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And I forget how to breathe.
chapter
thirty-two
The guy across from me should probably be on a stretcher.
I slam my fist into his jaw anyway, imagining someone else’s face as his shredded, bruised mug swells bigger every minute.
I don’t care. I land a kick to his ribs and sweep his legs. It will be easier to pummel the absolute shit out of him if he’s on his back.
Is it fair to use some other fighter at my gym as a stand-in for the dickheads who scared my omega so much that she nearly passed out in that godforsaken store?
Better question:
Who gives a fuck about fair?
Nothing else is. It sure as shit hasn’t been for my girl.
So this won’t be, either.
“Avery.”
I hear him. But fuck him.
My opponent—if you even want to call him that—has his hands up over his face, shouting some bullshit about yielding. I don’t fucking care. I rattle his shit harder, both of my aching fists flying.
“Avery.”
My name echoes through the cage, louder this time. Pissed.
But I’ve always liked pissing people off. Anger is an emotion I understand. When someone wants to kick my ass, I actually feel like I understand them for a few minutes.
The only exception is Serena.
All she has to do is look at me, and I know she sees everything.
When I peer down at this guy’s hamburger face, it occurs to me that maybe that isn’t such a good thing.
What would she think if she saw me savaging this random dude? Would she be afraid, the way she was today?
Or that first night with?—
Tristan’s bark slices through the gym like a cleaver. “Avery. That is enough.”
With a growl, I shove off my latest victim. There are three more limping around on the sidelines somewhere.
Damn. I’ve been at this for a while. I’ll probably get a fine.
Again.
Ripping at the tape around my hands with my teeth, I snarl at the only asshole wearing a three-piece suit in this shithole. “The fuck are you doing here?”
Tristan has mastered glaring without frowning. His mouth stays straight, but his eyes rage. “Jonah told me you stormed off after Serena got upset.”
I scoff as I climb out of the ring. “Oh, now you fucking care? She didn’t ‘get upset.’ She had a fucking panic attack because some random assholes walked up and tried to start shit. But you weren’t there, so.”
I slam my bare shoulder into his while I pass him, hoping it hurts. Dropping onto a bench, I bore my eyes into his face, demanding, “Do you even realize what she’s?—”
