Текст книги "Destroyed"

Автор книги: Pepper Winters

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

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Hazel

I’d always prided myself on being strong enough to handle anything life threw at me. I promised that no matter what, I would win. And until three weeks ago, I lived that promise like a law. I achieved things that seemed impossible; I overcame things that seemed un-survivable, but then life decided to teach me a new lesson.

It taught me that prices must be paid and sent me reeling from strong to weak. My outlook on life went from determined and fierce to wallowing and negative.

But the moment I walked into Obsidian, the taste of violence rejuvenated me—reminding me I was a fighter, and I would win. I just wished I could’ve avoided the catalyst that destroyed me.

Him.

Obsidian Fox.

The bastard who gave me so much but stole everything.

* * *

“What’s going on?” I whisper-hissed into Clue’s ear. We hadn’t budged from the Muay Thai ring but the atmosphere in the club changed from well-mannered and excited to restless and electrically charged. I couldn’t tell what started the switch, but it built slowly until the room thrummed with excitement.

Clue’s eyes were glued on Corkscrew. He ducked and swung, looking part god as he easily overpowered his opponent. His match had begun a few minutes ago, but it seemed the audience was more interested in the men having a conversation by the boxing ring. Steadily whispers wafted on the warm air; people shifted excitedly in their chairs.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but doesn’t Ben look delicious all gleaming like onyx and fighting like a warrior?” She smiled. Her eyes glowing with an infatuation that’d doubled from interested into obsessed. They’d only had a few dates, but she’d skipped right back into the mind-set of a swooning woman lusting after a man who would no doubt claim her and mark his territory the moment the match concluded.

Tearing my eyes away from Corkscrew’s fight, I focused on the crowd crushing together, subtly drifting toward the boxing ring.

My eyes flickered over to the man dressed all in black, barely visible through the throng of people. I didn’t know who he was. Something about him unsettled me—further amplified by the force of danger he possessed. I wanted to keep my distance, but was drawn to him nevertheless.

He’d passed us not long ago and the moment his eyes fell on me, I’d felt a shift. A spark. An awareness. Call it fear or acknowledgement of a virile male, it caught me by surprise. My entire body shot into hyper alert—heart racing, breath quickening. My body prepared to either fight or flee. I didn’t understand why he invoked such a reaction.

When he prowled past, I had the opportunity to stare at his retreating back, and I wished I hadn’t. He was tall, moving with the elegance of a man who had almost regal bearing. His back flexed beneath a tight fitting shirt while dark, bronze hair gleamed under the spotlights. He carried an air of power, of discipline, and of certain unpredictability. Everything about him sent a frisson of heat racing into my stomach.

Eight long years had passed since I’d suffered the sickly prickle of physical attraction. Sickly because when I last succumbed, all I’d earned was illness and tragedy.

It changed my life forever.

I didn’t have time for attraction.

Clara was the result of my last infatuation, and I’d been stupid. So stupid.

A wave of excitement crashed over me from the building crowd. I grabbed Clue’s hand as anxious energy unspooled in my blood. Spectators gathered tighter; heads bobbing, trying to catch a glimpse of the two men by the boxing ring.

Clue glanced at her hand in mine, then met my gaze. “Feel free to watch other fights, Zelly. I’m sure there are plenty of sexy men you could have fun with.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not interested in finding a bed-mate, Clue. I’m interested in why everyone’s acting so tense.” The hair on the back of my neck prickled. I couldn’t stand there and not discover the source of the energy. My instincts said to run but my mind said to stay. I needed to understand it. Had to see it, feel it, so I knew how to defeat it.

Danger.

I’d always been able to taste when danger was near—when something drastic was about to change my life forever. And I felt it now.

Ignore it and go home to Clara. This is pointless.

Pointless, but addicting. Unwrapping my fingers from Clue’s, I murmured, “I’m going to figure out what’s going on.”

Clue was so enthralled with Corkscrew that she only nodded. Leaving her safe, I moved away from the bright halo of lights surrounding the Muay Thai area and headed toward the boxing ring.

Weaving my way through the crowd, whispered words met my ears. “It’s him. He’s going to fight.”

“Whoever pissed him off isn’t going to be happy when they wake with a concussion.”

I inched forward with the crowd, steadily growing thicker as more people drifted down from their La-Z-boys to mill around the ring.

Breaking through the swarm of people, I couldn’t understand what warranted the crowd’s building excitement or my nervousness. No threats or raised voices were heard. My skin prickled again.

You know what’s causing it.

