothes. Another hand goes flying towards my mouth before I can scream.

I note the tall, slender boy who has a grip on me. He looks to be about my age, perhaps a little older. He has dark hair and mischievous eyes, and he's wearing loose jeans and a well-fitted black t-shirt with a sports jacket.

In other words, he's hot, I find myself thinking for a fleeting second.

Realising that I'm standing a little too close to the guy, I try to take a step back, but the boy holds my wrist firmly. He does, however, uncover my mouth.

"If you step back, he'll see you." The boy says, indicating to the clear, glass door, where, from this angle, I can still see the policeman, his back turned.

"Who are you?" I ask in bewilderment.

"The name's Kol." The teenager winks. "I'm looking for Erik Bristow."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

| Dedicated to @jipsme |

Thanks for the votes and just for keeping up to date with my book in general!

Thoughts on the new-new boy, Kol? Watch out, Mark... Looks like Audrey just might have a new eye-candy! Don't forget to comment/vote!

EDITED ✔