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It makes me wonder if he even has a clue that we used to spar on the regular. Evan’s keeping more secrets than I can count. I hope she knows what she’s doing.
“I’m going to do a few training exercises by myself. Katas can be done alone, you know. Go cheer your man on. Tell him to show no mercy.”
She quirks a brow. “He’s giving you the evil-eye stare down, isn’t he?”
“Absolutely.” I nod emphatically. “I’m positive if I touch a hair on your beautiful blonde head, he’ll try to kill me in a way I won’t heal from. No offense, babe, but I really don’t want a showdown with your boyfriend. As much as I love you, I think I need a new sparring partner.”
She pivots on a heel and sticks her tongue out at the man in question. “Fun killer.”
His stoic mask slips for a second, and a wide grin flashes across his face before quickly disappearing.
“Go watch the boys beat the shit out of each other. I’m fine by myself.”
“Have fun,” she says as she skips toward the ring.
Even from across the room, I notice as West’s face softens a fraction before returning to Rhys with renewed fervor brought on by the presence of his girl. Maybe he’ll break Rhys’ neck, and I’ll get a nice dreamless nap.
Pulling out my phone, I choose the perfect song from my “Pissed Off” playlist, stuff my earbuds in my ears, and set my phone on the hard rubber floor. Selecting a short red-oak bokken from the wall, I bow to the mat and begin.
By the time I’m done with my fifth song, “Joker and the Thief” by Wolfmother starts, and I finally look up. I’m sweaty and a little tired, but I notice I’ve drawn a crowd. A trill of unease races up my spine. I’m still going through the movements, but I’m aware of my surroundings now.
I feel like my ass is in a bear trap—teeth on all sides.
West, Carver, and Javier are at the edge of the mat closest to me, still respectfully off the canvas, their feet bare like mine. Aidan, Ian, and Kyle are in shoes—on the motherfucking mat—and walking closer. With all these weapons, you’d think everyone would have the respect required for the mat, but I guess not. Pausing slightly, I flick an earbud from my ear as I wait for the catch in a breath that will telegraph an impending movement.
It comes from Kyle.
The big man moves faster than expected—especially with the bulk he has—but he’s not fast enough. I’m three feet away from my original position, and his big fingers clutch only air. Aidan strikes next, smoking out and popping up six inches away from where I used to be, but now he has a stinging ass cheek where my bokken struck him like a naughty child. Ian just stands there with his hands in his pockets—a sign of peace more than anything else—before turning and walking off the mat as he smiles and shakes his head.
I still don’t trust him, but he’s less of a threat right now. I pivot to face my intruders.
Kyle and Aidan must have some wordless communication down because they move as one—Kyle running and Aidan popping out simultaneously. Aidan reaches me first, but instead, gets the nasty surprise of my bokken upside his skull. He stumbles, landing on his hands and knees, shaking off the strike to his temple. Before Kyle can get within touching distance, I sweep his legs out from under him with my practice sword.
A shuffling of feet at my back ignites my rage. “You have less than a second to stop and get your dirty, disrespectful shoes off this fucking mat. If I have to tell you twice, you’ll regret it.”
“Aww. But it was just starting to get fun.” Ian chuckles as he picks his brother up off the mat.
Aidan appears a little green around the gills as he passes, his arm thrown over Ian’s shoulder. Maybe I hit him harder than I thought. Oops.
Maybe next time he won’t use his abilities in a sparring session.
Kyle’s still on his back, looking dazed and confused.
“You all right?” I ask, glancing over at the felled giant.
“Yeah,” he groans. “How’d you do that?”
The sheer disbelief in his tone makes me giggle. “What? Kick your ass?”
“Yeah.” He chuckles breathlessly. “That.”
“Three ways,” I reply, ticking off my index finger. “One, I’m really good at reading people, and you telegraph your movements about half a second before you strike. You may wanna work on that.”
He cocks his head and squints one eye as he attempts to focus on my face. “So noted. And the second?”
I tick off my middle finger. “I train every. Single. Day.”
That raises his eyebrows, and lifts his head as he incredulously asks: “Why?”