It was all to do with him.

The man who seemed more than human; the man who set my teeth on edge.

My eyes zeroed in on him dressed all in black. He emitted an energy, infecting everyone.

He stood chest to chest with a huge brute who looked like he’d killed a few men himself. He didn’t move or speak or make any gesture of violence, but he simmered with raw energy.

My mouth went dry for no other reason than I sensed him as a terrible menace.

The other man didn’t cower, but he lacked what the man in black possessed: a rigidity, a confidence—the sure knowledge he would win, and there was nothing the other man could do.

The man in black bared his teeth, glaring at the taller guy. Their lips moved but I couldn’t hear what was said.

I ducked closer to the side of the ring as the wash of excitement from the spectators built into a crescendo. People pressed closer; the atmosphere thickened with visible tension.

I blinked and missed what started the scuffle, but one moment the men were talking, the next they exploded into a squirmish that subsided almost as instantly as it began. A few more terse sentences and the man dressed in black pointed at the cage beside them.

The referee in the cage, who’d been watching the interaction, blew his whistle, stopping a fight mid-way. The fighters looked to the side, saw the man in black and nodded, leaving the cage as meekly as school children facing a strict headmaster.

My heart pitter-pattered as the man in black spun around and caught me staring from my place by the rigging.

His gaze glued me into place; I couldn’t move—not even to breathe.

He frowned; colourless eyes darkened with annoyance. His teeth clenched as he reverberated with energy. His square jaw looked powerful while his slightly crooked nose spoke of previous violence. His cheekbones were almost too stark for his muscular body. And I didn’t need to see beneath his clothing to know he didn’t have an inch of fat on him. He wasn’t just a man—he was a walking weapon.

He was just…more. More in every way. More man. More danger. More threat than I’d encountered in any male, but it was the scar that made him unique. Jagged, irregular, it transformed half his face from perfection to sordid story. Half of him seemed approachable while the other steeped in hell.

The doors.

The depiction of heaven and hell on the doors was perfect for the man before me.

I didn’t know him—I knew nothing more than he suffered some terrible past that made him into whoever he was, but my heart beat faster. I wanted to know, wanted to learn.

That was before he dismissed me with one look and snapped his fingers at the large man behind him. Whatever brief connection existed between us was snuffed out, leaving me with a chill.

Together they made their way to the cage and climbed the small stage to enter. Once secure inside, the man turned and locked the door.

The crowd went utterly ballistic.

The large guy ran hands over his face, speaking to the man in black. Another tense standoff happened, but finally the scarred man shook his head, snapping his fingers at the referee.

Nodding, the ref pulled a wireless mic from his back pocket and faced an audience that had turned from sedate to mob worthy.

“Ladies and gentlemen, do we have a treat for you!”

The volume on the crowd’s enjoyment dipped, holding their excitement in eager bodies. Impatience filled the large space as they tried to quieten.

My heart raced harder; blood pumped thicker.

I wanted to run. I couldn’t move.

The man in black morphed before my eyes. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, rolling his neck, he gathered every bit of energy from the room until he positively glowed with violence.

“It’s a special event—unplanned and never to be seen again. Between two ruthless contenders, please put your hands together and give a rip-roaring welcome to Mount Everest!” The referee pranced around the large shirtless man, reeling off facts. “Weighing in at two hundred kilos, Everest is well-known for his stable of elite boxers and an all-time winning streak of seventeen to none. Semi-retired, he makes his living off training other impressive fighters but is still a fearful mountain of muscle. This is the first time he’s been in the cage in over six months. Let’s make him feel welcome…Mount… Everest!”

The crowd clapped and whistled while a flurry of cash was transferred from one palm to another while bets were placed. I stayed stiff, trying to become invisible by the rigging.

Everest held up his hands, grinning with gleaming gold teeth. His bravado couldn’t hide the sheen of sweat or pallor of fear.

The crowd screamed harder.

I grimaced. He seemed juvenile even though he was older than his opponent.

The man dressed in black shook his head, saying something that caused Everest to growl in anger.

The referee put the mic back to his lips and the applause faded away. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce the fighter who will be going head-to-head with this well-known opponent.”

Screams rose from the crowd. I cocked my head, straining to hear. I wanted to know his name. I wanted to know why he enticed and made me fear all at once.

The ref carried on, “I’m sure this man doesn’t need an introduction.”

The crowd went positively bonkers. Feet slammed against floors and women squealed.

“Fox.”

“Fox.”

“Fox.”

