Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
“Careful, schoolgirl. My boy will be real mad if I have to shut you up with my tongue.”
I can’t even threaten him back as the mood shifts once more.
The air buzzes, and the Greco brothers smile, tearing the shirts off their backs, bumping knuckles with one another as they too realize what they’ve been granted.
A free shot.
Bastian wants them to hit him. To fight him … at the same fucking time.
He told me about the free shots he gives, but if he assumes a Greyson, which I can’t say for sure he realizes they are, is remotely equal to the little boys who come out here to play fight club, he is mistaken. Plus, there are two of them.
Yet Kylo’s shirt was already half torn before he tore it from his body and there were some fresh scrapes across his arms, as well as a small scrape across his left cheek as if he were knocked down and dragged. There are no marks on Bastian’s skin, no fresh ones at least, which makes no sense because Kylo would have fought back.
None of that matters now, though, as the boys raise their fists.
Bass holds his hands behind his back, lifting and tipping his chin the slightest bit, offering his jaw, unaware he’s about to have it broken in two.
Kylo and Kenex are second to Damiano in combat, trained by professionals who show no mercy, but on the flip side, Bastian probably doesn’t acknowledge such a word. That doesn’t mean he’s stronger, and if somehow he is, it can’t be enough to take on two … yet here he is, prepared to do so.
I grip the rope, my chest inflating as the nonexistent bell dings.
The twins rush forward at once, one swinging right as the other spins, leg flying through the air in what is sure to be a bone-cracking kick—attacking from both levels, on opposite sides.
But Bastian must have been a fucking gymnast in his past life as he bends at the knees, dropping him a few inches and simultaneously strengthening his stance as his upper half folds backward, torso stretched and suspended parallel with the ground. Kylo’s fist no more than slides off the skin of Bastian’s cheek, the momentum with which he dives forcing him to bring his left foot forward for a single step and right into the path of his brother’s boot.
Kylo’s knee buckles but recovers quickly, spinning back and coming up with a backhanded punch that finds nothing but air.
Bastian dips low, sweeping under his outstretched arm and comes up beside Kenex, his left arm flying around and smashing into his cheekbone, waist twisting in the same move to protect his position as Kylo throws himself at Bastian, going for a takedown.
Bastian sprawls, dropping his legs back until they’re completely outstretched behind him, the tips of his toes balanced in the dirt. He presses his chin into Kylo’s shoulder blade, forcing him to let go and adjust, using the moment to wrap his arms around Kylo’s middle. Bastian swiftly spins, taking his back and folding his left arm beneath Kylo’s neck, yanking back before jumping to his feet.
It is all a quick ten-second move, and now Kenex is there, ready to make his.
Bastian squeezes, then tosses the gasping brother to the dirt, leaping over his body in the same second and fists start flying.
The crunch of bone rings over and over, splotches of blood flying as they beat into each other.
One, two, uppercut.
Cheek, chest, chin.
Sweat beads along both boys’ brows and Kylo is on his feet again. He comes up from the back of Bastian, and Bastian spots his shadow, swinging once before dipping and spinning to face the other, but Kylo knew he would. He’s prepared for it and serves him with a left hook, connecting with Bastian’s right eye.
His head whips to the side, left foot shooting back to brace himself, and Kenex kicks at it, dropping him to his knees.
My chest heaves and I push closer, the body behind me following as silent support.
Kenex swings and Bastian’s head whips in the opposite direction from the impact, blood rolling in a steady stream from his temple and the corner of his mouth.
Kylo circles for a better vantage point, coming around and gripping Bastian by the neck, his brother taking the position beside him in the same second, and I start to shake.
I jerk, and the body behind me squeezes itself closer, preventing any escape I might try to make.
Am I trying to make one?
To protect, to give my loyalty to the man who broke into my club and stole one of my own?
That’s … wrong.
Right?
Kylo draws back, prepared to give Bastian all his momentum, and my entire body coils with tension I can’t fight, but when I look at Bastian, my eyes narrow as, I swear, his mouth hooks up in one corner.