“You can do better,” I said.
“Probably could if you stopped moving around, you fucking little worm.”
I laughed at that and ducked and shifted away from him quickly when he attacked again.
He laughed, enjoying this bit of relaxation as much as I was. We fucking needed it.
The front door opened, and Anson came in with E. We didn’t stop what we were doing, and I noted that Ryder had wandered down and was watching from the couch.
Ryder was built and worked out with us when Rosalie wasn’t on tour. I got along great with him. He was fun and always seemed happy. Lately, he’d been so damn morose. I knew he felt guilty over Rosalie being taken. It wasn’t his fault. I made a point of talking to him about it tonight. I didn’t want him kicking his own ass about this shit. The only fault was with whoever took her, and once we found the asshole, he’d be punished.
“Hands up, hands up,” I grunted at Klaus as he lowered them to attack with his legs.
He cursed softly as I caught him in the jaw.
We kept at one another for a long time before I got the upper hand on him and took him down with a leg sweep.
“Fuck,” he groaned, hitting the mats hard.
“Dead,” I said softly, chuckling at him.
I helped him to his feet before I grabbed my bat and tossed it to him.
“We playing baseball?” he asked, smirking at me.
“Full force. No pulls,” I said.
This was a game we often played. He hadn’t been able to hit me in ages. I wanted to keep up on it.
“You sure?” He raised his brows, and I nodded.
And that was it.
He tore forward, bat swinging. I dipped and dodged him, repelling his attacks and disarming him over and over. I took him down on repeat, only for him to get back up.
Klaus wasn’t trained in martial arts. He was simply just really good at kicking ass.
I knocked him down once more, and he lay on his back.
“Done?” I asked.
“Done,” he muttered. “Got my cardio in.”
I chuckled at that and offered him my hand. He took it, and I pulled him to his feet.
“You’re getting better,” he said, clapping me on the back.
“Or you’re getting old,” I mused.
He chuckled at that. “Never.”
“What’s that fighting style called?” E asked, eyeing me.
“Silat,” Anson answered for me.
E nodded. “That’s pretty cool. Is it a lot of defensive stuff?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, looking over at Ryder, who had his eyes half-open. “You good, man?”
