Newtons Laws

He looked out over the group again. Some of the faces looked completely unfamiliar. That’s what happens when you can’t think of anything but your mate. It was going to be a long fucking day.

“So, who’s missing, then?” Tron called out, demanding an answer.

The recruits all looked around.

“Paul,” one of them called out. “Paul Larson.”

“Anyone know why?” Tron asked the cohort.

“Down with a cold or flu or something,” one of them said.

“Or syphilis,” said another.

Tron knew this one. Wagg. Trevor Wagg. Short guy complex. Always wanted to beat up anybody taller than him, which was pretty much everyone. Wagg was all of four-foot fuck all, but he would prove to be a scrappy little enforcer if he could learn to control his mouth.

Tron looked Wagg in the eye. There’s one in every group. He’d mouthed off before, but Tron overlooked it.

“Syphilis?” Tron said. “Helluva diagnosis. You a doctor?”

“Nah,” Wagg said, “just observant. Paul sleeps around with every chick in town, and a few of the guys too. A slut and a faggot.”

“Is that a problem?” Tron asked, staring the entitled brat down. “He’s an adult, and I assume all his partners are consenting adults too, regardless of their gender.”

“Whatever,” Wagg replied.

Tron held his attention for another ten seconds or so, daring him to say something else.

“Right,” Tron finally said, breaking the stare. “Partner up. Looks like it’s your lucky day, Doctor Syphilis. You’ll be sparring with me.”

“Huh?” Wagg croaked. He may have been a shit-for-brains wise ass, but the last thing he wanted, any of them wanted, was to spar with Tron.

“Next time you’ll learn to speak respectfully of your classmates. Larson may save your life one day. Let’s get started.”

Tron held his hands up to his face and tried to focus. Truth is, he hadn’t slept much these last few nights, since the encounter with Newton.

Mating sickness. Is that what this is?

He didn’t know. All Tron was sure of was that his one true mate, after all the years of him hoping he might have one somewhere, was barring Tron from seeing him. There was nothing more excruciating than that.

He kept one eye on Trevor, who was pulling every punch, terrified Tron was going to hit back. “Put your heart into it, Wagg, or you’ll be out on your ass by lunch time,” Tron instructed.

Everyone else was fighting well enough for their stage of training. But every blond head in the room - and there were more than a few - reminded him of Newton. Tron would see a flop of hair, catching his attention in his peripheral vision, and his focus would crumble like a crushed potato chip.

His mouthy little partner was being tentative again.

“Fight or flight, Wagg,” Tron commanded. “You can’t do both at once. Hit me like you mean to do some damage or get the fuck out of my studio.”

Tron had raised his voice, probably a bit too much for the wary recruits. A couple of them broke off their fighting, stealing looks at the two of them. Tron knew, deep inside, he was starting to take his frustration with his mating dilemma out on a kid, and that really wasn’t fair. Such is life. Life as an enforcer wasn’t fair either, and his young recruits had to be ready to deal with any type of shit hurled at them.

Most of his recruits looked much the same age as Newton, give or take a few years. Tron considered how much shit his fated mate had dealt with over the years, mostly living alone.

And I’m just another shovel load on top of an already more-than-full shit pile, Tron thought. His thoughts were interrupted, by a sharp blow to his groin. Everyone froze, barely breathing.

“What the fuck?” He barked at Wagg, making every effort to stand upright.

The kid’s terrified face stared back at him.

Tron saw red. The deep, hollow ache in his lower back that resulted from having his balls whacked was in control, and he unleashed his fury. Before he could stop it, Tron’s right hand had reached forward in a lightning-fast reflex, grabbing the poor kid by the throat, and lifting him three feet off the ground effortlessly.

Tron could hear Wagg struggle to speak, saying something like ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please.’ But he was immune to it all. Every bit of frustration and anger he was feeling - towards Newton, towards himself, towards everyone - came out at Trevor.

Tron threw him to the floor.

“If you’re gonna kick your opponent in the nuts,” he yelled to the others, “you better make damn sure it kills him. Otherwise, all you’re gonna do is piss him off even more. Do you little shits understand?”

Everyone was frozen with fear. They’d never seen Tron lose his cool before, and Tron knew nobody was sure how to react.

“I asked you a fucking question,” Tron barked, doubling down on his anger. “Do you understand?”

Heads nodded.

“Speak, for fuck’s sake!”

“Yes, we understand,” they all said. The terror they were all feeling stunk out the room.

“Good. Now get back to your sparring,” Tron snarled.

He turned to Wagg, who hadn’t moved since Tron threw him to the floor. “On your feet, Trevor. This fight ain’t done yet.”

But the young shifter didn’t move. Tron looked around. None of the other recruits had gone back to sparring either. They were all frozen like statues.

“Sir,” one of them finally had the balls to ask, “permission to check on Trevor.”

Tron was losing them. There was a fine line between being tough, but trusted, and being hated. They were slipping into the hatred of him now, all of them. It would be almost impossible to get them back.

“Granted,” was all Tron could offer in reply.

A couple of them ran over to Wagg, who remained unconscious. They all stood around like the kid was dead. Tron could see that he’d just fainted from fear. Even when he was careless, Tron knew how to put someone down without inflicting any real injury.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Tron sighed, walking over and leaning down to gently slap his cheeks. “Rise ‘n’ shine, Dr. Syphilis.”

The boy’s eyelids fluttered open, saw Tron leaning over him and quickly scrambled to push his torso off the floor.

“You okay now, sweetheart?” Tron asked, his deep voice deliberately smooth, giving the impression of a gentle giant as opposed to a nightmarish ogre.

“Yeah,” Trevor said, rubbing his neck, “my throat’s a little sore.”

“That would be from my hand, which was about this close from snapping your windpipe. Now get up and get the fuck out this studio. You’re officially expelled for fucking fainting on the job.”

Tron watched as the kid’s eyes filled with tears before he ran off.

“Anyone else without the stomach for this kind of work sure as shit better faint on your own time,” Tron’s voice boomed across the room, “not on mine. Take ten.”

He grabbed a towel, wiped his face in it, then threw it to the wall as he stormed out of the studio for some fresh air.