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“Put this on.” He tossed a black eye mask at me. Instinctively catching it, I didn’t make a move to do anything with it. Bull frowned, and the rest of the guys stopped chatting to watch.

“Bruh. Put it on. It will be worth it.” I sighed, feeling itchy with all the eyes were on me. Begrudgingly, I slipped the mask over my eyes, trying not to flinch at how unsettled it felt to be completely blind among the seeing.

“You okay if I grab your shoulder?” Charlie checked quietly. At my nod, she proceeded to bellow right next to my ear.

“Alright, boys and gents! You ready for a night of mayhem?” As if she were announcing a boxing match, Charlie rallied the group with gusto.

“Party starts downstairs…Let’s get started.” She put her hand on my shoulder as she gave me directions on where to go.

“Okay. There’s a chair to your right. Grab a seat.” It felt familiar, almost a sensory recognition. The chill in the air, the muted sounds from upstairs, and the concrete under my feet had me identifying the paint shop. Murmurs surrounded me, and I grew antsy. All of a sudden, music filled the space, the heavy bass and electric sounds taking me by surprise.

“Charlie…” I started, but I was interrupted.

“All set. Take the blindfold off!” She cheered. I pulled the black mask off, my eyes blinking as I took in the scene in front of me. Charlie was standing on her tiptoes, her hands clasped together as she hopped from one foot to the other. Bash and Match stood next to her, looking equally as impressed with themselves. Something large was between them, one of the thick velvet curtains from halloween draped over it.

With a dramatic flourish, Charlie pulled the fabric off, revealing the giant iron cage from the party. Instead of a dancer inside, there was an unfamiliar man crumpled on the ground. His wrists were secured with fluffy leopard print handcuffs. A large ball gag wrapped around his jaw and obscured half of his face. Bubbles of snot were forming above the rubber, and his dirty hair covered his face.

Pulling him out, they cuffed him to the ceiling. It wasn’t until this moment that I got a good look at who they had brought me. And suddenly, the party got a fuck of a lot more interesting. Standing up, I took a step closer, making sure the douche bag dangling between all of us like a fucking pinata was indeed Kyle Spencer. He was awake and furious, but his attempts at speaking were muffled by the red ball in his mouth.

“Now! I have a few more party favors before we get started.” Charlie continued as if we were discussing food orders or music selections.

“Originally, we were just gonna scare the guy, rough him up a bit, but I think you’re gonna want to see what we found at his place.” Kyle jerked against his binds, his body thrashing. Whatever they had found…He did not want me to see it. Standing up, I walked around Kyle, taking in his expensive shirt and watch, printed socks, and suede shoes. He was soft, weak. Only used to paying others to get dirty for him.

“Got something you want to say, Kyle? Gonna congratulate me on my upcoming nuptials?” I watched with amusement as his face turned bright red. Bull pulled yanked the gag loose, and his whiny voice filled the room.

“Fucking animals. You’ll pay for this. Do you know who I am? People will look for me!” he yelled. His outrage was cute.

All of a sudden, Charlie had a leather bullwhip in her hand, out of nowhere. I eyed it curiously. It was an interesting choice.

“What? I’m practicing so I can be Michelle Pfeiffer’s Catwoman next year for Halloween. Anyway, back to this jackass. Tell us again how people will be looking for you?” She paused, walking around him in a circle, the whip never staying still as it snapped and cracked with each movement.

“Word on the street is you’ve become quite the recluse. Too busy stalking Lilah to go to the office, huh?” Charlie asked. With controlled movements, she moved the whip around before snapping it to hit Kyle right in the face. A long welt appeared on his cheek as he gagged from the impact.

“Care to clue me in?” I watched as Charlie, Bull, and Bash communicated silently.

“Show him.” Keys came over with a laptop, a video on the screen paused. He pressed play, and it showed Kyle tied to a chair in a dirty bedroom. The camera panned around to show a wall that was covered from floor to ceiling in photos of Lilah—old photos and current ones. He took the magazine cover and cut me out like some childhood shrine.

“They also found these,” Keys said, pulling up photos of handwritten notebooks. I didn’t have to read them line by line to understand the gist; Kyle was spiraling. His focus on Lilah had become dangerous.

“Jesus, you’re worse than a teenage girl. Sitting around, staring at pictures on your wall, and scribbling Mr. Kyle Wright in your diary? Pathetic.” I taunted, watching as fury filled his face.

“You’re the one dreaming. I’m supposed to believe Lilah is marrying you willingly? Who’s to say this isn’t some sort of Stockholm syndrome. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.” The blunt rage faded as he watched me with calculating eyes.

“Plus, you never forget your first,” he said, a twisted grin on his face. “Had her sister, too. She’s good for a quickie, but not wife material, if you know what I mean. Lilah, though…She was pure. I would know. That whole family was wrapped around my fucking finger, had everything going according to plan. Lilah would have come back to me if you hadn’t filled her head with this victim crap. I was her first boyfriend, her first love, her first fuck. You really think you can measure up to me? To that type of history?”

My fist was flying before he got the last word out. The impact snapped his head sideways, and for a moment, I watched in silence as blood trickled from his nose. He wheezed through ragged breaths, his face flushed and slick with tears, sweat, and blood. It should have satisfied me, but it didn’t. It wasn’t nearly enough.

I crossed to the cabinet and pulled it open. I hadn’t fully recovered yet, but it hardly mattered. It wasn’t going to be difficult. Wouldn’t even break a sweat. Starting simple, I grabbed my favorite brass knuckles. Sliding them on, I flexed my fingers, testing their weight. The first punch folded Kyle over with a strangled gurgle.

Before he could recover, I drove another into his face, snapping his head to the side. Something small and white skipped across the floor and disappeared into a corner. I hit him again. And again. The brass knuckles felt good on my hand. Every impact carried a satisfying weight, each strike jolting up my arm. But after a while, even that wasn’t enough.

With a curse, I tore them off and let them clatter to the floor. The metal put distance between us. I needed to feel my knuckles connect. I needed skin, bone, and pain. Bleeding and bruised, Kyle’s head hung limply. I caught a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back. He looked up at me through swollen, bloodshot eyes.

For a moment, we stared at one another. The bloodlust still clawed at me, demanding more.

“Does she know what you do for the club? What you do down here?” He spit out, looking at me with disgust. Doesn’t he see the irony? He was just as bad as me. Worse, actually. The only difference was that he wrapped his sins in a socially acceptable package.

I’d never hidden anything from Lilah. I didn’t have to. Kyle would never understand that. Beneath the soft hands and polished exterior beat a blacker heart than most of the men he looked down on.