Page 8 of Ravaged By a Devil

"I don't have anything," Alexis says, keeping her voice tight, low, and completely flat as she tries to push past him. "Let me through."

The guy steps up, his posture turning sharp and aggressive. "Don't walk away from me, bitch!"

He reaches out, his dirty, calloused hand snapping onto her forearm with a brutal grip, yanking her hard toward him. Alexis gasps, pulling back with everything she’s got, but he’s too heavy.

Then his hand dips into his coat pocket.

A quiet, metallic flick echoes down the empty street, and the streetlamp catches the dull sheen of a rusty, jagged blade. He holds it inches from her throat, his face twisting into something violent and ugly.

Alexis’ dark eyes widen in pure shock, her breath freezing in her chest.

Wrong move, motherfucker.

I don't hide anymore. I explode out of the dark like a freight train, closing the remaining distance in a split second.

I grab the bastard by the back of his filthy jacket, yank him off Alexis, and slam him spine-first into the brick wall so hard the crack of his bones echoes down the empty street.

Before he can even process the sudden wave of violence, I drive my fist straight into his face. The sickening crunch of his nose shattering under my knuckles reverberates in the quiet night. Blood sputters out, spraying across the dirty pavement.

Yes. This is where I rule. Violence. In the darkness. This is my kingdom of blood.

He screams, dropping the rusty knife, but I don't give him a single second to breathe.

I catch him by the throat, my fingers digging deep into his windpipe, lifting him until his worn-out boots are barely scraping the concrete. I pin him there, looming over him like the fucking Grim Reaper. My eyes are blacked out with pure, unadulterated rage, every enforcer instinct in my body roaring to turn this prick into a bloody smear on the sidewalk.

He touched her. He put a blade to her skin. It’s driving me batshit insane and I don’t know why.

"P-please—" he gurgles, his hands clawing uselessly at my wrist.

I crack a brutal knee straight into his ribs, hearing two of them snap under the weight of my strike. He lets out a choked, wet groan, his body going completely limp in my grip.

I don't give a fuck about his begging. I drag him down and hurl his body onto the pavement like a sack of garbage.

Before he can crawl away, I bring my heavy boot down onto his wrist with a slow, deliberate crunch, crushing the hand that dared to wrap around Alexis' arm.

He howls in agony, curling into a tight ball, sobbing and choking on his own blood.

I stand over him, chest heaving, my fists dripping with his blood and my knuckles raw. The air around us feels thick with the ruthless, terrifying energy of a monster who slaughters men for a living.

I kick his rusty knife into the sewer grate, then turn slowly toward Alexis, my dark hazel eyes fixed entirely on her.

What the fuck was that?

My chest heaves, hot air burning my lungs as I stare at her.

Usually, violence is just business for me. It’s clean. It’s calculated. A tool to clear an obstacle, extract information, or settle a score for my family. I don't waste energy getting pissed off, and I sure as hell don't lose my fucking head. I’ve always held the monster inside me on a short, iron leash. Barely, maybe, but the control is always there.

Tonight that control shattered into a thousand bloody pieces.

Seeing this filthy bastard put his hands on her skin ignited something fucking primitive in my gut. A sweltering rage that completely overrode my brain. I didn't just neutralize a threat; I almost tore a man to pieces with my bare hands.

I flex my aching, bloodied fingers, my heart hammering like a war drum in my ears.

Why the fuck do I care?

CHAPTER THREE

ALEXIS