“Maybe I should have stored Peyton here,” Shay muttered, giving the bag another hard jab. “Man-boy needs a little more exercise. And he needs to learn to better defend himself.”
Her gaze drifted to the boxing ring dominating the center of the room. She snickered at the idea of Peyton in the ring with her.
That would be too fucking funny. At least for me. Not so much for Peyton.
A little pain in the service of personal growth would be a gift. He should thank me if I brought him here and kicked his ass. Make sure he’s around for another birthday.
Shay unwrapped her fingers and shook out her hands. Combat training was important, but so was rapid mobility and fitness training. One of the best ways to not die was to haul ass.
The tomb raider turned away from the punching bag and bounded the few feet across the cement floor to a climbing wall near the corner. An obstacle course ringed the room, starting with the wall.
It was time for a few rounds through the course.
Shay easily jumped onto the first handholds, digging her fingers into the small nooks and crannies, her feet lightly touching down. She wasted no time and scurried up the wall, letting go as she let her weight fall back. At the last moment she pushed off, leaping from the top to a bar resting in the bottom rungs of a salmon ladder, the muscles in her shoulders flexing under the black sports bra.
The echo of the metal clacking on metal filled the cavernous room as she moved up each rung of the obstacle toward the sunlight streaming in along the ceiling. A slight ache hit her arms as she got to the top of the ladder, and let go with one arm, swinging out and grabbing on to the next challenge. A narrow metal balance beam connected to the ceiling by bungee cords.
The balance beam swung back and forth as she pulled herself up and got her feet under her. Shay stretched out her arms on either side, determined not to fall. The sunlight played across her wet skin as she dug deeper for more strength. Good training for a bad day.
Now that she was closer to the ceiling than the ground, the mats thirty-three feet below would cushion some, but not all of the impact.
Maybe I should start training without the mats. Talk about motivation.
Shay nimbly arrived at the end of the beam, even as it continued to sway, and jumped onto a small flat-topped pole anchored to the floor that only had space for one foot. She pushed off, immediately jumping to the next, completing a circuit of six poles with a last jump to a freestanding ledge near the wall that faced an alley. A thick blue and white rope hung underneath and Shay knelt down, going over the side as she grabbed onto the rope and rappelled to the floor.
A series of truck tires lay in front of her. She moved from tire to tire with quick feet, jumping in and out, before hitting another climbing wall.
Shay moved right up the handholds, taking her up fifteen feet to a series of chains and ropes hanging from the ceiling. Each hung too far from the other to reach without a hard swing and letting go of one to grab onto the next.
She jumped to the first chain, swinging even as the muscles of her legs were taut and grabbed the next rope without a second thought. Several more exchanges followed, including a turn in the corner of the room that forced her to push off the wall to regain her forward momentum.
The final rope brought her to another ledge connected to a wooden ramp angled down at forty-five-degrees. The ramp fed into another steeply curving ramp set up on an incline that was connected to a tall concrete block wall ten feet high.
Shay ran down the first ramp at full speed, feeling the muscles in her thighs engaging, and charged up the second, sucking in air, as she pushed off from her toes, catching the top of the wall with her fingers. She pulled herself up and rolled over the top of the wall, dropping down to the other side.
Several deep breaths followed. Pure Zen. Physical exertion usually worked that way for her, but it was hard to relax when someone was shooting at you or trying to gut you.
Ha ha. Maybe I should ask the next merc asshole if he’d like to dance instead.
“Let’s see you do half of that, Peyton,” Shay said, wiping away sweat from the end of her nose. She clapped her hands together and stretched her arms above her head. “Okay, let’s do that shit a few more times.”
A few hours later, Shay was back at Warehouse Two, showered and changed, staring at something so grotesque and offensive to human sensibilities she was half-convinced some sort of dark Oriceran magic must be involved in its creation.
“A pink flamingo shirt and… I don’t even know how to describe your pants,” Shay said, her gaze locked on Peyton. “It looks like some preschooler ate all his crayons and vomited all over your pants, and you didn’t bother to wash them.”
The man blinked and looked down, his hands held out to his sides. “I think this outfit has character.”
Shay narrowed her eyes. “Wait. Where the hell did you even get those clothes? It’s not like you were carrying around a suitcase when I kidnapped you. Please tell me you weren’t such a fucking moron that you went shopping.”
“I was bored and looked through some of the crates. Tons of clothes in them. Plus, tons of old toys. You’re bitching me out for an outfit I put together from your supplies.”
“Those aren’t my fucking supplies.” Shay rolled her eyes. “First of all, there are a lot of old
