Weapons: A King & Slater Thriller (The King & Slater Series Book 1) by Matt Rogers

Author:Matt Rogers [Rogers, Matt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-04-12T16:00:00+00:00

55

New York City

‘Again!’ the trainer yelled.

In the living area of his penthouse, King thundered a side kick into the leather kickboxing pad held at waist height. It struck with a concussive boom, and the high-pitched slap of skin against leather echoed off the walls and the high ceiling. Sweat sprayed, but they’d put towels down in preparation.

King’s trainer was Rory Barker, a former K-1 kickboxing champion with one of the most accomplished resumes on the planet. Now in his fifties, he’d agreed to discreet one-on-one sessions with King for a handsome fee in exchange for radio silence on who he was training, and how good his client was — effectively an NDA. And it was important that King established those boundaries in the beginning, because as soon as Rory had taken him through his first session, he’d stepped back in awe at the power King was able to generate.

The man had said, ‘Who are you? Where have you fought?’

King had said, ‘Everywhere.’

‘Which organisations?’

‘None of them.’

‘How…?’

‘Now you understand the need for secrecy.’

‘You’d have the UFC belt within three years if you went public. You’d be a superstar.’

‘Then it’s a shame I can never go public.’

‘You got a criminal record or something?’

‘Let’s call it that.’

‘You’re not government, are you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Did you used to be?’

King had said, ‘Rory, I’m not paying you to talk. I’m paying you to train me.’

And he’d paid handsomely, so Rory Barker hadn’t probed further. He’d just done his job, honing King’s fast-twitch muscle fibres, and somehow made him an even better fighter. The kickboxing work, coupled with the gruelling fitness regime, wrapped up in the decade-plus of experience he had with dishing out violence — it had all come together during his time living in New York.

He was the best version of himself right now, and that was saying something.

Now King fired off twenty consecutive kicks into the pads with each shin, and when Rory finally nodded his approval after glancing at the clock, King collapsed in a sweaty heap on the towels.

‘Not bad,’ Rory said. ‘Ninety minutes at ninety percent output. I think we could even crank that up a few notches next time.’

‘I’d probably throw up halfway through.’

‘Since when has that ever stopped you?’

‘Touché.’

Rory collected his kickboxing pads and tucked them into a faded gym bag, which he slung over one shoulder. He said, ‘Same time tomorrow?’

‘I’ll let you know, brother. There’s a lot on my plate right now.’

Rory stared down at him, reading between the lines. ‘You working again?’

King had never officially explained his past, but odd details always slipped out over time.

Rory was piecing it together.

King said, ‘Maybe. I don’t know what it is yet.’

‘Make sure you stay out of trouble. I’d hate to see all your talent go to waste.’

King panted for breath and wiped his face with both palms. He watched the ceiling through swimming vision, experiencing momentary light-headedness, but that passed.

A byproduct of thrashing his body to its limit.

He said, ‘You really want me to go pro, don’t you?’

‘You’d be the biggest combat sports athlete on the planet.

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