Page 37 of Kill Feed

Adrian stumbles forward before catching himself with elegance so sharp that he is able to instantly swing his body around to throw another jab.

I catch his wrist mid-strike, and with a quick sweep of a leg, I knock his feet out from under him. His back slams onto the canvas of the ring platform, knocking the air from his lungs.

I circle him like a predator, watching him barely gasp for air, yet that newfound smile never leaves his face. “Your stance was off,” I lie. “And that punch had even less bite.”

He flips over, pushing up on one elbow, glare sharpening into challenge. “Yeah?”

Then he moves, fast.

He grabs my arm, yanking down hard, using the momentum to pull me off balance. And to my own surprise, the force is powerful enough to make me fall, my body hitting the canvas. My head snaps to the side and, well, would you look at that, my stray has the most sadistically gorgeous smile plastered on his fucking face.

Adrian tries to recover. He tries to create distance between us, but before he can even think to jump up, I grab him by the wrist, pulling him towards me. With little to no effort, I pin him beneath me, and it’s a dangerously familiar view. It takes every ounce of self-control not to grab his face, revealing my identity, but alas, I settle for grabbing both his wrists and pinning them above his head.

“Well,” I say as he squirms beneath me, “you’re fast, but not fast enough.”

“I’m not weak,” he finally says, yet the squirming stops. He tightens his figure, adjusting it beneath mine just a fraction, like he’s testing how much resistance I’ll give him.

“I never said you were,” I let my voice drop, slower now with intent. “You’re stronger than you think.”

I feel it in the way his posture changes again, this time not retreating, not advancing, but holding. So, it’s about time for yet another test. I loosen my grip, lifting my weight off just the slightest. Just enough for him to calculate his next move and jump into action.

And so he does.

Adrian rips his arms free, grabs me by the shirt, and flips me over. He slams my back hard against the platform, and that does something to me. Not that this whole interaction hasn’t had me so fucking riled up and ready to tear him apart.

The space between us compresses with heat and breath, balanced on the edge of something neither of us seems willing to break. His pulse is quick, yet his hands stay steady. He doesn’t get the fuck off me, and I’m enjoying every second.

His gaze flickers down my face, then lower, tracing lines without touching.

“You have me trapped,” I murmur. “What do you plan to do now, throw that punch?”

“You’d like that, won’t you?” he says in a low, assertive voice. “Pain, I mean…” Adrian bites his lower lip—an unconscious tell—and my attention drops there immediately.

He’s going to love my answer, and the best part is there’s no lie in it. “Yeah, I like the pain.”

His grin fades, settling into the stone-cold stoic look he permanently wears, but he’s anything but emotionless right now. I can barely read him; it’s like he has just realized something. Like he has just found something he has always been looking for.

I’ve never been particular about gender. Men, women—it’s all just surface variation. Sex has always been an exchange: access for access, effort for payoff. I give them what they’re looking for—attention, the illusion of intimacy and connection—and in return I get release. The process is fun while it lasts, yet mostly forgettable. I rarely remember names, dates, or places. It’s always been about what I want and about my needs. Not that satisfying the men and women I sleep with wasn’t a priority; I have a reputation to keep up after all.

As for Adrian, I’m getting off just by the mere sight of him reveling in his own darkness. Fuck.

We haven’t even crossed that line, yet there’s more charge in this brief contact than I’ve ever pulled from someone fully naked beneath me.

I must be losing my goddam mind.

Adrian lets out a huff, clearly satisfied with my answer and content in the silence that falls between us as the world narrows to heat and proximity with the quiet knowledge that neither of us is pretending anymore.

I’m just about to ask if he likes to inflict pain—more so for my personal sadistic need—when Marcos’ voice slices through the atmosphere like a blade. “Uh. There’s a guy here looking for you, Adrian.”

Instinct snaps back online. Adrian’s head turns first. I follow his line of sight and, sure as hell, rounding the corner is that insistent loudmouth who calls himself Adrian’s friend.

The disruption is almost elegant in its timing. Adrian’s expression hardens, irritation filling his features. He eases the tight grip on my shirt, rising smoothly to his feet. I glance at Lucas once, then back at Adrian. His attention is split now. Part of him is still here with me, part of him already calculating fallout. There’s an unfamiliar flash in his eyes as he starts walking to the ropes.

I pull myself to my feet, strolling to meet Adrian’s side, taking in Lucas as he walks—no, stumbles towards the ring.

It’s only when he closes the gap that I notice his swollen jaw and cheekbone bruised in an ugly purple, his lip’s split and still raw. Jesus, it looks like someone hit him with a bat. I narrow my eyes, flicking them to Adrian’s knuckles.

Well fuck me, this little lunatic beat up his friend.