“Koby—fuck.” Ryder calls after me but I don’t stop.
The thwacks of my boot heels fill the corridor, then the stairs down to Carter’s private gym in the basement.
He has everything here, every piece of equipment you’d expect to find at a professional gym, along with a boxing ring. There’s also a row of different-sized bags hanging from the ceiling. I unhook my holster, take off my pullover and toss them onto the bench by the wall.
There’ve been many times in my life when I felt unhinged. When I lost my cool and killed someone with my bare hands, but this right now is a whole new level. I have no idea how to let an ounce of it go. How to wipe Leilani’s blank look from my hard drive.
She’s told me about all this. I listened for hours. Isawher morph into that obedient, mindless little thing when they FaceTimed, but it’snothingin comparison to what I just witnessed.
Stepping in front of the heaviest bag, I imagine it’s Anton and throw the first punch. It lands with a dull thud. The bag swings, then comes back at me, and I hit it again. Then again, and again. My shoulder twists with the motion, chest heaves, muscles burn, but the rage simmers.
I ram my fists into the leather faster, the bag becoming a blur. Sweat runs down my temples. My knuckles sting, splitting at the contact, but I don’t stop. I need this pain. I need tofeellike I’m getting revenge, and revenge in my world is visceral and bloodstained.
“Fuck!” I spit out. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
Someone grabs my shoulders. I’m spun around, registering briefly that it’s Carter interrupting my moment.
He doesn’t ask me to stop.
No, he drags me into the ring and lands a fist on my jaw before I can figure out why.
Pain blossoms white-hot across my face. “What the—?”
Another blow cuts me off. I spit red, rearing back.
“You’re just gonna stand there?” Broadway muses, leaning against the wall. “It’s getting old, you know? Watching you get your ass handed to you.”
Carter winds his elbow back, but I dodge, my mind reeling.
“Are you fucking insane?”
He must be.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t grab me by the collar and bounce me off his fist. My lip split, the metallic taste exploding on my tongue.
“Go on. Come at me,” he goads.
I close my eyes for a beat, summon the memory of Anton’s hands on my girl, and I move, driving a blow into Carter’s ribs. He grunts, coming back with a right hook that clips my jaw with so much force my teeth rattle.
We trade punches, one after another, both heaving, both sweaty, both bloody. Hailey’s going to rip my head clean off my shoulders when she sees him.
My knuckles throb, dulling the anger, but not enough to calm me down. It still chokes me and I’m so fucking grateful for the pain. Carter’s fist connects with the side of my face, my head snaps left, and there’s ringing in my ears.
He steps back, looking me over. “You done?”
“Fuck no. Don’t stop.”
Broadway chuckles, pushing away from the wall, his empty glass forgotten on the bench. “Let me.”
He climbs into the ring, smug as hell, and Carter shoots me a warning look before leaving us to it. We both know Broadway’s brand of crazy is way different from ours.
He comes at me without warning, driving his shoulder into my sternum. It lands like a sledgehammer, and that psycho grins when I stagger.
Figures. He doesn’t play games, and he doesn’t pull punches, always aiming to break something important.
I dodge the next one, land a clumsy fist on his cheek, then take a blow to my jaw. He keeps the pace brutal but simple, always the same combination. Two rights, one left. I know what’s coming, but I’m too sloppy to defend myself.
And he keeps the punches coming until I fold onto the canvas.