The man in black held up his arms, letting the audience rain him in misplaced affection. He didn’t smile. He didn’t encourage; he wasn’t there to be adored, unlike the other man. He was there to fight—pure and simple.

Spectators cheered, adoring a man who looked like the devil himself—a man about to indulge in illegal blood sport.

The referee laughed, shouting over the manic crowd. “That’s it everyone. Our very own! The owner of Obsidian! Please put your hands together for…Obsidian…Fox!”

My hands twitched to clamp over my ears. I never thought such a sedate crowd, all sequestered in the dark, could conjure such mayhem.

The moment the ref finished introductions, Fox launched himself at Everest. No hesitation. No pause.

The fight began with vengeance.

Fox pummelled a fist to his opponent’s temple. Everest reeled away, thumping with large hands, trying to strike Fox’s head. But he dodged every one, raining punches on Everest’s jaw and chest.

The pure precision and cold calculation made me hate the spiral my life had become. I valued strict rules and prided myself on planning—I recognised the same discipline in the man in black.

My body grew hot with anger, absorbing the fight—letting it energize me. I didn’t know what came over me, but the man who owned this place, the man now putting his life in jeopardy just for some masculine power play, had everything I never would. I hated him for being reckless. For causing bodily harm when he had wealth to help find a cure for disease. He could be a saviour; instead he flaunted and abused. Instead he hurt others. For what? A show of ownership or pride?

I hated him.

I hated that he invoked such strange feelings inside me.

I hated that he had so much while my daughter would never live to see her teens.

I hated him for no reason at all. He was purely the vessel to funnel my hatred into. It didn’t make sense—it wasn’t rational, but my fists curled as I finally acknowledged the deep sense of helplessness I suffered. For three weeks, I’d hidden from it, pretended I could cope, but it took an illegal fight to show me just how twisted my emotions were—just how broken Clara’s diagnosis had made me.

If I had less sense, I would’ve charged into the ring and hit him myself. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to bite and lunge and inflict as much pain as I felt.

I wanted to go to war and battle and come out a victor, so I could save Clara.

Everest snapped and charged. Tackling Fox, they wrestled, yelling obscenities into each other’s ear.

Fox swung and connected with Everest’s abdomen.

Everest stopped, gritting his teeth before swinging and aiming with a sucker punch.

Ducking, Fox wheeled around and thumped a fist into his liver. My eyes never left Fox’s face. He winced in pain as his fist made contact, but then smiled, growing bolder, angrier as the fight went on.

He was completely in his element and fear threaded through me for Everest. He may be larger, but Fox had something he didn’t.

No remorse.

No respect for life.

The crowd booed as Everest landed a fist to Fox’s head.

Instead of dancing away and preparing another strike, Fox laughed. His voice rang around the club, weaving with base notes from the music, sounding almost psychotic.

Everest shouted, “You’re a fucking crazy son of a bitch.”

Fox didn’t reply. Moving within hitting distance, he delivered four punches in quick succession. Instead of going down, Everest sprawled forward, forcing Fox to back up as his large fists connected with his sides and cheek.

Everest went for the cheek.

The scar.

The one place I’d never be brave enough to touch. It seemed almost sacrilegious.

Then Fox stopped. Dead still, he dropped his arms, leaving his body unprotected. His lips moved, and Everest froze.

My feet moved forward on their own accord, needing to be closer, needing to hear. I’d never been so wrapped up in a fight before. Even though I deplored it—hated the waste of pain and stupid need for domination—I couldn’t look away.

“You want to knock me out? Be my guest and fucking try it.” Fox’s voice sounded rough and angry. Accented. He swallowed certain words and accented others in a way that made me shiver.

Everest exploded forward, waving his fists like clubs. One struck Fox’s cheekbone, the other his gut. But instead of curling over in pain and backing away, Fox did the opposite.

He stood taller. Squeezing his eyes, he seemed to drink the pain, feed off it.

One moment he seemed utterly content, the next he tackled Everest, and they fell in a tangle of body parts to the ground. Legs wrapped with legs; arms twisted with arms.

In one sharp kick, he shattered Everest’s kneecap.

Everest bellowed and bucked, squirming like a child instead of a mountain of a man. “Get off me, you bastard!” Genuine terror laced his tone.

In a blink, Fox slammed Everest’s face against the floor, breaking his nose before kicking him again and wrapping an arm around his neck. Tightening his grip, he slowly throttled him.

All thoughts of fighting disappeared from Everest. I knew the switch from fighting to surviving. I’d been victim of it myself numerous times.

