Page 84 of Ravaged By a Devil

I don’t know what the fuck to do with this. In this family, in this world, I have the most dangerous job. I’m the executioner. My hands are permanently stained with blood, and my sole purpose is to be the blunt instrument that destroys our enemies.

A man in my position cannot afford a weakness. If the Devlins or anyone else realizes how much she actually means to me, they’ll use her to destroy me—and I’d burn the whole damn city down to protect her.

I can’t put her in that kind of danger. And worse than that, I can’t allow myself to love a woman.

Loving someone makes you soft. It makes you hesitate, makes you human. I was never built to be soft for anyone. I’m meant to be strong. To be hard, cold, and unyielding. It’s my fate. It’s the only way I keep everyone alive.

"Stop overthinking, you weak bastard," I growl into the empty room.

I slam the barbell back onto the rack, reach for two heavy iron plates, and double the weight. Positioning myself back under the cold steel bar, I bite down hard on my jaw, lock my arms, and push myself until my muscles burn and scream for oxygen, trying to drown out her face in pure, relentless pain.

The door to the home gym swings open, and Alexis steps inside.

My grip nearly slips on the steel bar, a heavy iron plate almost crushing my throat as my breath hitches. She’s wearing the tightest, sexiest gym set I’ve ever seen on a human being—matching dark maroon spandex that hugs every single curve of her hips and thighs like a second skin.

She struts toward me with that effortless confidence of hers, stopping right beside the weight bench, her hands resting on her hips as she looks down at me.

"What are you doing down here?" I grunt, slamming the barbell back into the safety hooks and sitting up, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm.

"Duh. What does it look like?" She rolls her eyes, gesturing around the room. "What are you doing here?"

"Working out," I say, my voice rough and tight.

"So am I."

I swallow hard, my chest heaving as I try to pull air into my lungs. "Okay. Go work out then."

She moves a step closer, and that sweet, suffocating scent of warm strawberries and vanilla hits me instantly. It’s barely five in the morning. My defenses are completely down, my body is exhausted from hours of lifting, and my control is dangerously thin. Being this close to her right now is pure torture.

Alexis crosses her arms, her soft gaze locking onto mine. "Cain... I want you to teach me how to defend myself. Teach me how to escape if a larger man grabs me."

A violent, scorching surge of pure rage courses through my veins at the bare mention of those words. The image of some bastard putting his hands on her—grabbing her, trapping her—makes my knuckles go white as I clench my fists.

My immediate, primal instinct is to growl that she’ll never be in a position where another man touches her because I’ll tear off the head of anyone who even looks at her sideways.

But I force myself to bite the words back.

She’s right. In our world, with the Devlins sniffing around, I can’t always guarantee I’ll be there every single second. Teaching her how to fight back, how to hurt a man bigger than her... it might save her life.

I take a deep breath, pushing myself up from the bench, towering over her as I meet her eyes.

"Alright," I step out into the middle of the black rubber mat, gesturing for her to follow.

"First rule," I say, keeping my tone strictly professional, trying like hell to ignore the way her athletic gear outlines every inch of her body. "You don't fight a man my size with strength. You fight with leverage, pain, and surprise."

I step up behind her, positioning my hands loosely around her waist and pinning her arms against her ribs. "If a guy grabs you from behind like this, your instincts will tell you to pull away. Don't. Drop your weight, drive your elbow back into his solar plexus, and stamp your heel into his foot."

She nods, listening intently. In her first three attempts, she goes through the motions. By the fourth, she drives her elbow back with real force, catching me right in the ribs. It doesn't hurt, but the speed takes me off guard.

"Better," I mutter, a grunt catching in my throat.

That little bit of success ignites something in her. Her brown eyes light up with a competitive spark, and she starts trying to catch me slipping—shifting her feet, feinting left before swinging right. She's quick, far quicker than I expected, moving around me on the mat like a whisper.

On her next attempt, as I reach out to wrap my arms around her waist again, she drops her center of gravity lightning fast, hooks her leg tightly behind my right calf, and drives her shoulder straight into my chest.

I’m so focused on watching her face that my balance breaks. I stumble backward, hitting the mat with a dull, heavy thud.

Alexis stands over me, resting her hands on her hips, a broad, impossibly proud grin breaking across her face. "How was that?"