Me? I beat it down.

Again and again, no matter how much this body gets broken. It’s the only way I can function. To feel that adrenaline pumping through me, releasing my fury on another person. They often don’t leave the ring on their own two feet. Those people there scream my name as blood drips from my bulging muscles, and they love it.

I hate it, but it’s a necessity.

It once wasn’t. I was the best, even did it professionally before I realised how much money could be had in underground fighting. Now I have no other choice, I’m too brutal for professional fighting. I want my opponent to hurt, to bleed. I want their bones to break under my fists, their eyes to blacken.

I want their pain.

I paint them with the destruction of my fists.

I pummel the man. He tries to block, to duck behind his arms, but he can’t stop me. I give him everything, handing myself over to those emotions until I’m nothing more than anger. He falls to the floor, and I follow him down.

Pinning him there, I smash my fists into his unprotected face. My knuckles crack, splitting open. My own blood coats his face, but even then I don’t stop. The crowd screams, pressing closer so they can almost taste the bloodshed. They love it.

They scream my name, but it all fades to a buzz as I swing fist after fist. The man passes out, but I still keep going, his head jerking to the side with each hard punch. Someone tries to get me to stop, but I push them away. I can’t stop. I can’t.

I need this.

I need him to bleed.

I need the pain.

I’m yanked away from the man, his chest is barely rising, his face caved in. Turning, I snarl, punching anyone who gets too close until the ref’s, and the four security guards’ currently trying to stop me, faces come into view.

Chest heaving, muscles screaming and soaked in sweat, I stand in the middle of the ring with the spotlight on me. I nod to let them know I’m back, that I’m okay. It goes quiet until the ref grabs my damaged hand and lifts it into the air, shouting into the mic about me winning. I don’t care.

I stand there as the crowd surges, screaming, chanting, and stomping in the basement of the old paper factory. The stands are made from what they could find, and the ring is basically a chalk drawing with ropes around it.

But some of the richest people in the city are here, as well as the poorest. Yet they are the fighters, street kids like I once was. Anyone trying to change their future, giving everything. The ref leans closer. “We have another guy, you look like you need it.”

I nod, he’s right, I do. Roxy’s eyes keep flashing in my mind, and I need someone to beat them out. “Make it two,” I snarl, as I stride from the ring and throw back some water before letting it wash across my face. Peeling back the tape from my knuckles, I assess the damage—not too bad.

A woman sidles up next to me as they pick up the guy I almost killed from the ring and toss him aside like trash. The loser gets nothing, after all. I slip the money from my winnings into my bag, not that I need it, but it doesn’t hurt. The woman coughs slightly when I don’t look at her, her body almost pressing to my side…another woman did that once.

Her.

I should have known then she wasn’t right, but I was too fucking blind. Too trusting. Too naïve. Not anymore. Never again.

The anger comes back full force as I glance at the intruder. The dress she’s wearing is too tight, pushing up her fake boobs, almost making them spill from the top. Her red hair is curled, and her face is covered in makeup to within an inch of her life.

I can’t help but compare her to that firework back at our apartment. She has nothing on Roxy. “What?” I growl, done with being nice. I don’t have to be here, they all know me. Know what I am.

Women ache for a taste, thinking they can handle the madness in me. The men cheer it on, wanting to watch me kill. To get their own darkness out through me. They are all wrong. They have no idea what hides in my depths.

“Want some company, baby? You’re a winner, after all,” she purrs, running her hand down my sweaty arm. I grab her fingers and squeeze hard, she gasps in pain, her eyes widening and fear entering those orbs as she shivers under my gaze, shrinking back.

They all do.

They all think they can handle me, but they’re wrong. Even if I wanted to fuck any one of them—which I don’t, not anymore—I couldn’t. I would kill them.

“Do. Not. Touch. Me,” I snarl, just as I hear my name announced. I push her backwards, and she falls to her ass, the people around her laughing. Turning away, I head back to the ring, ready to lose myself in the fight once again.

Maybe I’ll get lucky, maybe they will be a good opponent. Maybe they will give me the pain I need, maybe they will finally kill me and end this misery…

Chapter Fourteen

ROXY

I heard the door slam not too long ago. I’ve been hiding in my room ever since the run-in with Garrett, trying to slow my heartbeat. The worst bit is that underneath all that fear I’m trying to hide…there’s something else. Something darker that wanted him to squeeze, that wanted that anger I could see controlling him.

That wanted to see just how far I could push him…and how far he would take it.

I’m fucked up.

Pushing off the door, I stagger into the bathroom, ripping off my clothes. I didn’t shower earlier. I had fallen back asleep, but with the feel of Garrett’s hand still wrapped around my throat, and the smell of sweat and man coating me, I need to.

I need to wash it away, the way I felt in that moment. I wasn’t scared to die, I wasn’t even scared it would hurt…I was scared I would never know how it felt to feel all that power.

To get revenge.

Fuck.

Slipping into the shower, I scrub my body, ignoring my traitorous pussy, who seems way too interested in these snakes. Once I’m done, I feel slightly better, and after drying off, I find my way back into the wardrobe and slip into an old, holey, AC/DC t-shirt. One of my favourites, my comfort shirt. Then I curl up in the perfect bed. Ryder was right, they made the room so it looks like my tantrum never happened. Though I poked the mirror in the bathroom and realised it was coated so as not to shatter.

Smart man.

I want to hide in here forever, but that’s not my style. I still want to be free of these men, and to do that, I need knowledge. Knowledge is power. No one else is coming to help me, and the world doesn’t give a shit. It doesn’t care if I’m a good person or a bad person. Fuck, I’m not even sure which I am anymore…maybe somewhere in the middle.

So, on bare feet, I slip out into the apartment, pressing my back to the wall where they can’t see me as I eavesdrop. “You think he’ll be okay?” Kenzo drawls, his voice distinctive with the warmth he infuses in it.

“Yes, he just needed to get it all out,” Ryder replies, his tone cold.

There’s a sigh and some shifting. “Do you ever wonder if it wouldn’t have been kinder…”

“Stop right there,” Ryder snaps. “He’s our brother, his demons are our demons. He survived, we do whatever it takes to ensure that he stays that way.”

“You’re right,” Kenzo agrees, but sounds sad. “I just wish there was something we could do. I feel useless watching him struggle.”