When we come back empty-handed, Varela is livid. He condemns Jorge to the brig for a few days and I can't hide a smile. Suits the motherfucker right.

"Get ready for some hard work in the coming weeks, Araya," Varela says and sends me to bed.

After only four hours of sleep, the morning siren wakes me way too early. A freezing shower gets rid of the heaviness in my bones. I'm ready to face the day. Felipe meets up with me for breakfast and cuts into me as soon as I sit down.

"Are you really gonna go ahead with the wedding?"

After the proposal, I can't see how I could back out, even if I wanted to. It would devastate Rosanna and she would likely never speak to me again. "Planning on it."

"I think it's a mistake. Committing yourself to one girl at our age is plain stupid. Too many fish left to explore in the sea."

I crunch my cereal, glaring at him. "Mano, I love her. There won't be another girl for me."

"Hell, is she that good in the sack?"

I decide to change the subject. At some point, sleeping with a new girl every week will get to him, too. "You wanna go to the training center after breakfast?"

"Sorry, I can't. Starting my new assignment at the office today."

I snort. "I can't believe you're going to be a pencil pusher."

"Some of it will be recruiting foreign girls." He wiggles his brows as if this is a guarantee to get laid.

"How does that work exactly?"

"With the foreign girls?"

"Yeah, I mean, why are we even recruiting them? There are plenty of women in Malaguay with so many men dying in battle."

Felipe's lips twist as if the thought isn't very appealing. "Those are commoners. Not really the ideal wife for a high-ranking officer."

Somehow, I'm missing his point. "What's wrong with them?"

"Come on, mano, isn't that obvious? When did commoners and leading families ever mix? Besides, those girls have no education. Most of them can't even read and write. Who wants to marry someone like that?"

It's one of those times when I want to bash his face in. "You should watch what you're saying, mano. I might become high rank, but that doesn't make me a member of the leading families. And Rosanna is just a simple orphan."

"Yeah, but all the girls who grew up at the orphanage are going places—Pearson makes sure of that. They aren't like those dumb peasants." He gulps down the rest of his coffee and dabs his mouth with a napkin. "And your mom was a member of the leading families, so don't pretend you're trash. She might've been disowned because she married a commoner, but that still doesn't change the fact that you have more privileges than a lot of the other soldiers. Otherwise, General Varela couldn't have chosen you for a high-rank career. Promoting a commoner is simply not done."

My mom's heritage is something he has been rubbing in my face for years. Would we still be friends if she had been born poor like my dad?

Crumpling up the napkin, Felipe gets up. "Okay, I'm off. Later, mano."

"Yeah, see you for lunch."

I watch him leave the mess hall until the door falls closed behind him. Maybe I should ask Varela why he chose me for the program? Then I dismiss the idea. Why look a gift horse in the mouth? It'll be up to me to prove that I can live up to his expectations.

Finishing my cereal, I don't wait for the official siren to walk over to the training center. A few younger soldiers are already sparring in the ring. I scan the room for Juana. In the mornings, we usually train together for a couple of hours before she leaves on city patrol.

The door of the gym is pushed open with so much force that the whole side slams against the wall with an echoing thud. Miguel stands on the threshold, the anger practically pouring out of him. He storms into the training center. As he passes the younger soldiers, they back away with frightened faces. Miguel is known for his bad temper and likes to torment underlings at random; as the president's son, he can get away with it. Only General Varela and a few other men dare to oppose him.

When he steers right toward me, I narrow my eyes. Apparently, I'm on his shit list today, though I have no idea what I could've done to get him this wound up. He's not friends with Jorge or Alejandro, so I doubt he'd blame me for the botched operation. That only leaves one person—Juana. A couple of times, when he had felt I was mistreating her, he threatened me, but she was quick to jump to my defense. Granted, I wouldn't be thrilled if my girlfriend was around guys all day, but that's the problem with women in the military. I thought they had worked this particular issue out.

He shoves me before I even get a word out. "The fuck, Araya. Making Juana your number two in active combat? What the hell is wrong with you? You could've gotten her killed."

So this is what yanked his chain. "Varela assigned her. Take it up with him."

"I did." He shoves me again. "The general said you specifically requested her."

I'm not about to squeal on Juana by admitting it had been her idea. "Look, Miguel, I understand that you're upset, but Juana is a soldier. You should respect that."

"Juana is supposed to run city patrol. That's safe."

