espionage [h.s.]

TWENTY ONE

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ROCHELLE

I slam my fist into the punching bag once again, causing it to slightly swing on its hook from where it's attached to the ceiling. We're supposed to be practicing hand to hand combat, the only difference being that we're not allowed to use actual boxing gloves, which is making for many bruised and bleeding knuckles throughout the room. Seeing as I'm quite the experienced fighter, my knuckles aren't too cracked, although I grow increasingly annoyed as the hand wraps keep coming loose, causing me to have to stop every so often to rewrap and secure it again.

I shake my head in annoyance as I fasten the wraps for what feels like the hundredth time, tempted to just tear them off and continue with my bare knuckles, because unlike the others here, I'm pretty experienced in fighting. But I decide I probably shouldn't do that, especially if I want to avoid any unnecessary attention. So, in between muttering profanities under my breath, I continue to fix the stupid hand wraps once again.

Just as I'm in the middle of redoing it, I hear the sound of shoes scuffing against the floor seconds before I feel a presence behind me, and then Isaac's face suddenly appears in my line of vision. "Need some help with that, Rochelle?" he asks once he notices my current struggle.

I internally groan just at the sound of his voice, not able to push away the annoyed sigh that falls from my lips. "Not from you," I reply bitterly, hoping that my dismissive tone will be enough for him to leave me alone.

He clearly doesn't get the message though, or he does and ignores it, because he just smirks, seeming amused by my response. "Oh come on," he playfully chastises. "Aren't we supposed to be friends?"

I let out a scoff, shaking my head in both amusement and disbelief. "And wherever did you get that absolutely ridiculous idea?" I ask as I land a few more punches into the bag. "When I almost beat your ass that one time?"

Surprisingly, he chuckles quietly at my words, causing me to shoot him a sideways glance. "Please, you didn't 'almost beat my ass'," he retorts, practically mocking my words. "If I remember rightly, Styles had to swoop in to save the day."

Clenching my jaw, I turn away from the punching bag to face him properly, throughly pissed off at his insinuation that I can't fight my own battles. "The only reason why Styles 'swooped in'," I say between gritted teeth, "Is because he didn't want to deal with the hassle of carrying your body out of here on a stretcher. Which is what would've happened if I got my hands on you."

Isaac just laughs again, his gaze momentarily averting to the ceiling as he shakes his head in amusement. "God, you really are feisty," he muses. "I like that."