Page 29 of Knotted By my Pack

He doesn’t budge. “You lost. She picked him.”

That’s it.

The swing comes before I even register it. My fist crashes into his jaw, and the crack echoes loudly in the air. His head jerks, but the fucker stays on his feet. He grins like he wanted this.

Then he hits back.

We collide, fists flying. His shoulder slams into mine, and I throw another punch that lands hard against his ribs. We’re a mess of snarls and curses.

My knuckles split on his cheekbone, blood blooms, and I want more. I want to flatten his smug face into the pavement.

Someone yells. Doors open. But it’s all static.

Julian lands a blow to my side, but I twist and slam him against the truck, grab the collar of his suit, and punch him again. And again.

He’s trying to block, but I’m faster. Fueled by every goddamn thing I’ve buried—rage, betrayal, and all the things I’ve never said to him or Damien. The things I never got to say to her.

I’m pulling my fist back when I hear it.

“Stop! Elias!”

Her voice tears through the fog.

I freeze, head snapping toward her.

Cora.

She’s standing on the sidewalk, eyes wide, mouth open. Her apron still on, hair pulled back, lips parted like she was mid-sentence when she saw us.

“Stop it,” she yells again, louder this time.

I release Julian. His body slumps to the ground. People are holding him now, and someone’s pulling me back. I don’t know who. Doesn’t matter. My hands are bloodied. My chest is rising fast.

I look at her, at the expression on her face. Disbelief. Maybe fear.

No.

No, no, no.

I rip myself free and turn away. Her voice calls out again.

“Elias.”

But I’m already walking. Each step takes everything in me. I can’t let her see more. She wasn’t supposed to see that part of me. The part I’ve buried. The one I swore wouldn’t come out again.

I keep going, all the way back to the cabin.

Rusty comes bounding out as soon as I open the door, tail wagging like he doesn’t sense the storm in me. I leave the door open and head straight to the basement.

There’s a punching bag hanging from a hook on the beam. I don’t hesitate. I strip off my hoodie, tape my hands, and start swinging.

The first hit rattles the chain. The second makes my arms burn.

I keep going.

Every punch lands with the weight of everything I didn’t say. Everything I couldn’t do. I picture Damien’s smug face. Julian’s voice. The Vance name stamped on that sign. The crack of bone when I hit him. Cora’s expression.

Her eyes.