Regardless, it was worth it. Because as I climb, all I can hear in my head is blissful silence.
24
Dean
There is a twisted part of me that likes pain. I like the fight. The feeling of blood on my skin and broken bones under my grip. That was why—when I had Avalon pinned in the back of Brax’s SUV—I’d gotten hard. It had nothing to do with the feel of her soft figure beneath my harder one. Nothing at all to do with the way her tits had strained against her top as she’d fought against me. I close my eyes and hiss out a breath as the memory threatens to do exactly what it had the first time.
The lure of battle was it. That was why. It’s the blood and not the girl—I repeat this in my mind until it becomes a mantra.
The desire to fight and feed the demon inside is part of me that I've always had to beat back into submission, only to let it out in brief spurts. Few people know what I'm truly capable of, two of which are watching me right now as I circle my opponent.
Troy Rodriguez has been mine and my brothers' trainer for years. Ex-military grunt turned bodyguard and personal trainer, he knows everything there is to know about self defense and attack maneuvers. He's more than trained, he's lethal, and right now I want him to release all of that dangerous skill on me. I need something to get me out of my fucking head so I can stop thinking about a bratty brunette that makes my cock pulse.
I dart forward and when I know he's expecting a punch, I spin on one foot and deliver a perfect roundhouse, catching him off guard. The look of shock that echoes across his face a split second before my foot connects with his jaw is enough of a rush that when he goes down, I bounce on the balls of my feet, but don't pounce. I don't want to truly hurt the guy. When I go off on someone, I want them to deserve the pain I give them.
Troy coughs and groans as he puts a tape-covered hand to his jaw and moves it up and down it as if making sure it still works. "You're getting more brutal," he comments. For a man who's not one to give compliments, it’s high praise.
Across the room, Abel's snort makes its way to my ears. "He should be. He's had a rough few weeks."
I turn and shoot him a dark glare. "Oh?" Troy gets up and gives me the once over before he moves off the mats. "Well, next week when we meet, I expect you to be in top shape. You do seem distracted today."
That irritates me. "Distracted enough to kick your ass," I snap.
Troy freezes before turning slowly towards me. "Yes," he says without inflection. His eyes, like always, are cold. "However, when you got me on the floor, you should've followed through, but you didn't," he states. “I've warned you time and again.” He takes a step back towards me. I stiffen. "You may be all grown up now and kidnappings and ransom calls less likely, but in your line of work—in the line of work you're bound to inherit—there will always be those wanting to tear you down." Troy steps right up to me, his chest brushing mine.
He's older than I am by a good twenty years, but the broadness of his shoulders, the lines of muscle carved in his chest along with the smattering of old scars—bullet holes and knife wounds alike—are warning enough. He is not a man to mess with.
The thing is, neither am I.
"Anyone who wishes to do so," I state, lifting my arms wide, "is welcome to try. I didn't follow through out of respect, but I'm in a shit mood today. If you want another round, I'm more than ready to demonstrate my abilities."
We lock eyes for a brief moment, and I wonder if he'll take me up on my offer. Of all the men my father's hired over the years, Troy is the most principled. He's also one of the very few I'd ever truly trust with my life. I have, time and again. I don't want to hurt him. I just want to hurt something.
Then Troy cracks a smile and clamps me on the shoulder. “Not today, kid,” he says. “I’ve got errands to run for your father, but if you’re still feeling like this next week, maybe I’ll give you a go round.”
“Oh, man,” Abel says. “I was hoping to see some real action take place for a change.”
“Be kind to the man,” Troy says, slipping away as he reaches for his gym bag and hefts it up and over his shoulder. “Seems like he’s having woman troubles.”
I curse under my breath and snatch my water bottle off the ground before downing half its contents in a single gulp. Troy laughs, calling me out, the old bastard. "If getting laid will make you more focused, I encourage it."
Abel snorts. "That's not exactly in the cards. He seems to have suddenly gotten a hard on for a particular girl. One who'd sooner chop off his dick than ride it."
Plastic cracks as my fist clenches around my water bottle, but I wait until Troy has retrieved the rest of his shit and says goodbye as he heads out the door before I turn and fling it at Abel. "Don't bring her up," I snarl.
Abel jerks to his feet as the bottle hits his chest, splashing him with the remaining water. It falls to the ground and he glares at me before pointing a finger at my chest. "I fucking knew it!" he snaps. "You do want to fuck her."
I'd said as much, hadn't I? Yet instead of acknowledging it, I turn away. "She's my problem. Nicholas gave her file to me—"
"Yeah, and don't think we haven't noticed that you haven't shared a single shred of that file with us," Abel says.
"You've seen the file." I drag my fingers through the sweaty strands of hair at the top of my scalp.
Something hits me in the back of the head. My own fucking water bottle. I turn, baring my teeth, but Abel is right there. He stands toe to toe with me, face red with anger. If anyone else dared to get this close when I feel like ripping the world apart, I'd break their fucking neck. As it stands, I have to remind myself that this is Abel. My best fucking friend. My brother. Even if it's not blood, he's closer to me than any relative I've ever had.
"We've seen the file we had before the old men called us to the warehouse," he says through clenched teeth, glaring at me. "Not the one they gave you. We've let it slide because we know that you're on a tight rope, but since when have we kept secrets from each other?"
Never. That's the answer. These two had been there for my first kill just as I'd been there for theirs. We knew everything about each other. We knew which girls we'd fucked and left, and we knew which ones had almost gotten deeper. I inhale and hold my breath, letting the burn of it fill my lungs before pushing it out.
"If there was anything in that file that concerned you—that was a threat to you—you'd have it," I state.
"You don't think she's a threat?" Abel's eyes widen with incredulity. "If that were true then they would have no interest in her, but they do, and now, so do you." He shoves his hand against my chest. "If I were you, I'd just fuck her and get it over with. She's just a girl. Fuck her, make her fall for you, and then you'll have complete and utter control over her."
I grab his hand and throw it off me. "Oh, like you? I don't fucking prostitute myself. If and when I fuck her, it'll have nothing to do with the old men. They do not control me." The words come out before I can fully think of them and even as they fly from my lips, I can visually see the effect they have on him.