Kicking with one useful leg and one broken, he scrabbled. He tried to dislodge Fox’s arm, but he fought an already lost battle. Fox used his momentum to jerk Everest’s left arm behind his back.

The crowd chanted as Fox leaned back, taking the limb with him.

My heart pounded, sick to my stomach.

“Crush him.”

“Gut him.”

Fox didn’t pay attention, only choked his opponent harder, all the while jerking his arm further and further backward.

Everest gave a small groan as his shoulder dislocated, and he fell unconscious—a limp body on the floor.

The moment he passed out, Fox climbed to his feet and acknowledged the crowd with a nod. Wiping the blood trickling from his nose, he frowned at a tear in his shirt.

For the first time, I noticed he remained fully clothed the entire fight. He’d rather ruin his clothing than fight shirtless.

Why?

Fox waved once; the roar of appreciation took the roof off.

This man was loved or feared or hated—maybe a combination of all three.

Staring at him, once again the prickle of interest and fear sent my skin scattering with goosebumps. Something told me the crowd wouldn’t be so welcoming if they knew what he kept hidden behind those colourless eyes. He’d been inhuman while fighting—dishing out revenge with no thought or compassion.

Wiping his forehead with his sleeve, Fox brushed past the referee and left the cage to an uproar. “Obsidian Fox! Obsidian!”

I didn’t care for the glory of winning—it seemed neither did Fox. He moved smoothly, ignoring everyone. The crowd kept their distance, sensing they could look but not touch.

The wash of trepidation filled me again as he came closer. I didn’t want to be any nearer—not after seeing how dangerous he truly was.

Time to go home. To return to my normal life. And your dying daughter.

The thought fisted my heart. Shit, would the memory never stop sucker-punching me?

I turned to leave. I needed to be away from this all-consuming madness.

The crowd dispersed, and I made my way slowly toward the Muay Thai ring.

Four steps, five steps, before strong fingers bit into my upper arm, spinning me around.

I looked up, a curse on my lips, but all words evaporated into shocked muteness.

I was prepared for a small shock at having a stranger touch me—a hint of newness and uncertainty, but I wasn’t prepared for the electric bolt that whizzed from his flesh to mine, resonating like an epicentre in my chest.

My eyes widened, and I swallowed, trying to get my brain to work.

Fox made a sound in the back of his throat, tightening his fingers. He glared, looking ready to murder me. “Who are you?”

When I didn’t respond, he swiped his face with his other hand. His forehead furrowed while his expression turned pissed and stormy. “You think I didn’t see you watching? You had your eyes all over me. Answer me. Who the fuck are you?” His deep, accented voice stiffened my nipples even as the thrill of fear jolted through me.

My temper gave me false courage. “I’m not in the habit of answering such rude questions.”

His jaw clenched; fingers bit deeper into my arm.

All I could think was: run. His eyes looked almost white. His face sheened with sweat, and the small smear of blood from his nose smelled metallic. The scar on his cheek screamed that he wasn’t a nice man. This was a man who lived with no rules or laws. This was a man to fear.

“I’m not in the habit of touching women, and yet, I am.” He shook me to emphasize his point. “Answer me. Who the fuck are you and where did you come from?”

I couldn’t move as he leaned closer, eyes delving deep, deeper than anyone had gone. I felt exposed, defenceless, and completely trapped.

Raising my jaw, I glared. “Let me go.”

Shaking his head, sending strands of bronze everywhere, he demanded, “What are you doing so close to the rings? Girls are meant to be either flat on their fucking backs in the private rooms, or mingling in the crowd.” Fox’s eyes left mine to trail down my body. “Unless you’re not an employee but a spy. My patience is on a very thin leash; I suggest you answer my question.”

Every fear and hardship in my life seemed inconsequential as he jerked me closer. His body heat filled me with need and loathing. This wasn’t a man. This was a stone-cold killer.

Twisting my arm, I rolled my shoulder to force his hand to drop. Problem was he followed the motion and his fingers unlatched only to retighten once I’d given up fighting. The effortless way he kept me prisoner sent my heart whizzing around my chest. I hated my betraying body for acting more alive than I’d ever felt. I hated the challenge he presented. But most of all I hated the intrigue, the puzzle.

“I’m not a spy. What are you James Bond? Get your hands off me. I’m done being interrogated.”

“Not until you tell me how you got into my club. What is it about you?”

“There’s nothing about me.”

