Page 77 of Cruel Pleasures

“Hurst, you’ve come to join us. Rook and I were getting lonely in this huge gym by ourselves.”

He doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of me. Only inches apart. His rage is worn like a second skin, thick armor that encases him. “Did you think you’d gain the upper hand, Ry? You thought you could lure her into that stupid rope room of yours and she’d what? Be yours?”

“This has nothing to do with being anyone’s anything. I’ve been given a specific task to accomplish. I am doing so. You’d be smart to remember that.”

“You’d be smart to remember what I’m capable of.”

“And what would that be?”

He inches closer, his teeth bared like a beast. “Keep fucking around and you’ll find out what happens.”

“I already did. Last night. When I made her come at my command.”

The invisible thread holding Hurst back snaps. He throws his fist at my face. I’m ready for him, my instincts unmatched. I bend backward just enough for the punch to land on air.

My smirk widens to taunt him, aware of what happens next.

Never one for restraint, he proves me right.

Hurst charges at me. He’s a bull on the attack. I’m the matador that’ll have to outmaneuver him.

It’s a flash of sudden movement. Our own violent dance that leaves a destructive path in its wake. Hurst’s fists hurling toward me. My quick-thinking swerves out of the way just in the nick of time. Misses that are by mere centimeters.

He advances and I retreat, my taunting amusement juxtaposed against his blind rage. I duck behind a punching bag as he swings and his powerful hit smashes into the bag filled with sand.

“Try harder, Hurst,” I call out in scathing mockery. “Seems I’m a little too quick for you.”

I’ve jumped onto a weight bench only to have him kick it out from under me. I improvise as it gives out and I reach for the nearby pull-up bars.

A mistake I learn a second too late.

Hurst’s fist feels like steel crushing against the open side of my torso. It’s a blow straight to my ribs, knocking some air out of me. I grit my teeth and bear it, blocking out the radiating pain that follows. The adrenaline that’s surging through me helps.

I swing around on the bar, making use of acrobatic skills I’ve acquired over time. My feet stomp into his broad chest and kick him back several floundering steps. Then I let go of the bar and go on the offensive.

Now it’s Hurst retreating. I’m gaining ground. The steps to our dance blur ’til we’re a mirror of each other. Both bobbing and weaving, parrying ’til we’re the one striking.

Hurst fights with a sheer force that’s unparalleled. Raging and uncontrolled like a fast-spreading fire.

I dodge another jab of his and taunt him some more. “You’ll have to try harder, Hurst. I expected better.”

“Careful what you wish for. You might end up without a head.”

A knife comes hurtling toward me by the next blink of my eye. I manage to shift out of the way, veering my torso to a hard right as it whizzes past me. The blade lodges itself into the wall, its handle vibrating from the force of Hurst’s throw.

I snap my head forward, thrown off guard.

Hurst takes advantage of my momentary weak spot. My legs are kicked out from under me, and I crash to the ground. He lunges at me, another knife from his arsenal coming down along with him. Another dose of adrenaline jolts through me as I roll left, then right, trying to escape his blade.

I grab hold of his wrist to push back. Hold off the blade he’s attempting to run through me. We’re snarling at each other, teeth clenched, sweat dripping. My muscles burn from the sheer exertion, a disadvantage after the lengthy workout I’ve had, but I never give up. I never panic or become driven by emotion.

I remain connected to my core belief system. Discipline and calm perseverance. A strength when pitted against the wild and erratic force that’s Hurst.

“Argh!” I yell.

Hurst thrusts the knife down. I’m no longer able to hold it off. The blade’s tip pierces my shoulder with a guttural scream ripping from me. I wrench it out before he can drive it in deeper and throw up my elbow in retaliation.

We separate with my hand clamped down on my bleeding shoulder and him tumbling off me, disoriented from the strike to the face.