Page 57 of Pretty Savage: Defy

Damian is bigger up close. The kind of muscle that comes from treating a gym like a second job and having enough anger to make every workout personal. He drives me backward with a heavy shove, and I catch myself before his next punch reaches my face.

“I’m not ready to die.” He throws another punch. I duck under it, but his forearm catches my shoulder hard enough to send a blast of heat down my arm. “I finally have a hot girlfriend.”

The words throw me off for a second, my mind questioning if he really just said that.

He uses the distraction to slam into me, and we hit the floor in a tangle of limbs and overturned cables.

“Congratulations,” I say, shoving him off before he can pin me. I rotate under him, rolling us both until he’s on his back and I have my hands around his neck. Unfortunately, it’s too thick to squeeze properly. I try anyway. “That’s beautiful.”

“I’ve been obsessed with her for years,” Damian says, breathing hard as he pries my hands off his neck. “And now she’s mine.” His fist pistons into my temple, leaving my ears ringing and a trickle of blood running from the corner of my eye.

I catch his arm before he can punch again, but he jerks away and drives an elbow into my side. Pain knocks me off him.

“And,” he says, apparently not finished, “I have a cat who needs me.” He lumbers to his feet.

I squint up at him. “You have a cat.”

“Yes.”

“You’re telling me not to kill you because you have a cat.”

“I’m a cat dad.” He sounds offended that I need clarification. “You can’t kill me.”

I laugh despite myself, wondering why he’s giving me time to stand instead of taking the advantage he earned.

“I’ve heard a lot of men beg for their lives.” I straighten, one hand pressed to my ribs. “You’re the first one to bring up a cat.”

“He’s an asshole of a cat.” He wipes sweat from his brow. “But I love him.”

“That does complicate things.”

Damian’s expression brightens with hope.

“I’m more of a dog person.” I dive under his desk, reaching for my gun.

He swears and charges me, kicking the weapon as my fingers graze the handle. It spins away. He follows, and we both crash into the leg of the chair.

I cock my fist back and let it fly, catching him square in the mouth. His bottom lip splits, blood bright against his teeth. Before he can recover, I hit him again in the same spot, putting enough force behind it that his head whips to the side. He spits blood onto the floor along with something white that bounces once.

We both look down.

“Sorry about the tooth,” I say.

“It’s okay.” He spits again, then checks the damage with his tongue. “It’s just a filling. Easy to fix.”

“Do you get a rush from this?” I ask, pushing myself off the floor to sit.

His blue eyes narrow as he does the same. “From what?”

“This.” I wave between us. “Fighting. Knowing somebody is challenging you and deciding you’re going to win anyway.”

His eyes stay on mine as if he’s deciding whether I deserve an honest answer. “Usually.”

“Usually?”

“Usually I know I’m going to win.” He wipes blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s what makes it fun.”

“And this?”