“You’re lying. There’s something different.” His attention turned inward for a brief second. “You make me feel—” Cutting himself off, he glowered. He smelled of earth and smoke and power with a trace of chocolate. His hand was hot and tight on my arm—deadly. “I’ve never seen you before, and I don’t like strangers. I’ll ask one more time. Who the fuck are you, and why am I drawn to you?”

My heart skidded to a stop. He’s drawn to me?

He felt it, too. The strange compulsion, the unknown need. Maybe it was purely lust—two bodies who recognised a person with similar wants and urges. If it was, I’d never been affected so violently.

Everything I’d felt while watching him fight bubbled to the surface. He’d hurt with no remorse. He’d acted as if shattering a guy’s kneecap was nothing. How could I let some stupid chemistry in my body override my self-preservation?

I curled my hand, ready to punch him and run, but I paused.

He made me feel alive.

He made me feel like a woman and not a mother or friend or failure.

He made me feel powerful and submissive all at the same time.

I felt as if I’d lived my life in a haze. Trudging through day to day, always putting other’s needs before my own. For the first time, my own needs made a very strong appearance, and I embraced the awareness, the connection, the simple infatuation by a total stranger.

But then responsibilities bulldozed the fleeting attraction away.

Clara.

Destitution.

Ruin.

How could you let yourself be consumed by him when you shouldn’t even be here?

I no longer hated him. I hated myself for being so weak—he’d made me forget for the briefest of time.

Freezing, I looked directly into his eyes, ignoring the snarl in my stomach. “You’re mistaken. You’re not drawn to me. You’ve never seen me, and I’m leaving so you’ll never have to see me again. Let go of me.”

His eyes rested on my lips; his face hardened, blocking off the interest I’d seen before. “I’m never mistaken.” He unclenched his hand. Pins and needles rushed to the spot where he’d gripped me. “And I never settle until I figure out what I don’t understand.”

My heart lurched. He’s the same. He had the same need to understand. To figure out the unknown before the unknown could hurt him.

“Go away before I regret letting you leave,” he muttered. With fists clenched by his sides, he looked over my shoulder as if searching for a way to run. Gone was his dominating air, replaced with heavy acceptance. Without his potent gaze on me, I scrutinised him.

I didn’t like what I saw. Something heavy lived inside—something squeezed until he trembled with more than just anger. He used the scar as a deterrent, but behind all that lived something else. Something darker, something…sad.

My heart thudded, sending a flood of compassion into my veins.

Oh, no you don’t.

Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes and forced all interest and empathy to die a quick death. I couldn’t afford to suffer such idiocy. I was searching for reasons behind his surly attitude, seeing a heavy penance in his scar. You can’t get swept up in the need to help, protect, and listen.

Dragging hands through his longish hair, Fox glared. “I let you go. Why haven’t you left yet?” The faint foreign accent lurked behind a cultured Australian voice. He may have studied hard to sound like a local, but he couldn’t hide his roots completely. Just like he couldn’t tame the wildness in him—the savageness beneath the cool façade.

He didn’t belong here. He belonged in the wilderness, hunting in the dawn, just like his namesake, the fox.

It was my turn to suffer unavoidable curiosity. “Who are you?” I tried to relax, reminding myself he couldn’t harm me, not with so many witnesses. “You trap me and demand answers to your questions, but it works both ways. You want to know something about me?” Twisting to point behind me, I said, “I’m here with a friend. We were invited by Corkscrew and he’s an expert Muay Thai fighter. I didn’t want to come here. I hate what I’m wearing, and you drive me crazy because I can’t read you. You’re dangerous, and I think you have some serious issues.”

Fox pierced me with white-grey eyes. “You’re right to think I’m dangerous.” Ignoring my other comments, he muttered, “Finally, I have a reason to get him in the ring. He can’t flaunt the rules and invite whoever he damn well pleases.” A hard smile stretched his lips.

My skin prickled at the thought of Fox fighting Corkscrew. I liked Ben. He was kind and looked at Clue as if she were a precious gem. There was no way I wanted this lunatic hurting him.

“Stay away from—”

“Everything okay here?” I jumped as a man solidified beside me, appearing from the thinning crowd. He flicked me a curious glance before looking at Fox. “What did I overhear? An excuse to get who in the ring?”

Fox stopped smiling. “Corkscrew invited people without paying for their admittance. I have my reason.” He cracked his knuckles, looking determined and not a little scary.

The blond haired man shook his head. “Oh no you don’t. One fight is enough. Bugger off. Let me run the floor for the rest of the night.”

