My elbow cracks into his temple.
My knee slams into his stomach.
The roar of the crowd swallows his scream.
But I don’t stop
I grab his throat and slam him to the floor.
Steel and blood beneath us.
Then I descend.
Fists rain down. One after another, again and again.
I don’t count. I don’t care.
The sound of knuckle to bone is like music in my ears, his face caves beneath my rage, skin splitting, teeth flying.
I hear something snap. I think it’s his nose. Maybe his cheekbone. Maybe both.
I see Lucas, trembling, crying into Tyler’s arms.
Lucas, flinching away from me like I’m the monster.
Lucas, eyes wide with terror—at me.
So now? Now this bastard becomes every fucking thing that’s ever hurt him.
I beat him until my fists are raw.
And I don’t stop.
Not even when the man beneath me is barely moving.
Not even when I feel Viktor’s arms around my chest, dragging me off, yelling in my ear that it’s over, that he’s gonna die.
Viktor shoves me again. “Jesus Christ, Alex. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I wipe the blood off my jaw with the back of my hand, still staring down at the unconscious man whom I desperately want to kill.
***
The faucet screeches as I twist it on, metal groaning like it’s protesting my touch.
Blood swirls down the sink in slow spirals. Thick. Deep red. It coats my knuckles, crusted under my nails, smeared halfway up my forearms.
I scrub harder.
It doesn’t come off easily.
I look up.
The mirror’s cracked in the corner, fluorescent light buzzing overhead.
And there I am, the monster behind the mess.
No bruises.
