It surprised me at first, but then made sense, that Carrick is far more advanced as a warrior than Titus. I just assumed because Titus was an annihilator and Carrick is mostly a businessman, that it would be reversed. But when I thought about the fact Carrick was created to fight wars and has lived several thousand years longer than Titus, I realized that, of course, he would be better.
I head into my room to get changed, having moved all my workout gear over to my closet. My clothing has remained standard—leggings, sports bra, tank, and one of the several pairs of expensive athletic shoes Carrick had bought for me. I secure my hair into a long braid and grab the little duffel bag that I keep my wraps and gloves in so I can do bag work, as well as a water bottle.
When I get to the gym, I’m slightly surprised to see Carrick in there. He’d left this morning without a word as to where he’d be going, and Lucien had set up a quiet guard in the living area with a direct line of sight to the elevators should something wicked come through. Carrick hasn’t been all that transparent as to where he’s been going, but I think sometimes it’s work-related as this morning he exited the condo in one of his suits. Other times, he’s casual, and I expect those trips are to reach out to contacts for information.
Right now, though, he cuts an incredibly sexy figure in a pair of workout shorts and a plain gray t-shirt. It’s the first time I’ve actually seen Carrick’s legs and just… damn. They’re golden-colored like the rest of his skin and muscular in a proportioned way to his height and the rest of his muscles. He’s just a physically perfect specimen of a man, but then again… he’s not really a man, is he?
He’s a perfect demi-god.
Carrick turns his head when I walk in, giving me the slightest smile of greeting. “We’re going to work on some hand-to-hand today,” he advises me.
“Cool,” I reply, dropping my duffel down and pulling my wraps and gloves out. We’ve yet to do that, and I love practicing my martial arts skills.
Carrick shakes his head. “You’re not going to need those.”
Frowning, I stuff them back in the bag. “Why not?”
“Because you’re not going to be able to lay a hand on me,” he replies smugly. “I’m simply too fast.”
I tip my head, eyes narrowed slightly. “Oh yeah? I’ll have you know I’ve managed to land many strikes against Titus.”
“Titus can’t touch me either,” Carrick replies smoothly.
I wrinkle my nose as I straighten, not sure if that’s true or not. But I know Carrick is setting me up to defy the expectations he just laid down. He knows I work best when I’m a little mad and riled up.
“You might want the headgear, though,” Carrick taunts. “I’m not going to hold back.”
“I’ll pass.” I give him a saucy smirk before moving to the end of the gym to start my dynamic stretches.
Carrick doesn’t join me, but I’m guessing demi-gods don’t need to stretch. He surfs his cell phone while I take about ten minutes to warm up, and when I’m done, I walk over to the water cooler and fill my bottle up.
“I’m ready,” I say as I twist on the cap and set it on the floor.
Carrick looks up, puts his phone on an incline bench, and moves to the middle of the gym with about a thirty-by-thirty-foot area of free space where we do hand-to-hand and set up my dummies for whip practice. They’re currently all stored along the wall, several with chunks missing from the plastic where I’ve perfected my striking.
I jump nimbly from foot to foot, a tactic Duane always taught me to prevent myself from getting flat-footed, which makes people slow. Carrick merely walks slowly—completely flat-footed but still a million times faster than me—attempting to circle me, but I never give him my back.
I move along the same path, facing him with my arms up, hands fisted loosely, and in the prime spot to protect my face.
On the other hand, Carrick has his arms hanging down at his sides, his face, torso, and gonads completely open to my attack.
So I take it, launching into a jump front kick, and I go for the shot that will take him out. I aim right for his jewels, part of me hating to hurt him in that way, but also falling back on Titus’ training that I should never show an ounce of mercy, and if I have a kill shot or a shot to take someone out of action permanently, I must take it.
I push off hard from the floor with my right foot, left knee rising to give me an extra lift, and when I’m at my apex of flight, I snap out my right leg, aiming the bottom heel of my foot right at his balls.