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Live for it, the only time I feel alive, feel normal. Not this scarred up monster hiding behind gloves and suits.
She shakes out her hand, and I know she hurt it, but she doesn’t let it show as she turns and, with her head held high, leaves the room. I stand there, staring after her. She hit me. Again. That woman—she’s a fucking hurricane.
Even when faced with death, she fights. It reminds me so much of some other men I know—my brothers—who never stop, never give up, even when the odds seem extreme.
I deserved her hit. Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have let her in here. Let her get close enough to crawl under my skin, to poke and prod. It will be her death, that’s all I can offer anyone. There is nothing else left of me but anger.
Hate.
“She sure is something,” Ryder mutters, watching me. As always, his eyes sadden when they spot my chest. He blames himself, I know it. Always does when one of us gets hurt, always thinking he has to protect us. Save us. He doesn’t, but he won’t listen to me, not that we ever spoke about what happened. “Maybe you shouldn’t be around her, I’m sorry, I didn’t think about what it would do to bring her here…” He scrubs his hand through his hair, mussing it slightly.
That, in Ryder standards, is a meltdown.
“No, it’s fine,” I snap, turning away, not letting him see how close I came to losing myself to those emotions. To that darkness…those demons, the ones I fight every day. The ones I beat down with pain, fists, and kicks.
“I can kill her, she wouldn’t be a problem then,” he muses, so calmly, but when I drop the towel, yanking on my grey shorts, I look over to see his lips tilting down. He doesn’t want to kill her. She’s under his skin as well—interesting.
“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t prepared, I will be now. I’ll stay away from her until we decide what we’re doing with her,” I reply, as I tug on a shirt and grab my bag, tucking my gun into my waistband.
“You going to the pits?” he asks, letting out a long breath as he slicks his hair back.
“I need to.” I sigh, looking at my back, and his hand lands on my arm again.
“I know, go, do what you need to do to beat this. But then come back to us,” he orders before leaving.
Sucking in a breath, I let his words guide me.Come back to us. How does he know I’m so close to being lost? So close to dropping my guard ever so slightly to let those flurries of fists connect, killing me? It would be easier, but it’s not our way.
Vipers never give up.
Vipers never stop fighting.
Vipers are winners.
Striding from my room, I ignore the others who are sitting downstairs as I slam the door behind me. They will never know how close I am to the edge. Diesel went over it a long time ago, but he learned how to live in the dark. Kenzo walks that line, and Ryder? Ryder holds it all back with pure fucking strength.
Me? I beat it down.
Again and again, no matter how much this body gets broken. It’s the only way I can function. To feel that adrenaline pumping through me, releasing my fury on another person. They often don’t leave the ring on their own two feet. Those people there scream my name as blood drips from my bulging muscles, and they love it.
I hate it, but it’s a necessity.
It once wasn’t. I was the best, even did it professionally before I realised how much money could be had in underground fighting. Now I have no other choice, I’m too brutal for professional fighting. I want my opponent to hurt, to bleed. I want their bones to break under my fists, their eyes to blacken.
I want their pain.
I paint them with the destruction of my fists.
* * *
I pummel the man.He tries to block, to duck behind his arms, but he can’t stop me. I give him everything, handing myself over to those emotions until I’m nothing more than anger. He falls to the floor, and I follow him down.
Pinning him there, I smash my fists into his unprotected face. My knuckles crack, splitting open. My own blood coats his face, but even then I don’t stop. The crowd screams, pressing closer so they can almost taste the bloodshed. They love it.
They scream my name, but it all fades to a buzz as I swing fist after fist. The man passes out, but I still keep going, his head jerking to the side with each hard punch. Someone tries to get me to stop, but I push them away. I can’t stop. I can’t.
I need this.
I need him to bleed.
