I need something to take the edge off. Kicking the shite out of this prick? That’ll do nicely.
“Can you?” I smirk and wave him forward. “Go on then.”
He throws a hard punch to my stomach. It connects. My body folds slightly, more out of surprise than pain. I let out a low laugh, straightening up as the sting fades into adrenaline.
Declan scoffs behind me, but there’s something off about it. It’s not amusement. Not really.
I advance before Castor can process the mistake he just made. I slam my fist into his right rib. He moves to block with his left, predictable. Amateur.
“Your dad might be an ally,” I bite out, grabbing his jaw with one hand and landing another punch square in his gut. “But you broke the rules, kid. No one deals in my club.” Another blow, this time to his face. His lip splits under the knuckles, and blood spatters on the concrete. “Especially not with spiked fucking drugs.”
He grunts, swings wide at my head, but I duck easily and catch his wrist mid-air. I twist it sharply until I hear that satisfying pop. He drops to one knee with a yelp.
“Flynn,” Declan warns, low and controlled, but I can hear it; he’s wary. Watching me too closely.
“Not even one broken finger?” I mutter, eyeing Castor’s trembling hand.
Declan shakes his head once. I sigh, frustrated, and let go of the kid’s wrist. Then I punch him again, knuckles cracking against bone. He crumples to the ground, coughing blood and spitting onto his own shoes.
He’s breathing. Shame.
Declan steps forward slowly, like a wolf circling prey. He unbuttons his suit jacket with calm precision and crouches in front of Castor.
“If you’re ever caught dealing at a Brady club again, you’ll be executed. No calls. No warnings. You’ll disappear,” he says, voice a low, steady growl that makes even me glance his way.
Castor nods, wide-eyed, blood staining his teeth. He’s not faking bravery anymore.
Declan tosses Castor’s keys onto the ground, then turns. As he walks past me, I tilt my head, eyeing the kid on the floor. The image of his skull cracking open against the concrete flits through my mind. Just one stomp.
“Brady!” Declan snaps.
I roll my eyes, grinding my jaw. “You are no fun, Dec.”
I wipe my bloodied knuckles on a damp cloth, grab my jacket, and follow him out. The cold air slaps my face as we step into the dying light.
We’re almost to our bikes when I grab his arm.
“What the fuck is going on, Dec?”
He freezes. Glances down at my hand, then up to meet my eyes. There it is, that look.
He’s holding something back.
I let go but step in, inches from him now, our shadows tangled on the pavement.
“You’re not pissed,” I say quietly. “So what is it?”
His throat works as he swallows, then runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Fuck, Flynn. I promised Vi.”
That makes me pause. My stomach knots. My mouth tastes like rust.
“What the fuck does Viviana have to do with this?” I step closer again. “You’d better start talking. We don’t keep secrets. Not between us.”
He stares at me for a long beat before letting out a breath.
“We know,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “About the charity event.”
I go still. Frozen. What the fuck does that mean?
