Need to get out. Burn this energy before it claws its way out of my skin.
The doors open, and I stride into the penthouse. Straight to the bedroom. Stripping out of the soaked suit, I change into darker clothes, dry, rough, ready for violence.
Behind me, Kaden grabs the SUV keys.
“Fuck or fight?”
His voice is calm, like it’s just another Tuesday.
“Fight,” I answer without hesitation.
Sex is the last thing I want. I’m too full of fury to touch softness.
Tonight, I need blood.
We pull up to Christian Keeffe’s warehouse. No heads-up call this time. Kaden knows better.
Before the engine even cuts, I’m out of the SUV.
“Mister Brady,” Keeffe’s right-hand man nods, standing just inside the warehouse doors.
“Where is he?”
The leather jacket’s already coming off as I speak. He jerks his chin toward the far end, near the ring.
Striding across the cracked concrete, I lock eyes with Christian. He spots me and curses under his breath.
“Fucking hell, Flynn.”
He already knows. Doesn’t need to ask. Rage rolls off me like heat.
“Who?” I ask flatly, controlled.
His eyes flick to Kaden.
“Don’t, Keeffe.” I stop in front of him. “Tell me. Right now.”
He nods toward a tank of a man with a shaved head, thick neck, a black tattoo slashed across his temple like a warning.
“He’s a beast, Brady. I don’t think—”
“Perfect.” The word slices out of me as I strip off the black shirt.
The tattoos draw eyes like magnets. Across my arms. Crawling up my neck. Down my chest and back. Not enough. There’s space left. Space I’ll fill soon.
The announcer clears his throat, mic crackling to life. “Next up, we’ve got a real one for you, lads.”
This place used to be just another Keeffe warehouse. Before they moved everything to the docks. Now? It’s a blood ring. A betting ground for rich fucks and underground scum to gamble on pain. For me, it’s something else.
This is where I go when the leash around my throat gets too tight.
Since Autumn? I’ve been here more than I care to admit. Especially after seeing her for the first time at the Callaghans’ wedding. Something about her presses on every trigger I swore I’d buried. The way she blushes. The way she bites her lip when she’s concentrating.
That’s the most fucked-up part. She’s justexisting, and I’m the bastard hard over it. The one who wants to bend her in half, make her scream until her throat’s raw, fuck her until she forgets her name.
“Next, we’ve got The Warrior. Two hundred and eighty pounds of pure rage!” the announcer calls out. Cheers erupt across the ring.
Kaden steps in beside me. “You sure about this?”
