Ryan shot an annoyed look my way, and then coughed a few times. He stood on wobbly knees and lifted his hands, palm-out to Claire. “You should know by now that I don’t give up.”

Claire grinned with devilish intent. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Not as much as me,” Jared said. I glared at him, and he shrugged. “What?”

Claire attacked, and Ryan turned. With a different adversary, he would have turned at the precise time to avoid a landed punch, but Claire was faster than the supernaturally fast—and she preferred kicking.

Claire spun around, her heel making contact with Ryan’s backside. He was shoved forward a few steps, and then turned and punched. His hand met the drywall, and it cracked in several pieces around his fist.

“He better know how to fix that,” I grumbled.

Claire leaned forward and elbowed the back of his head. Ryan spun around, wrapping his arms around her waist at the same time. He charged forward, and they both crashed into the table.

“C’mon!” I yelled, seeing my mother’s imported English dining table in pieces.

Immediately on her feet, Claire grabbed two fistfuls of Ryan’s shirt and tossed him into the foyer.

“I love it when you play rough!” Ryan yelled from the other room.

Claire wiped her bloodied lip and licked the crimson liquid from her fingers. “You haven’t seen rough yet.” She disappeared through the doorway, and I winced when Ryan cried out.

“That’s fighting dirty!” he yelled, crying out again.

“We’d better get in there and supervise,” Jared said, pulling me into the next room.

Claire held Ryan upside down by his ankle, feigning sympathy as he swiped at her to no avail. He scanned the room and then arched his back, lifting a solid wood statue from the floor, hammering Claire’s knee just after getting his hands on it.

She was knocked to the ground, and Ryan fell on his head with a crack. When he stood, a thin line of red streamed from his hairline. “It was worth it,” he said, running at Claire.

She flipped backward, and then drew her side arm.

“Not funny,” Jared warned.

The gun fired, and Ryan jerked, covering his head with one hand, his crotch with the other. The bullet lodged into the wall—right through the center of Cynthia’s prized original Renoir.

“I think…I think I’m going to pass out,” I said, feeling woozy. Jared obliged when I hooked my arm around his.

“Should I stop them?” Jared said.

“They won’t stop until they’re finished being CHILDISH!” I said. “Take it outside!”

Ryan pointed at Claire. “You…you just shot at me!”

Claire rolled her eyes. “You’re such a baby. That wasn’t even close.”

“The bullet blew air by my eyeball!” he said, dramatically pointing to his eye.