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It’s the first time I’ve seen him in over a year, and the first proper encounter since the fire two years ago.
Adrenalin shoots through my veins.
In this moment, I don’t give a shit about the party or the yacht. This guy was the cause of my pain, guilt, and hatred for the last two years. I lured him to this island thanks to Qi Shan. Of course, Droga came for revenge, way past due. But I have other plans.
“Well, well, what a surprise,” I drawl as I come to a complete stop about ten feet away, studying him.
He is wearing a dark t-shirt and jeans, so I can’t see much of his body, but what I do see in the terrace light is enough—his arms down to his knuckles and up to his neck are tatted up almost completely. Covering his burn scars.
Fuck…
The sight of him—knowing that it’s somewhat my fault—gives me the reality check that makes my jaw clench tightly and my arrogant attitude falter under his gaze.
We used to be like brothers. But his stare is murderous now as he starts walking toward me, then charges at me so fast that I don’t realize what’s happening until a brutal punch to my face knocks me to the ground.
Pain shoots through my nose, the impact so powerful it cuts off my breathing for a moment.
I see stars.
A kick in my gut makes the world stop.
I hear screams and shouts.
Adrenalin shoots through my veins, and before the dizziness goes away, I jump to my feet and blindly throw myself at him, sending punches anywhere I can.
“You fucking trash,” he snaps as he punches me in the ribs.
“Traitor,” I hiss as I punch back.
He might have been a star wrestler once, but I am a quarterback. We smash our fists into each other blindly, repeatedly, until we are suddenly jerked away from each other. Qi Shan holds me back, keeping me from lunging at Droga, as Ty and Marlow hold Droga, who is like a bull, trying to charge forward.
Panting, I smile, feeling the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, blood dripping from my nose.
Blood and hate—all that’s left of our friendship.
But I feel alive.
A crowd gathers around us. Some of them know Droga and our story. But no one really knows how he ended up here.Hedoesn’t know that either.
I grin at the thought, though my split lip hurts.
“Hello, Droga.” I swish my tongue in my mouth, collecting the bloodied saliva, and spit on the ground.
He might’ve come to fight, but he did what I fucking planned, and I won’t let him go until he cools his fists and we sort this shit out. The shit that was started by a fucking girl.
I smile because we finally get to face each other after two years of the silent war. And because I am actually glad to see the motherfucker—the one person who ever understood me and didn’t kneel or kiss my ass for favors. I’ll aggravate him until he is drained of all that hatred he’s collected since the accident.
And because maybe this time, if we talk, I can get the fucking guilt off my chest. The guilt for what happened and what I’ve done.
“You fucking scum,” Droga hisses, trying to get rid of Ty and Marlow.
I grin wider, chuckling devilishly.
Someone murmurs something about the cut connection. The muffled music at other Ayana villas goes quiet.
Did this sneaky fucker cut the electricity everywhere? Genius.
“Keep it going,” I spit at Droga. “Tell me what else you got to say, baby.”