The air crackled as Fox pierced the new man with a look. In one second Fox asserted authority and in another dismissed it. “Fine. Take over. I’m done being around people for the evening.” His grey eyes landed on mine, letting me know he truly meant me.

“Good choice.” The newcomer frowned, pushing long blond hair from his eyes. He looked as if he should be in an ocean with a surfboard and not an illegal club. “Who are you?” He assessed me, pursing his lips. “I thought all girls had to wear a uniform, so their services weren’t confused?”

Girls? Shit, is that what the waitresses were? Prostitutes?

My hackles rose. My frayed nerves reached snapping point, and I lost all decorum. “Stop asking who the hell I am. I’m done being manhandled, cursed at, and being mistaken for a whore. I’ve had enough.” I pushed past the blond guy only for him to lasso a hand around my upper arm.

Eyeing my breasts, he added, “If you don’t want to be mistaken for a whore maybe you shouldn’t wear such a slutty dress.” He dropped his head, breathing me in. “I can particularly see your nipples, and I know you’re hot for my boss. You can’t hide the flush, princess. You’re wasting your fucking time. He’s onto women like you.”

“Fuck you.” I raised my hand to slap his cheek, but Fox beat me to it. His fist landed on the man’s jaw. Oscar dropped his grip, and I stumbled backward.

“She’s not a whore, and I’ll say if she’s wasting her fucking time, Oscar. Goddammit, you’re pissing me off tonight.”

Oscar rubbed his chin, blue eyes sparking with anger. “You’re a son of a bitch.”

Fox rippled with rage. “Go back to work.”

“I am working—I’m keeping you from killing someone.”

I laughed once at the madness of this place. Seemed everyone was infected with whatever disease lived within these huge black walls. “Oh, my God, you’re all crazy. I’m leaving.” I spun around and took one angry step before strong fingers latched around my wrist. My heart raced as once again electricity shot from his touch all the way to my traitorous core. Everything about him drew me and repelled me at the same time.

My body thrilled at the primal possession while my mind laughed at my weakness.

“Let me go.” I glared at the scarred hand wrapped like a handcuff holding me captive. I raised my eyes, latching onto the colourless gaze of the man who was swiftly becoming my nemesis. “I’m done playing this stupid cat and mouse game.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes blazing. “Not yet. I’ll say when you can go, and I revoke my earlier permission.” He bowed his head, whispering against my ear, “I’m not letting you go until I understand you.” His breath tickled the fine hair behind my ear, and I fought an uncontrollable shiver. Everything inside me liquefied.

“Permission? You think I need your permission?” A cocktail of anger and lust flurried my heart. I hated it. I loved it. I’d never wanted to run or kiss someone so much.

What the hell is happening to me? No wonder lust was such a dangerous thing. It made me forget my problems, my troubles—it ceased every concern apart from the urge to fight with him. To give in to him.

“Eh…” The blond man cleared his throat, forehead wrinkling. “Uh, Fox? What exactly are you doing?” His eyes dropped to my wrist where Fox steadily squeezed harder until my blood thrummed in my fingertips.

Fox never broke eye contact with me, keeping me prisoner in more ways than one. “I’m learning. Go away.”

Learning? He didn’t need to learn how to pretzel my insides or turn my thoughts against me. He was a flipping master at it already.

The blond guy chuckled, but his eyes darted between us warily. “Learning?” He took a step closer. “Look, mate, I’ll take care of her.”

My eyes shot to his. Egotistical wanker. “Take care of me? Like I’m a hooker or the rubbish you have to leave on the side of the road?” My voice rose and I squirmed against Fox’s hold. “I don’t want to hear anymore. I’m done. I’ll ask one last time. Let me the hell go.”

Fox growled under his breath, glowering at blondie. “You’re making it worse, Oz. Go away.” Jerking me closer, he hissed as my shoulder bumped into his. His body heat enveloped me, along with the faint smell of rust from the fight. “Stop fighting. I’m not letting you leave, so you might as well get used to it.”

“You can’t hold me against my will. If you think you can, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.” My heart beat faster, pushing adrenaline through my system. “Don’t make me hurt you.” I hadn’t lived the life I had without learning how to protect myself. I would hurt him. I would get free.

Oscar took a step back, reluctantly obeying Fox’s order to leave.

Only once he’d gone did Fox bow his head, eyes staring icily into mine. My stomach squeezed, and my legs turned from firm to flimsy. The effect he had on me wasn’t fair. Never had someone turned me on by making me fear them.