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I glance at the ridiculous collection and sigh. I should move them to Alessio’s fuck-me room, but there is no chance I’m leaving this room tonight.

So, these bad boys are staying right here, for now. With another sigh, I get to work, dedicating not one, not two, but three entire drawers to the toys. The bigger items go straight to the massive walk-in closet. Out of sight, out of mind.

I step back, hands on my hips, surveying my masterpiece. Maybe I can offer them to Alessio as a peace offering for pissing him off today because nothing says ‘I’m sorry’ quite like a box full of dicks and butt plugs.

A chuckle escapes me. Who would’ve thought I’d be spending my night sorting drawers full of vibrators, handcuffs, and… whatever the hell these spiky things are?

Mom would be realproud of me right now. Definitely not what she pictured for me growing up.

Once everything is unboxed and put away, I break down the boxes and padded envelopes, stuffing them into a larger one to keep the mess contained. I drag it over bythe door to deal with tomorrow. The room feels empty again, every inch neat and in its place.

After brushing my teeth, I climb into bed, sitting cross-legged on the mattress. It’s only eleven. And I’m not remotely tired. I’m stuck in this boring-ass room with nothing to do. I should’ve ordered books, a TV, or even a phone. Anything to pass the time. Instead, I’m left alone with my thoughts. And the stupid memory of Alonzo’s hand coming down on me.

My skin still tingles from where he slapped me, a phantom throb that makes my jaw clench tight. I try to shake it off, it’s over and done with. But I can’t unsee his ugly, hateful face, or the way he didn’t even hesitate.

And worst of all, I hate that I didn’t fight back.

24

Alessio

The crowd’s screams are deafening, but I don’t give a shit. What’s burning inside me isn’t excitement. It’s something raw, something darker,and I’m out for blood tonight.

The guy across from me looks like a damn tank. Muscle stacked on muscle, and arms so thick he can’t even drop them to his sides. His chest heaves, fingers twitching like he’s either nervous or coming down from something hard. He’ll be lucky to make it out of here alive.

The bell hasn’t even rung before he charges at me, full speed. His eyes are locked on my head, fist cocked back, ready to take it clean off. I drop low, and the wind from his swingswooshespast me, close enough to blow through my hair.

Sloppy prick.He’s bigger, but I’m quicker. My feet shuffle sideways, and my shoulder grazes the steel cagebehind me. His eyes narrow, jaw clenching tighter with every stomp as he closes in. His lips curl, and he swings wildly, not one but two wild punches, full of power but no precision. He’s throwing his weight around like it’s supposed to scare me. But it doesn’t.

I weave back; my body is loose but coiled to strike. His next move will be his last mistake. I sidestep; my cold eyes are locked on his. He growls like some feral animal trying to prove he’s a predator.

I don’t growl. I don’t beat my chest like a caveman. I let my strength speak in action.

I drive into him, my shoulder slamming his ribs. He collapses with a solid, bone-jarring thud. The gasp he lets out is ragged and wet, like he’s trying to drink from a broken straw. I’m on him before he can recover. My fists pound into his ribs.

Once. Twice. Crack.

There it is, the sound I was waiting for. Bones snapping under pressure. His face turns a few shades darker, his mouth is open, but I’m pretty sure no air’s getting in. But I’m not done with his ass yet. My elbow smashes down into his face. Cartilage shatters with a wet crunch, and his nose practically fucking folds, blood spraying across my knuckles and chest. It’s warm and thick, dripping down to the concrete.

What’s left of his nostrils flare, but the blood pours faster than he can breathe, coating his lips in red. His body jerks, each move is weaker and slower than the first, but he’s still awake. I lock his arm, twisting him into a kimura. His body seizes, muscles pulling tight, but he’s not getting out of this. “Still think you’re tough?” I hiss, twisting harder and… pop.

His guttural scream rips through the gym, raw and feral, but I let go of his arm and watch him crumple to the floor like the useless piece of shit he is. His face is wrecked. Blood and sweat smeared together, cheeks swelling up like balloons, and his skin is splitting under fresh bruises.

Still, the dumb-fuck grabs onto the cage, trying to haul his sorry ass up, fingers slipping in the blood staining the metal. He spits a thick mouthful of blood and a couple of teeth I knocked loose onto the floor before stumbling toward me.

He swings, but the pathetic bastard barely taps my ribs. I’ve had worse in a pillow fight, but I know it’s just a pathetic attempt to stay in the fight.

I shove him away and start circling him. Blood and sweat drip from his chin, pooling with every step he stumbles through.

He’s still standing, when his sorry ass needs to drop. I take a step in, my knee drives into his gut with a sick,meaty thwack. His body folds, breath flying out in a nasty, wet wheeze. Blood sprays from his mouth, spattering my legs and soaking the ground. Before his body can hit the floor, I grab him, knotting my fingers in his greasy-ass hair. And I slam my knee into his face.

Once. Twice. Again.

The cracks are sickening to some, but this shit makes my balls tingle.

His cheekbone collapses under my fist, splitting wide open. His nose is just about fucking gone. A ruin of bone and cartilage, crushed into his face with every hit. Blood and bone crunch together, the wet, sticky sounds filling the cage.

He stumbles back, and what’s left of his teeth scatter across the ground like debris. He’s choking with each breath, every inhale drowning in the blood flooding his throat.