Page 88 of The Ecstasy of Sin

I’m six foot three of muscle and violence, and Maksim Volkov isn’t walking out of this cage alive. Fear brews in his uncertain gaze, and I drink in the sight of it like a fucking addict.

I stalk toward him, his eyes widening at the deadly intent in my every step, then I break out into a run.

Three big strides and I’m close enough to strike, leaping up into the air and throwing my elbow forward, bringing my forearm down across his face with a crack that echoes through the cage.

His body flies back into the barbed fencing, the metal groaning under the force of his impact. He bounces off of the steel mesh as blood erupts from his busted nose.

The scattered flecks of barbed wire bite into his back, tearing his flesh open and drawing droplets of blood to the surface like a goddamn artistic masterpiece.

This cage is punishing. There is nothing lawful or humane about it. It’s built for monsters to rip each other apart in. There’s a reason why Ryker pays off any inspectors or badges that come sniffing around. There’s no way society would allow this hellhole to exist if they knew about it.

The crowd roars over the first drops of blood spilled, a deafening surge of sound that thunders through the club.

A devilish grin spreads across my face as Maksim finds his footing.

If he’s got a brain in that thick skull of his, he’ll give me everything he’s got. It’s kill or be killed in here. The cage door won’t open until one of us is unconscious and bleeding. Or dead.

The blood pouring from his broken nose has hatred igniting in him, and he charges toward me, throwing a messy punch at my face that I easily dodge.

He throws his fists at me, one after another, but he can’t land a hit.

I laugh, a mocking sound that feeds his rage. He only gets a few minutes of humiliation before I get bored, and allow his next hit to land.

I brace against the impact of his fist connecting with my abdomen, but it’s the next hit that crashes across my ribs and staggers me. The pain reverberates through me, sharpening my focus.

I grapple with him face to face, and although he’s got more weight and mass, my skills are far more refined.

He’s clumsy and predictable, an amateur that thinks throwing his weight around will be enough. I’m a psychopath with nearly two decades of killing under my belt, and the kind of strategic savagery that separates men from monsters. We are not the same.

I throw my weight to the left and back, twisting hard to bring him with me, using gravity to lift him off his feet and send him flying over my shoulder down onto the mat.

I’m on him immediately, but he’s ready for me when I land, two thick legs lifting to catapult me over him with impressive force.

Pain explodes across my chest and stomach as his feet drive into me, but I don’t waste the momentum. I twist in the air and land on my feet, my boots skidding roughly across the mat until I’m several feet away.

I don’t fucking hesitate. I launch forward again, close the distance while he’s still staggering to his feet, and slam my fist into the side of his head.

He makes a sharp, pained sound, throwing his elbow up to crack me across the jaw. My head snaps back, pain exploding across my skull, but I shake it off and drive a series of heavy blows into his ribs to stop him from regaining his footing.

He stumbles toward the edge of the cage, lurching in long, uneven strides, trying to shield himself with his shoulders and forearms.

My knuckles ache as I keep delivering strike after strike, putting him exactly where I want him.

I throw my body into him, slamming him against the chain-link wall. His sweat-slicked skin causes one of my hands to slip, and my forearm crashes into the barbed fence, but I ignore the bright burst of pain.

Maksim throws his head back as the barbs pierce his skin again, his mouth agape as a sickening sound of agony spills out of him.

Pleasure rips through me like fucking lightning, crackling up my spine and setting every nerve alight. His suffering is fucking divine.

I wrap my hands around his throat and lift him off his feet, feeling resistance as the barbs try to hold him in place. With a roar, I throw my weight into him, his back tearing to shreds as he slides up the unforgiving cage wall.

Once his eyes begin rolling to the back of his head, I take a step back to let his body crumple to the blood-splattered ground. Ribbons of blood spurt from his mutilated back, clinging to the barbs as he falls, and dripping down to splatter not just on himself, but on the crowd still screaming behind him.

When he slumps down, I lift my leg and smash my boot into his face. My heel crashes into his jaw with enough force to knock out some teeth, the shock jolting up through my leg and into my hip joint.

I step back to admire the wreckage.Fuck, this carnage is beautiful.

His nose is broken, his teeth are scattered like trophies at my feet, all while blood pours like a waterfall down his face.