I want someone who’ll try to break me.
Then the bell rings.
The man circles me like a starving dog, teeth bared, eyes shining with madness. He wants a fight.
I want something worse.
He lunges. I don’t move.
His fist connects hard, right to my ribs. A second one drives into my side like a fucking freight train. Pain blooms white-hot. I welcome it.
Let him break me.
Let him tear me apart.
Just not the face.
Not the part he likes to touch with his shy, awkward fingers, like touching my face is something he finds very precious. His hands had brushed my jaw like I was made of glass.
So I guard it, subtly—just that one spot. Everything else is free.
Free to bleed.
Free to bruise.
My knees buckle under a harsh blow to my side, pain spiking hot behind my eyes. I stagger. The crowd roars above us.
The man grins widely. He thinks he’s winning.
Good. Let him. Let him feel like God.
Then—
“Alex!”
A voice tears over the crowd noise like a whip crack.
“What the hell are you doing? You wanna die in there, you fucking moron?!”
I smirk.
Viktor.
Of course, Maksim called him to come here because he thinks I’ve gone mad.
Maybe I have. Maybe I fucking have.
I glance up, just for a second—and that’s when it happens.
I miscalculate.
His fist slams right into my jaw.
A sickening crack echoes in my ears. My head snaps to the side—my neck aches.
And the world turns red, not the face you fucking bastard.
My fist crashes into his jaw so hard his head snaps sideways. Bone cracks. His lip splits like wet paper. He stumbles, but I’m already on him.
