"That all you got, pretty boy?" he taunted, his voice a gravely mumble pushed past swollen lips.
I didn't bother responding. Words were wasted energy, and I needed every ounce I had left.
I hadn't planned on fighting tonight. I'd been restless at the compound, prowling from room to room like a caged animal while the others disappeared into their own distractions. Xander had been three drinks in when I left, staring at the wall like it held answers to questions he hadn't asked yet. Kane was buried under one of his project cars, cursing at inanimate objects. Nitro and Fallon were already gone.
And me? I didn’t have anything on my burn list. No company to punish. No condemned building with a demolition date I could treat as a plaything. And kissing fire against my own flesh just didn’t resonate tonight.
So, I'd taken my bike, let the engine scream beneath me, and somehow ended up here—in this place reeking of bodily fluid, liquor, and smoke where emotionally damaged Alphas came to prove something to themselves.
There was nothing legal about this blood bath. In broad daylight, Alphas could get arrested for maiming one another. In the darkness, no one would stop the flying fists and the cash bets. Hell, there were even half a dozen cops in the audience tonight.
The crowd's roar rose as I dodged a wild haymaker, countering with a sharp jab to my opponent's ribs. Something audibly cracked. A cruel, satisfied smile warped my mouth as the other Alpha gave a harsh gasp and rocked back a few steps, his palm automatically flattening against the point of impact. I didn’t give him a chance to recover. I rushed forward, closing thegap between us, and landed an uppercut that snapped his head back.
Blood arced through the air. My vision narrowed down to those dozens of bright red droplets which seemed to catch light from above and float in slow motion. When time sped up, I saw the undeniable expression of defeat on his face.
"Finish him!" someone screamed from the darkness beyond the ring.
I recognized that voice. One of my regular fans. An Omega that wanted more than a good show; he wanted to touch and taste. I’d never obliged. He wasn’t my type, though I didn’t mind making him think he might have a piece someday. I got to enjoy his unveiled desire and the pleasure of denying satisfaction.
DemonX drew attention everywhere we went. It wasn’t hard to find a partner for a night, even in a strange city. But this bullshit—overeager, wasted fans with too many miles on their bodies—didn’t do it for me anymore. The sex was performative. A show stunt gone stale. I wanted something fresh. Anything else was a repetitive waste of goddamn time. Oh, I’d tried whips, handcuffs, toys. Nothing hit the spot. Maybe I’d ask Fallon for a few ideas… though he didn’t look very satisfied lately either, despite spending night after night in one of his skanky ass clubs.
Or,I thought derisively,Eros will finally come through.
Fat fucking chance.
I gave myself a full body shake. Here, with the scent of metallic blood and salty sweat surrounding me, I could forget all my issues.
I was stripped down to just Asher. Bones and flesh. No pretense.
My opponent recovered because I didn’t act quickly enough. He rammed forward, driving his shoulder into my midsection. He pushed me like a football player pushing a sled dummyacross the field. He took me by surprise, and I couldn’t plant my feet in time to stop him from slamming me against the ropes.
Agony bloomed white-hot and vicious from my suspected cracked rib. I welcomed it. Pain was honest; it didn't lie or disappoint or leave you wondering what the hell you were doing with your life.
I brought my elbow down on the back of his neck. Once. Twice. A brutal third time. Finally, his grip loosened. Then I shoved him away, creating space to breathe through the fire in my side.
We were evenly matched in skill and strength. Most fights would've been determined by now, but we'd been going for—what?Fifteen minutes? Twenty? A fucking half hour?Time blurred under the blinding spotlight, measured only in ragged breaths, pounding heartbeats and the next unforgiving punch thrown.
But I had one advantage he didn't: I didn't care if I walked out of this ring.
That kind of indifference created a special kind of endurance. I was angry enough to fight until my heart gave out if I had to. I wasn't even sure what I was angry about anymore—just that the feeling had signed a long-term lease and taken up residence in my marrow.
The Alpha lunged again, telegraphing his move a split second too early. That was all I needed. I sidestepped, letting momentum carry him past me, then delivered a punishing blow to his kidney. He grunted, stumbled, turned—and walked straight into my right hook.
The impact crunched my own knuckles, shook up my arm to rattle my teeth, and sent a fresh wave of fluids into the air. The Alpha’s eyes unfocused briefly, and I knew I had him.
I saw the moves in my head before I acted them out.
Three more rapid jabs to his already bruised ribs.
A right cross that connected with his cheekbone.
I snapped my hand back, guarding against a possible retaliation.
But he was already too far gone.
His legs buckled.
With one final uppercut—all my weight behind it, driving upward from my legs through my core and into my fist—he collapsed like a marionette doll after having his strings cut.
