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“Then why don’t you try, motherfucker.” The words shot out my mouth before I could even think them through.
I was still fired up from Nero and… yeah, I wasn’t quite thinking clearly, but a good brawl might be exactly what I needed to get this fury out of my soul.
“Apparently, the last ass-beating I gave you didn’t sink in,” Frankie said as he stormed toward me.
I readied myself for a round two. “I’ve been training, asshole.” I cracked my neck by moving my head side to side. “I’m down for a rematch.”
I had no idea why Frankie wanted to fight again. We had been getting along... as much as the two of us could. But this time I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him get the upper hand.
Frankie narrowed his eyes to slits as he closed the distance between us, each step calculated and heavy, an ominous drumbeat on the concrete floor. The battle lust glinted in his gaze, the raw, unmasked craving for dominance. It was the same look that had preceded our previous tussle—the one that left us both nursing bruises for weeks.
“You call that training?” he scoffed, flexing his fists. “Looks to me like you’ve been training to be my punching bag.”
I let out a laugh, baring my teeth in a feral grin that matched his own, aggressive posture. “Is this about fucking Ari? I thought we all had a deal.”
“No, fucker. This is about you meeting up with Nero. Or did you think that wouldn’t get back to me? You getting into shady shit again. And that puts Ari at risk. And for that, I’m going to make you pay.”
I would never put Ari at risk, but there was no telling Frankie that. Not when he looked at me the way he was.
Without warning, Frankie lunged forward, aiming a right hook at my jaw that promised pure destruction. But I was ready for him; I slipped under the swing with ease honed by countless hours spent shadowboxing my reflection and dodging imagined blows.
My counter was swift—a low hook to Frankie’s ribs, a reminder that I wasn’t the same pushover he remembered. The sound of my fist against his side was like the crack of a bat meeting a ball, the impact reverberating through the silence that had fallen around us.
Pain flared across his features, but it only seemed to make him angrier, more determined.
“I would never hurt Ari. Never.” I circled him warily, my own breathing measured and controlled despite the adrenaline surging through my veins. “I don’t answer to you,” I shot back. “Whatever I do with Nero is my business.”
“You saw what happened when we brought Ari to Detroit, you fucker,” Frankie said as he delivered a punch to my gut. “She deserves better than that, and Heathens Hollow was her shot at not having to be put in dangerous situations again.”
I wheezed to regain my breath. “Yeah? Well that’s on you by pulling me out of the fucking fight!”
He rushed me again, this time with a flurry of punches designed to overwhelm. But I’d been training for speed as well as power, and I absorbed what blows I couldn’t dodge, waiting for my moment to strike back.
Then it came—a brief falter in Frankie’s assault as he overextended on a left cross. Seizing the opportunity, I stepped forward and threw an uppercut straight into his exposed jaw. I had expected him to fall.
And that’s exactly what he did. What I did not expect was his eyes to roll back in his head and his body start to seize
Panic instantly replaced my triumph. This wasn’t just a knockout; Frankie was in trouble.
“Frankie!” I shouted, crouching beside him, flipping him onto his side to prevent him from choking if he vomited. I scanned the area desperately. This was supposed to be a simple brawl, not a life-threatening event. “Someone get help!” I yelled, but my voice seemed to echo in an empty space. “Frankie! Frankie!”
Chapter 38
Ari
Sitting in the hospital, holding Frankie’s limp hand for hours, had nearly been the death of me. But as he started to wake, I also wanted to kill him with my bare hands.
“Frankie?” My voice barely above a whisper, I was afraid that speaking any louder might startle him back into darkness.
He tried to focus, squinting as if trying to make sense of the blurry figure before him. “Wha... where...?” His voice was hoarse, nearly inaudible over the soft beep of the heart monitor.
“You’re in the hospital,” I said gently, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You had another seizure.”
His gaze finally settled on me, recognition sparking in his eyes. He attempted to speak again, but his throat was evidently too dry, resulting in nothing more than a raspy cough. I poured him water from the plastic jug on the bedside table and helped him take a small sip.
