Page 17 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

“Nah. I’m good,” she says, her green eyes gleaming with unbridled eagerness. “Unless you need any?”

“Nah, I’m good,” I smirk, throwing her words back at her. “First one to hit the mat loses.”

“Then ding, ding, ding,” she says, miming the bell.

And just like that, we begin to circle. For a few seconds, the gym is as quiet as I’ve ever heard it. Just the creak of the mat and the air between us, charged with electric energy.

Stella makes the first move. Just a quick jab, testing me.

I dodge and return one of my own, which she easily blocks.

We smile at each other as if we had a secret that neither wants to share.

These were just love taps. We’re holding back, just long enough to study each other.

But when our footwork starts to sync, like a dance, adrenaline spikes up my bloodstream, ready to take this fight on.

After that, everything happens so fast that if I were to blink, I’d risk getting punched in the face.

While my moves are fast, calculated, and technical, Stella’s method leans toward the unexpected and unpredictable.

When I’m sure she’s going left, she goes right.

When her movements indicate she’s going for a kick, she lands a punch instead.

It’s hard to keep up with the madness. Even when I’m positive that her madness took years of painstaking learning and skill.

Stella surprises me yet again, this time with a front kick aimed at my ribs.

I absorb the impact, wince, and lunge forward with a series of sharp punches.

She ducks, glancing one punch off her shoulder, while the other meets my target.

She retaliates with a spinning backfist that nearly clips my temple.

I dodge it in time, sweep low, trying to take out her leg, but she hops over it, nimble and focused.

Stella lands a slap across my cheek that stings with intent. And I answer it with a solid hook to her shoulder. And even though I’m sure my mark will leave a bruise, her grin only widens.

Hair gets pulled as gauze-wrapped fists fly, and the two of us become a blur of movement, nothing but kicks, knees, fists, and elbows.

And just as I think I might have a winning chance in this fight, her knuckle connects with the corner of my mouth, and I taste the copper tang of blood instantly.

I stagger back, my fingers brushing my lip, as I watch droplets of my blood fall to the mat.

“I can’t remember the last time someone made me bleed,” I say in astonishment, more impressed than angry.

“Don’t worry.” She smirks. “There’s more where that came from.”

There’s a fire in Stella, I’ll give her that. She isn’t just tough, she’s hungry. She’s definitely a more formidable opponent than most pros I’ve ever worked with. She doesn’t need to be trained by me. She’s lethal enough as it is.

I don’t have time to dwell on that thought, because in one sudden move, Stella steps in and sweeps my leg out from under me. I hit the mat hard, and before I can react, she straddles me, pinning me down with her knees locked on either side.

“I win,” she says, voice smooth as silk.

I blink up at her, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a curse.

“Damn. You got me good.”

“I did, didn’t I?” She continues to smile, but this one is more earnest than her previous taunting one.

Sweet even. It’s a bit disarming. However, something must grab her attention, because she diverts her gaze from me and into the audience currently singing her praises. “Huh? Well, look at that. I was wrong.”

“Wrong about what?” I ask, holding out my hands for her to pull me up.

She helps me back to my feet, her mischievous grin back in place.

“Maybe my mercurial brother doesn’t hate you half as much as he led me to believe. I think he might even have a little crush.”

I think that she may have pulled me up too fast because suddenly my head is spinning.

Did she just say… crush?

Marcello has a crush… on me?

I must have hit her on the head too hard, because she’s not making any sense.

Unfortunately, I don’t have time to assess any brain damage that I might have caused, because Stella skips out of the ring, no longer interested in being here.

I’m a little roughed up, but nothing that some ice, Advil, and a good night’s sleep won’t fix.

I’m about to slide out of the ring when two strong hands help me down by my waist. I swallow dryly when Marcello places an icepack into my hand and gently guides it to my lip.

All of this would be sweet of him to do if he didn’t look like a man possessed.

The light summer sky that once adorned his eyes has morphed into an almost pitch-black blue.

He’s angry. I mean, like really fucking angry.

What does he have to be pissed about? His sister didn’t kick his ass.

She obliterated mine. I thought he’d be pleased she got to me.

I mean, wasn’t that the whole point of her visit?

Weren’t those secret exchanges and sly smiles all about putting me in my place?

“Go home. You’re done for the night.”

I open my mouth to tell him to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine, but get momentarily distracted when his eyes drop to my mouth. Not just my mouth. My split-open bottom lip. He winces, squeezes his eyes shut, and mutters something in Italian under his breath.

“Marcello… what—”

“Just go fucking home, Izzie. You’ve done enough damage for one night.”

And with that, he turns his back on me and swings his fist into the nearest punching bag so hard that it bursts wide open, sand and foam dripping all over the floor.

Okay. Home it is then.