“You. Don't. Touch. Her.”
Each word is punctuated by another hit.
Everything in the background blurs. Nothing existsbeyond the need to cause pain and the need to destroy, in equal measure.
His face is almost unrecognizable now. Just blood and broken bone.
I raise my fist one more time, ready to end it?—
Something cracks against my temple.
Pain explodes through my skull. My vision goes white, then black at the edges. I'm knocked sideways, hitting the canvas hard.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Bianca
I screamwhen some fuckingeejittosses a glass bottle at Ashland’s head. My face aches from where Marcus slapped me, the skin stinging, but I forget my own pain when I see Ashland fall to the ground.
Before the bottle shatters, Cavin lunges with a vicious scream of rage, taking the attacker to the ground with him. Lorcan reaches for me and pulls me away from the ring, shielding me with his body.
“Let me watch!” I scream. “Let me watch, Lorcan!”
“Stay behind me,” he growls, but he doesn’t pull me away.
Ashland shakes it off and shoves himself to his feet. Hope surges in me again. No one will keep my man down.No one.
I was never going to stay home. He will lose his ever-loving mind on me, but as long as he's alive, it'll be worth it.
Kyla drove me in. She didn't want to—kept saying Ashland would fucking kill her if anything happened to me. But I begged her. Pleaded. Told her I'd go alone if she didn't help me.
And now that I’m here, my heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest.
I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't do anything but stare at the ring. At Ashland. Nausea roils in my belly.
He's covered in blood. His knuckles are split open, white bone visible through torn skin. His face is bruised and swollen, and there's a cut above his eyebrow, streaming red down the side of his face. But god, his eyes—gunmetal silver. Cold and focused. Utterly merciless.
The monster from that night six years ago. The killer.
And he'smine.
Marcus barely manages to stand. His face is a mess of blood and bruises, and he's holding his side. His nose is definitely broken, and one eye is swollen completely shut. He's swaying on his feet, trying to lift his fists to protect himself, but Ashland stalks forward like death incarnate.
Marcus gets him with a good hook.
Ashland falls to one knee.
And I can't help it. I scream out to him, my voice raw and desperate. “You've got this, Ashland! Do it!”
Because ending Marcus Crowning is the only way thisallends. This isn't just about Ashland and me. It's not just about me becoming a McCarthy. This is about everything that needs to end. No other woman will ever be his victim again.
Ashland shakes it off, blinks, and holds my gaze across the blood-soaked canvas. Then he pushes to his feet.
He surges forward like a man possessed. I crave the show of violence like I crave air.
“Finish him,”I whisper. “Ashland.”
Every punch lands like thunder. I can hear the impact of fists meeting flesh. Bone breaking. Marcus's gasps and groans, and then his pleas for mercy.
