"Absolutely Not."

Chapter 27: Futile

"Twenty seconds, Holland..."

If it was perfection Price wanted, then that was all he would get. I ensured 'tardiness', 'defeat', and 'mistake' were emitted from my vocabulary, and my focus was sharpened every day with a whetted mind.

However, there was no winning against Simon. No way.

But I'll be damned if I don't at least try.

His stature and our differences in experience promised my defeat - ensured a win for him- but I got up regardless of my inevitable loss. Back aching and skin sticky with droplets of drying, splattered blood, my hands gripped my hips as I finally caught my breath.

There were mere minutes left of training today, and I had ounces remaining of my energy, but that was the point of Price dragging my stubborn ass here – being reduced to strained muscles and burning tendons. Having Simon worsen all of that was a bittersweet addition.

With no time allotted to ready myself, I felt my legs being swept from underneath me for a second time that day, this time to the side instead of my back. However, before I could hit the floor, bruising another segment of my abdomen, a sleeved forearm caught me and hooked me along my ribcage.

A whispered, "God damn it," was grunted out of my throat as he righted me up again, and I waved his hand away from my midsection.

"That was too easy," he said with a chuckle, and it fueled the irritation sparked by him not giving me a heads-up.

"What the fuck, Simon?"

"C'mon, darlin'" he tutted. "You think a hostile is going to give you a second to prepare? We both know how unfair war is." He paused before adding, "Cry about it, Pebb-"

My sore shoulders bristled at the nickname he hadn't used in such a long time, catching me off guard that I almost forgot I disliked being called that, and I swung my leg up to strike him in the neck out of pure annoyance.

As he raised his arm to block my foot, a small chuckle filled the space between us, I reversed my momentum and went in for a low sweep. 'Karma's a bitch,' I thought as he landed hard on his ass.

I'd interrupted him and knocked him down, both sure ways to piss him off, and damn, could I see the irritation flash across his eyes.

Clearly annoyed as I had been when the start of that cursed nickname was uttered past his teeth, he sighed heavily, slapping both knees as he hoisted himself back up to a standing position.

From above our heads, we heard a familiar voice speak over the PA system, "Oh, you shouldn't have said that." If Price was not physically here, it didn't mean that he wasn't still watching. I should have known better.

A snort tickled my nose as Simon side-eyed the camera that was tucked away in the corner, and it was at that moment of him being distracted, that I decided to strike again.

He'd been expecting that one, though, and caught my leg as my shin reached a couple of inches away from his flank, an attempt to stun the breath out of him, my eyes widening when I lost my balance.

Teetering to the side, my hands planted on the ground where Simon immediately started kicking at my hands to try and knock me down. Using the last bit of my stamina, I balanced and held the majority of my weight in each hand that I kept on the floor, not wanting to embarrass myself further and face plant.

Finding that second where his feet weren't attacking my hands, the blood rushing to my face as I continued to be upside down, I used my free leg to push off of him, the move unexpected on his end to where I heard a gruff, "Oi!"