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I dance out of reach. “That’s right. It’s all me,” I spit out.
Tension coils through his frame. He rushes at me, but I step out of the way. When he turns on me, I throw up my arm to block his next punch. “I didn't know—” I block his next punch. “We had an informer—” I duck his next hit. “He colluded with our enemies—” I jump back to avoid his next blow. “Led your wife’s team into a trap. If I'd known… I'd've stopped them.” I force out the words.
His shoulders bulge. Knotted ropes of muscle flex beneath his skin, then with a roar, he swings at me; I step to the side, and his knuckles graze my arm. Pain pinches my nerve-endings, but I shove it into that dark space inside of me where I can’t access it. The space I drew upon when I had to find my focus and give orders on a mission.
“I was the team leader," I pant, "I could have called off the strike.”
A muscle works at his jawline. A vein pops at his temple. Hatred distorts his expression, and he rushes me.
He punches me in the torso. I grunt. “That’s it. I deserve it.”
Another punch to my chest. The breath wheezes out of me. “More. Hit me more." It’s because of me you’re in pain. You need revenge for what I did to you.
He buries his fist in my side. I bite down on my tongue to swallow my groan and taste blood. “I made the decision to bomb the space," I taunt, "knowing they were there.”
Another noise, this time like the growl of a wounded animal, emerges from Ryot’s throat. He rains blows to my sides, my stomach, my chest, in such quick succession, it feels like I’ve been struck by a hail of canon-balls. Fucking hell! Sensations zing through to my pain centers in such rapid succession, I groan.
I’m pushed back until I hit the ropes, and still, he keeps coming. Fuck, fuck, fuck. At this rate I won’t survive another minute. I need to stay upright to get the rest of my confession out.
I try to get in a counterpunch, but he dances away, only to land another one in my stomach. The air rushes out of me. I grunt, blink the blood out of my eyes, and with what feels like superhuman effort, I throw my arms around his neck.
I try to smother his punches to get some control over the proceedings, try to get my breath and my energy back. My nephew is bloody good at this.
I stifle the pride that coils in my chest, tighten my hold around him and place my mouth next to his ear. “Listen to me, boy—” He struggles to get free, but I rein him in. “They gave up their lives so many more could live. You’d have done the same in my place. They knew what they were getting into when they enrolled.”
He makes a growling sound—half rage, half pain—in the back of his throat. For what it’s worth, at least he’s listening. “Nothing I say will ease your pain. I’ll go through life with the death of your wife and her team on my conscience. Even knowing I did my duty; I’ll never forgive myself.”
He flexes his enormous shoulders and breaks through my hold again.
He pushes on my shoulders and uses the leverage to take a step back. He swings his rear fist up in a hooking arc position which connects with my temple.
Spit flies out of my mouth. The world tilts. My face feels like I’ve run into a tank—or Ryot… Same thing.
I crumple against the ropes. The fluorescent lights above waver in front of my eyes. I blink. Then Ryot’s grim countenance fills my line of sight. This is the time when a referee should be there, counting down to see if I'll rise, but there is no one to help me. I deserve to lose this match. I deserve to lay here bleeding. I deserve the agony that threatens to overcome me. The darkness that closes in on me. Ryot loved her and lost her because of me. I’ve never loved in my life. There’s no one waiting for me. No one I’d walk off this platform on my own strength for. No one?—
"Quentin!"
Her voice reaches me. It penetrates the loathing that fills my mind. The hate for myself that I've drawn around my shoulders like a shroud. The helplessness that engulfs me and mires me in its swirling, dark arms.
"Quentin!" Louder this time; more drawn out.
My gaze is drawn past Ryot’s shoulder to where she’s standing near the ring. Fingers clenched, shoulders rigid, green eyes burning with hate—? No, it’s fear. For me? A chip in the wall I’ve built around my heart loosens.
She draws in a breath, sets her jaw, and screams, "Quentin, fight!"
11
Vivian
His gaze locks with mine, and the force of the connection is like a gut punch. My ribcage squeezes down on my lungs. My throat closes. I’m caught in the magnetic tether that seems to lasso around me. I can’t move, can’t look away. The noise around us and the sight of the crowd fade away. It’s him and me, and this primal link between us I sensed from the moment I saw him.
Then, his body shudders. The blood drains from his face. Oh, no, no, no, Ryot hit him again.
“Quentin, fight!” I yell.
An electric current seems to run through him. He tears his gaze from mine, swings, and catches Ryot with a hook to the right side of the temple.
Ryot seems to freeze mid-step. Then, he shakes his head and keeps going. Quentin moves so fast; he seems to blur. The grace, the agility with which he moves, the fluidity of his body as he follows with another upper cut to Ryot’s cheek, then a jab to his shoulder, then to his side, a final one to Ryot’s stomach... Oh my god! My pussy clenches. My nipples harden. How can I be turned on when he’s beating up another man?