It's also the most boring assignment one can get. "But maybe that's not what she wants."

He's about to jostle me again, but I've had enough. Blocking him with a sidestep, I shove him instead.

He stumbles back, his eyes wide in shock. "Coño. I'm gonna fucking kill you."

"Boys, that's enough." General Varela has materialized just a few feet away with his admin next to him holding a clipboard. Glaring at Miguel, he juts his chin to the boxing ring. "If you have beef with each other, take it out in the ring."

Miguel huffs. "Gladly." His face is twisted with rage; without a doubt, he intends to knock out every single one of my teeth.

I walk over to the ring and climb through the ropes. Shaking out of my uniform shirt, I crack my knuckles and rotate my wrists to warm them up. I've waited a long time for this. Miguel is a dick and I intend to show him just what I think of him. He doesn't scare me. And his blood is just as red as mine.

One of the younger soldiers, Iker, helps me with the gloves. Miguel huffs with every breath. Maybe it's intended to intimidate me, but I find it ridiculous. Anger makes an opponent lose their focus; it can even make them weak. It's one of the first things Pearson taught us when we were wrestling around at the orphanage.

"Keep it fair, boys." Just as usual, news has traveled fast around the compound. Mayor Conde and Zambrano have joined Varela. The three men smirk at each other as money exchanges hands; they are taking bets on who will drop first.

Iker finishes tying my gloves and I hit my fists together. Accepting the mouthpiece, I take a step forward and find my guard position. My gaze rests on Miguel. He shuffles his feet around on the mat before we start circling each other. He's still huffing, the anger steaming from his nose. His eyes are so dark that his dilating pupils won't give away a punch.

His fist flies forward. I block him and deliver a punch into the middle of his stomach. His muscles are toned and it's as if I'm hitting a solid wall. He hisses but shakes the blow off rather quickly. When he unleashes a series of punches, my gloves work as a shield. I buffer the impact with my arms, but the force still tosses me off balance. My last line of defense is a quick sweep with my leg that knocks him down. He hits the mattress hard but is back on his feet without missing a beat.

His next jab makes it through my guard and hits me spot on the nose. Blood splatters; a copper taste flushes my mouth. Ignoring the sharp pain in my skull, I take advantage of his second of gloating and land a hook. He stumbles back, his defenses wide open. I follow up with two more punches. They knock him down again. When his shoulder rams into my shins, I can't keep my balance. Pain shoots up my spine as I hit the mat. A couple of blows to my kidneys rob me of my breath. All I can do it cradle my head in the crooks of my elbows while he kicks the shit out of me.

When my body is a ball of agony ready to explode, Miguel steps back. What a stupid mistake. I fight just as dirty by ramming my shoulder into his genitals. With a huff, he goes down. We wrestle on the floor until I end up on top. Without even taking a second's break, I pound him. Fist after fist meets hard bones and tissue. I don't ease up, even when blood flies everywhere. The years of pent-up frustration and anger toward the leading families are set free, each blow more liberating than the next.

Two strong arms finally pull me off. "That's enough, Tomás."

Panting, I glare at Miguel. Somehow, he must've managed to raise his arms since the damage I caused is only minor. Blood dripping from his nose and lips, some redness around his eye, a few bruises and cuts. Nothing that won't heal in a few days. Bastard got lucky.

Varela stretches out his hand and pulls me to my feet. It's the first time I realize that one of my boxing gloves came off. My knuckles are bleeding and burn. I bend forward with a labored breath to hide the pain that undoubtedly reflects in my eyes. Miguel almost stumbles over his own two feet as he makes his way to the side of the ring. At least he's in as bad of shape as me. I run my hand over my side. My ribs hurt like hell and the rest of my body is equally sore. Fuck. Miguel's kicks did a number on me.

As he climbs through the ropes, he spits out a mouthful of blood. "Stay away from Juana, or you won't get this lucky the next time."

I'm tempted to flip him off but don't want to be that juvenile in front of Varela.

As he watches Miguel limp out of the training center, a smirk plays on his lips. He slaps me on my shoulder. "You fought well, Araya. Go see a doctor and take the rest of the day off. Spend it with your girl. There's nothing better than a woman's touch to get over a good beating."

"Thank you, sir." If I wasn't hurting like hell, I might even be thrilled to get a few extra hours with Rosanna. For now, all I want is an ice pack for my splitting headache.

~~~~~

© Sal Mason 2018

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