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I watched him, not knowing what the hell he was doing.
“If you will not take it on your own, perhaps we should…” His voice dropped to a whisper when he said, “Fight for it.”
Letting out another chuckle, I shook my head. “I’m not going to fight you for the cross.” I wasn’t stupid; I’d seen how Damian’s feigned punch didn’t make him blink. I saw the muscles underneath his clothes. He had to have some skill.
I didn’t want to fight him, though. Fighting Piper was one thing, but Ezekiel, a freaking priest? Fighting him would mean getting close to him, touching him… letting him touch me. I didn’t know if I was ready for that.
But I was wearing black. I’d fucked a stranger. I was not the girl I used to be—wasn’t that what I kept telling myself? Maybe I needed to do this, not to prove anything to Ezekiel, but to prove something to myself.
Ezekiel circled me, like a lion, like a predator circling its prey. A hunter about to strike. Behind me, he spoke, “Yes, you will. If I win, you take the cross with you.” He must’ve stood directly behind me, for I could feel his breath on my hair, on my neck. It caused a chill to sweep up my spine… and not the same kind of chill that always came over me when I was sucking up being close to someone I didn’t want to be close to.
No, this was something different. This was… magnetic, almost.
“And if I win?” I asked.
He didn’t answer me right away, moving around me and standing before me once again, almost as if me winning was never going to happen, like the man was so confident in his abilities that he completely overlooked mine.
But, finally, Ezekiel said, “If you win, I’ll keep it for you, and should you decide you want it, you’ll know where to find me.”
So I didn’t get anything out of it, not really. But, I supposed it would at least get this priest to shut up and leave me alone. I wouldn’t go to him for the cross. I’d abandoned it on purpose. I wouldn’t ever take it back.
“Fine,” I gave in, dropping my hands to my sides. “Let’s do this thing already, before someone comes looking for us.”
Ezekiel spoke with a slight smile, “Does your bodyguard not trust you to be alone with anyone other than him?” It was almost like he made fun of Zander, but also as if he mocked me, too. I didn’t know what to make of that, but I didn’t get a chance to say anything in response, because he rolled his shoulders, readying himself for the fight.
You know what? Fuck him.
Maybe it was because he’d annoyed me, but I lunged at him. I didn’t try to feign anything, didn’t seek to mask my movements. I went for him, and I went for him hard. There were no rules in this fight, unlike the previous one. I’d planned on punching him in the face—I know, I know, but I figured I could knock him out if I hit him just right—but, uh, it didn’t work out like that.
Why? Oh, no reason, besides the fact that he caught my punch before I could land it, curled his fingers around my fist, and jerked that arm to the side. He had hold of my right fist, and he pulled me to the left. My body twirled, and before I knew it, my back was against his front.
“Come now,” Ezekiel whispered, “surely you can do better than that.”
I didn’t have to struggle; he simply let me go, giving me another shot. I was only getting more and more pissed off. I wouldn’t say Ezekiel was smug about it, but I also wouldn’t say he wasn’t smug.
I went at him again. This time he knocked my arm out of the way by hitting it aside. An annoyed grunt left me, which caused him to say, “Getting angry, are you?”
“You’re not fighting me, you’re just blocking me,” I hissed, petulant.
“Fine. If you want more, I’ll give you more, but don’t say I didn’t try to hold back.”
I wasn’t sure what the fuck he meant by that, and I didn’t care. I went at him again, and, like he’d said, he didn’t just block or dodge me this time. He didn’t redirect my punches. I hit him in the stomach, only for him to do the same.
It was just one punch in the gut, and yet all the air was swept from my lungs. It must’ve been the angle he got me. I didn’t let it stop me, though. For the next few moments, we were locked in hand-to-hand combat. Any time I landed a blow on him, he did the same to me. When I blocked him, he was able to block me moments after. It was all very tit-for-tat, and a part of me wondered if this was some kind of game to him.
I kicked him in the stomach, something he wasn’t expecting, and he stumbled back a few feet, straightening himself out immediately after. “Where does a priest learn to fight, anyway?”
He looked up, shadows dancing across his face. Without warning, he ran at me. I wasn’t expecting him to rush me like a bull, so I was caught as off-guard as I could possibly be. In the next moment, my back was slammed against the bark of a tree, and for the next few seconds, all I could do was breathe and stare at him with wide eyes.
“You, of all people, should know not to judge based on looks,” Ezekiel whispered. He had one arm over my chest—I didn’t feel it because of the leather jacket I wore, thankfully. His legs leaned against mine, pinning me to the tree. “Or clothes.”
“Way not to answer the question,” I growled out, my hand curling into a fist. I couldn’t get a good punch on him, nor could I lift a knee and get something below the belt. He had me pinned in a way I couldn’t do much of anything to him.
He let out a sound that was dangerously close to a chuckle, and then he released his hold on me, taking a step back and lifting his hands, as if telling me to go at him again. And so I did. I went at him again and again and again, and every time he was somehow able to best me. It got to the point where I couldn’t see straight I was so frustrated.
I wasn’t a shitty fighter. Tonight was just a shitty night, but that was no excuse. If this was a real fight, I knew I’d be dead. I knew I was letting my emotions get the better of me, and they caused me to stumble, to not be smart, to not see the giveaways in his posture or his movements. He got me over and over, and each time I only grew more enraged.
“You’re too angry,” he told me, knocking me off balance by hitting my foot with his own. He took me down to the ground, my back colliding with the dirt and dried-up leaves. I was going to get up, but he knelt down, set a knee just beside my neck. “You’re letting your anger blind you, Giselle.”
