Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
I snarled, “She told me everything. It’s only added to my conclusion.”
Fury bubbled in my gut. I wanted to let loose and attack. But I couldn’t afford to let anger get in the way. Emotions caused mistakes. This had to be coldhearted and calculated.
I would kill him. And I refused to die trying.
“Oh, and what’s that?”
We continued circling, just waiting for the other to slip.
“That I’ll kill you and never think of you again.”
Rubix glowered. He suddenly threw the knife, lodging it into the mattress where his whore had been. “You never stopped believing in fairy tales, did you?”
I didn’t answer.
“You want to kill me? Fine. Let’s see you fucking try.” He raised his fists. “No knives, no guns. We do this the old-fashioned way.”
I cricked my neck, corralling my muscles to attack. “Fine by me.”
A pause.
A single pause.
Then, war.
I didn’t know who charged first. But in perfect sync, we stopped circling and met in the middle.
Everything inside me let loose. I’d dreamed of this moment—I’d begged for this chance. And now it was here.
I roared, clouting his chest.
He kicked and darted away, granting enough space for a brutal uppercut.
Stars burst in my eyes; blood coated my tongue.
“See, Arthur—you’re still a pussy.” Rubix darted away, fists raised. “Cleo will be such a lucky bitch to have me over you.”
Red-hot rage combusted my veins like volcanoes. “You’ll never touch her!”
We fell together again. Attacking, blocking.
The fight felt rehearsed. As if we followed some ordained path and choreography.
His fists connected. Mine connected.
His parries landed. So did mine.
We hurt each other but neither of us gained ground.
A purgatory of fighting where we both suffered to make the other bleed.
“Had enough?” Rubix panted, blood pouring from his nose.
I smiled, bordering feral insanity. All I wanted was his life to snuff out. I wanted him gone.
“I won’t have enough until you’ve paid for what you’ve done!” I launched myself into him, fists flying—all uniformity scrambled in favor of granting as much agony as possible.
Each punch was cathartic. Each knuckle to his jaw healing.
Time lost all meaning as we chipped away at each other. For me, I only grew stronger with every strike—becoming weightless thanks to redemption granted piece by piece.
But for him, he faltered. Swing after swing, he lost his confidence, turning messy.
Breathing hard, he growled, “You’re a waste of space, Arthur. Just give up already. Stop making a fucking fool of yourself.”
I grinned, swallowing back metal and gore. “You’re losing, Father.” Every fumble and missed strike fed me like a beast. Rubix might’ve tried to turn me into him—but somehow, I’d become better. Stronger. Quicker.
Almost every night of my teenage years, he’d taught Asus and me how to throw a punch. He’d forced us to fight—cultivating hatred between brothers.
I’d loathed those nights, but I’d never forgotten the lessons. Never forgotten the way my father operated or favored his left fist over his right.
Energy poured into my tiring body. I used my trump card. “He’s dead, you know.”
Rubix’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “What the fuck are you—”
“Dax. He’s dead. I slaughtered the son of a bitch.”
For a moment, grief clouded my father’s face; then putrid anger replaced it. “You mother—”
I sidestepped his attack and let every lesson and memory guide my fists. He no longer scared me, controlled me, owned me.
Not this time.
My hand barreled into his face.
This is for Cleo.
My knuckles connected with his cheekbone.
This is for Thorn.
My boot thundered against his kneecap.
This is for fucking throwing me away like I was nothing.
My uppercut sliced through his jaw, spurting red rain from his mouth.
Rubix reeled away, groaning. He hurtled himself forward, going for my stab wound. He punched me right in the gaping slice. Nausea raced through me.
He dodged my retaliation to wallop my kidneys from behind.
I cried out, gritting my teeth against the whitewash of unconsciousness. Blood ran over my brow; sweat drenched my hair.
Rubix might’ve been a better fighter when I was younger, but the past had changed me.
He’d taught me to funnel my anger. When I’d been imprisoned at Florida State, his lessons had been a saving grace. I’d been able to defend myself—make a name for the barely adult convict and prevent worse tragedies.
My skills had been noted. I’d been recruited for the prison boxing team. For years, I served as entertainment for inmates and guards alike—learning, evolving, honing my skills for this very moment.
He didn’t stand a fucking chance.
You see, Father. Payback is a bitch.
Pummel after pummel, we grunted and glared.
“Give it up, Arthur. You won’t win.”
I laughed because the words were false bravado from a dying man.
Accepting pain from his deadly aimed strikes only fueled me more.
I bared my teeth. “You’re losing ground, old man.”
I served an uppercut. Connecting with his chin, rattling his teeth like bones. He slammed to his knees, shaking his head. Before I could deliver another, he staggered to his feet, spitting blood in my direction.