Maybe I was already his.
I stood. Slow. Deliberate.
Klaus watched me, amusement flickering in those cold eyes—my eyes.
He pushed himself up from the chair with visible effort, oxygen tank rolling beside him on its wheels. Even dying, even hollowed out by cancer, he refused to sit while his son stood over him. Pride, maybe. Or challenge. I couldn't tell which.
We faced each other across a few feet of polished dark wood.
Close enough to smell the sickness on his breath—metal and decay.
Close enough to see the faded stars inked into his collarbones, the cathedral domes on his chest rising and falling with each labored breath.
I smiled.
Small. Cold. The kind of smile that never reached the eyes because it wasn't meant to.
Klaus's brow lifted slightly, waiting.
I scratched my chin casually, like I was thinking it over. Considering his offer. Weighing my options.
Then I laughed.
Low. Quiet.
Right in his face.
And I headbutted him.
Hard.
Forehead to nose.
The crack echoed through the penthouse like a gunshot. Bone gave way. Blood sprayed—hot, coppery, splattering my face and shirt.
Klaus staggered backward, his chair tipping behind him. He hit the floor with a heavy thud—oxygen tank clattering, tubes yanking free for a second before snapping back.
The guards were on me in a heartbeat—two big Russians, trained, fast. One hooked my left arm, the other grabbed my right shoulder, yanking me back with practiced efficiency.
I twisted—sharp, dirty, the way I learned in the pits. Elbow to the first guard's throat—cartilage crunched. Knee to the second's groin—he folded with a grunt. Grip loosened for a split second. I used it. Dropped low, slammed my shoulder into the first one's chest—ribs cracked. He staggered into the window, glass rattling. The second recovered fast—grabbed my jacket collar, tried to choke me out from behind. I spun, drove my heel down on his instep—bone gave way. He howled. I ripped free, breathing hard, blood on my knuckles from Klaus, sweat stinging my eyes.
They regrouped, hands going for guns—slow, because they knew I was fast.
I didn't look at them. Didn't acknowledge them at all.
I dropped to one knee over Klaus, straddling his chest, pinning his arms with my weight before he could react.
"That," I said, my voice perfectly calm, "was for your audacity."
He blinked up at me, stunned for maybe the first time in his life. Blood bubbled at his lips.
Then—he laughed.
Wet. Ragged. Delighted.
Like I'd just proved everything he'd ever believed about me.
I punched him.
