Page 111 of No Greater Oblivion

“Don’t move an inch. Because if one of his hands gets anywhere near you, I’m going to have to kill him instead of just kicking his fucking ass.”

Rian lets out a grunt of anger and charges forward. I swipe a nearby decorative vase off a side table and swing, smashing the glass against his temple. All chaos breaks lose.

We tumble to the ground and despite being disoriented by having the vase crushed against the side of his head, I land, almost breaking my wrist with the weight of my own body, and he manages to get the upper hand. He pins me to the floor and lands several punches, two to the face and four to my ribs. The pain ignites me, propelling me forward, lighting a fire in the core of my body.

The next hit he throws, I manage to dodge with ease. His fist hits the floor instead and I trap his arm before elbowing him in the face. Rian’s head kicks backward and I throw him off me. I’m the first to get up from the floor and when he gets to his knees, I deliver a kick to the center of his chest and send him reeling back several feet. Rian braces himself on his forearms and waits only a second, then he’s back on his feet, throwing punches, teeth bared, eyes delirious with fury.

Dahlia’s screaming at us to stop, but we ignore her. Rian lands another punch to my kidneys but when he throws out his left fist, I hit him with an uppercut that sends him flying against the wall behind him. He doesn’t allow me to advance on him because he yanks a mirror off its hook and sends it in my direction. I manage to block it with my forearm at the last second but it’s enough time for him to land a hit that almost has me seeing stars.

I catch his fist before he swing again and lock him into a position with his arm trapped behind his back. I grab him by the back of the neck and send him face first into the corner of the side table.

We go on like this for no more than a few minutes but it may as well last a century. Damiano is the one to eventually pull us apart with the help of a few security guards.

“Enough!” Damiano yells at his friend. “Are you trying to fucking kill each other?”

Rian and I lock gazes from across the hall. Dahlia runs to him first and the smug look on his face is enough to send me lunging for his throat. Rian steps forward, primed and ready for a second round, but Dahlia throws herself between us.

“¡Basta, Alejandro!” She pushes against my chest. “Alejandro, enough! ¡Se acabo!”

Damiano says something in Rian’s ear and tries dragging him down the hall and into the nearest room. I’m surprised by Dahlia’s strength when she manages to lock an arm through mine and drag me away from the disaster we created in the hall. We round a corner and without knocking, she throws open the nearest door and practically flings me into the room, locking the door behind her. It’s a private box, one of the few that overlook the dance floor that patrons can rent for more intimate gatherings like birthday parties of bachelorettes.

She wastes no time in reprimanding me.

“Are you insane? Have you lost your mind?”

My head is spinning and I lean against the sofa behind me for support.

“What the fuck is the matter with you? What is it, do you get off on being so insufferable? Huh?” she demands. “Are you just going to sit there and stare at me like I’ve grown a second head?”

I drag my tongue across my teeth then spit up a mouthful of blood at her feet.

“Alejandro!”

“Do me a favor and shut up for five seconds. Your voice is grating. Like nails on a chalkboard.”

Her cheeks flush with heat. “After tonight, I want you on the first flight back to Barcelona. You don’t need to be here anymore, ¡jodiendome la maldita vida! Eres una bestia.”

My skull is throbbing. My vision is swimming and my ribs ache but I can’t focus on anything that isn’t her.

Furious and near murderous, she’s striking to behold. I always thought Dahlia was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in person, closer to a character from fiction than something real and tangible. She was so different when we first met. I remember the way she’d blush and look away because she couldn’t meet my gaze head on. I remember every outfit she wore during those first few weeks she spent in Barcelona; feminine skirts and dresses, light and carefree, almost as modest as they were romantic. Now, everything from the way she styles her hair to the color she paints her nails is different and I can’t help but wonder if Rian knows her as well as I do.

Does he know that the reason she curls in on herself in her sleep is because when she was little and her parents were struggling, they went an entire winter without heat in the apartment and that was the position she’d fall asleep in—trembling and hiding under as many blankets as she could, desperate to keep herself warm?

Does Rian know how she likes her meals or what utensils she uses when eating or how her hair has to be braided before bed every night or the knots she wakes up in the morning will be too painful to comb through? Does he even care?

I bet he doesn’t even know her middle name or that she prays before bed every night, a near silent mantra she whispers under her breath whose words are almost inaudible to anyone not paying attention.

“Are you going to keep punishing me for the rest of our lives?” I ask quietly. “Because I can admit to being wrong but I can’t wait forever. Not even for you.”

“Then don’t.”

Dahlia goes to leave, and I push away from the sofa to grab her. I spin her around, and she pushes at my chest, but I don’t let her get away so easily. Every time she resists, I guide her away from the door until I eventually have her cornered. Dahlia realizes she’s trapped and attempts to escape by elbowing me in the ribs, but I pin her arms to her sides and kiss her.

Her lips thin and she presses them together, barring me entrance. I refuse to let up until eventually her mouth opens but only long enough to bite down on my bottom lip so hard she nearly rips it off. I hiss and pull away and the second there’s a breath of air between us, she strikes the side of my face with the back of her hand. My cheek stings but no more than any of the other injuries I’ve incurred this evening.

“¡Eso fue bien merecido!” She barrels past me and escapes the corner she was trapped in. “En tu vida, no me vuelves a poner una mano encima.”

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