He wanted her to beg. He wanted to see her fear him. He wanted her to experience everything he felt.
Until recently, he hadn't realized how much he wanted a permanent outlet.
A vessel for him to unleash his emotions.
A woman who'd fall and bounce back up, ready for more. A woman who would learn to love the pain he inflicted. To join him would be the only way to understand his needs.
To do that, he had to take everything from her and have her rely only on him.
"Hands up." Tank approached him, tossing the gloves on the floor and sticking the edge of the white tape he carried between his teeth.
He held his hands in front of him, palms toward him, flexing his fingers as Tank wrapped his knuckles. Old feelings resurfaced. He had already proven himself to the outside world, but in the gym, he started at the bottom. The other guy waiting to enter the ring knew nothing about him. But he'd learn.
Aubrey Haydon had no idea who she was dealing with. She, too, would learn.
Tank slipped the gloves on Serge's hands, stepped back, and pulled the ropes apart. "Try not to kill him."
He ducked his head and jumped into the ring.
Shorter than Serge by a few inches, Romero made up for the lack of height by outweighing Serge by a good twenty-five pounds. Not to mention, Romero was at least fifteen years his junior and had the cocky attitude he remembered having himself when he was younger. He lifted his gloves and danced around his opponent.
The first punch came to his stomach. He grunted, irritated at tightening up. He swung with his right and popped Romero on the chin. Fuck, that felt good.
Adrenaline fueled him forward. He lived for the combat, the pain, the exertion. Working up a sweat, hitting some flesh, and thinking nothing in the world could take him down.
Pain whipped his head around. He shook the hit off, punching his way out. One, two, three. Romero's uppercut clipped him under the chin. Flashes of light filled his vision, and he moved forward, hitting low, until arms circled his upper body.
He threw Romero off and jabbed him. He had no room in his life for Aubrey.
She could stay in the house, denying her attraction to him all she wanted. He swung a roundhouse before delivering a kidney punch that took Romero to his knees. He needed no one. He never had.
He continued swinging. Fuck Bree.
Over and over, he proved how he could do without her. He could have anyone, use anyone, and kill anyone. It was all about beating the darkness back, and he always found ways to let loose. One person wouldn't change him.
"Adams! End it." Tank threw a metal chair in the ring. "You're out."
He stepped back, breathing hard, and stared down at his opponent. Romero hung his head, resting on his hands and knees on the mat. Blood dripped from his head.
He rubbed his arm across his mouth. A streak of blood left a trail on his skin, and the sweet taste filled his mouth.
He ripped off his gloves, threw them out of the ring, and jumped down. He ignored Tank cussing him out and swept up his clothes. This was who he was.
He enjoyed causing pain, seeing blood, and watching someone cower at his feet. The euphoria filled him.
He'd forgotten himself the last couple of days. Thought he could be happy hanging around Aubrey. But he was only pretending. She'd run away fast if she could see him now. Hot from the fight, hanging out in a part of town filled with vagrants with drug houses on every corner.
He was no different than the homeless people she tried to save. Except, he needed no help.
Out of the building, he walked straight to his car and climbed in. His phone rang on his seat, and he picked it up without looking to see who was calling.
"What?" he snapped.
"Um, Serge? This is Aubrey." She paused. "I found your flowers. I was—"
"Are you at home now?" He put his keys in the car and started the engine.
"Yes," she whispered.
