Page 132 of Embriagado

“I said, get your filthy hands off of me.”

I quickly withdrew, yet not fast enough, because he’d already pushed me, and I stumbled backward.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Laying your hands on me while making such accusations.” His jaw went rigid as he spoke. “Just because you fight for me doesn’t make you any less disgusting in my eyes. So listen to me very carefully now.” He had gotten closer, his hands clenched into fists. “Whatever delusion you might have about the nature of our relationship, get rid of it, or I swear to God I’ll cut you open and remove it myself. Am I clear?”

I wanted to fight back. To shout and tell him to piss off, but instead, I shut my mouth and nodded. Why? I had no fucking clue, and it drove me mad, but not nearly as much as that bruise on his lip.

“Please,” I hissed after he turned around. “Just… tell me. How did you get that bruise?”

Stopping, he crouched down and reached for the clipboard that had fallen to the floor. “How did I get it? From sex, of course.”

He then slowly rose, yet kept his back to me. “I told you I liked it rough, didn’t I?”

We were the furthest thing possible from being a couple. He owed me nothing. In fact, he hated me to my core, and I knew it, and yet, just now, his words hurt. But it wasn’t just hurt twisting my gut, but rage. Sickening jealousy. The idea of him sharing a bed with anyone drove me nuts, and my body throbbed with the need to crush something. To break and ruin. The problem was, he was the only one in front of me, and hurting him was nearly impossible. One glance at his back drained me of my strength, and so I pressed my lips together and, without another word, got out of there.

Feeling like the dog he claimed me to be, I walked away with my tail between my legs, feeling like the biggest fool to ever live.

Get your hands off of me, you rabid dog.

The way he hissed out those words, with pure disgust, as if I truly was the most despicable creature he’d ever laid eyes on, was brutal. I hated him for making me feel this way almost as much as I hated myself for wanting him to.

And as much as he loathed me, I knew that as long as I was inside the cage, fighting for him, his eyes were on me and me alone. And fuck me, if I wasn’t willing to do it over and over again, as, if only for those few minutes, I was the sole interest in his life. Why? Because his stare validated me beyond words. It made me feel alive, but mostly, it was the air I starved to breathe. The top of the mountain I wished to climb and the prize I so desperately sought to win, may the consequences be damned.

35

SANTIAGO

The fucker I was up against tonight was one ugly son of a bitch.

To top it all, ever since I stepped into the cage, he’d been spitting insults at me, thinking I gave a shit. He could call me the F slur all he fucking wanted because in a few moments, I’d break all of his teeth anyway.

A glance at the crowd told me tonight was busier than usual. I guess the rumor about the new fighter had spread like wildfire, and all those rich fuckers had come to check me out. Bet they came here, hoping to see me fail. Well, sorry, assholes, ain’t no way it was happening because I was about to beat this motherfucker without breaking a sweat. In fact, I was sure I could knock him out faster than I did with Cas⁠—

My train of thought cut off the moment I spotted my white fox in the crowd.

His eyes landed on me immediately, driving my body into a trance. Like a shot of tequila that burns down your throat and goes straight into your system, that was how I felt when he looked at me.

I told you I liked it rough, didn’t I?

Fucking asshole.

Did he really fuck someone? Or was he messing with my head⁠—

“Shit,” I hissed after I dodged my opponent’s fist by mere chance. Lost in thought, I didn’t even notice the fight had started.

Gathering myself back together, I quickly raised my hands to protect my face from his jabs. He was quick and ruthless, not sparing me from his kicks that soon followed. He was also aggressive, forcing me to keep my defense up. I moved forward, hands up and elbows in as I avoided his body shots. Still, I couldn’t dodge them all, and some sacrifices had to be made. But for each blow he landed on me, I hit him back twice as hard. Using the brief second I had after he’d taken a blow to the liver, I glanced at the crowd.

He’s still there.

Another punch came, but I blocked it, then threw a few jabs before my eyes went back to look at him.

Get your hands off of me, you rabid dog.

My stomach flipped, just like it did then, and this one moment of distraction earned me a hit in the face.

Fuck.

Shaking my head to make the pain go away, I moved down, missing his uppercut, then used the momentum to hit him back with my left hook. He took the blow to the right side of his face, and I watched the cut forming there, blood already sliding down his jaw and mixing with the sweat. Refusing to back down, I went for another combo, a left hook to his body, then another one to his head. Both hits were successful, yet the scumbag refused to go down and went for a series of low kicks. He was trying to get me to the floor, but I refused.