Page 74 of Lock Up the Darkness

He’d been sparking that in me since the moment I’d stepped into Hexwood House this afternoon. Saying and doing things to get a rise out of me, and to anger me and get under my skin.

Had he done it just so I’d rise to this challenge and enter into this fight? Or, had there been another reason behind it?

I shot a look at Jonah.

He was leaning against the wall outside the cage, his arms still folded across his chest, standing there like a sentry. “Why are you here if not to be a part of this test?”

“A second set of eyes.”

“You’re lying. Asher is too insanely perceptive to miss any little detail.”

Jonah chewed on his lip ring, then reluctantly revealed, “I’m here to make sure he doesn’t lose control.”

I frowned. “Lose control?” That didn’t sound at all like the Asher I’d come to know.

“He only ever enters this violent headspace against an enemy, never just to spar. So, I—”

“He’s here to make sure I don’t kill you,” Asher cut in.

18

~Jonah~

She thought we were just trying to scare her.

I could see it in the way challenge lit her eyes the moment Asher had put it out there. She’d totally bypassed fear and gone straight to that.

Maybe it was a well-honed defense mechanism, her determined not to show any weakness, and having learned hella well how to school her reactions.

Whatever the source, the result had Asher responding to it favorably.

His gaze was burning with sadism. He was caught up in that headspace of wanting to inflict pain, of letting loose a whirlwind of violence and fury.

Aurora thought it was our blood staining the ring floor.

There might be a little from the times Killian and I sparred every now and then to let loose some frustrations. Mainly it was for him, because I let mine loose with some rough fucking. But even then, we rarely drew blood. And we had rules. For one, he couldn’t sustain any damage to his face, or it would fuck with his pretty boy image. Nothing significant anywhere else either for him because he had to be physically fit for the Hexwood Devils.

We never sparred with Asher.

For one simple reason: he couldn’t hold back.

When he stepped into that ring, it was the only time he truly let himself go.

He became a fucking animal.

And that blood?

It was from his victims.

Those that deserved punishment, those who’d incurred our wrath, by either stepping out of line, or actually being stupid enough to challenge us.

People thought I was the one who handled that brutality, but it was him.

I was the muscle, Asher was the punisher and the executioner.

I inflicted pain and violence on our enemies in the harsh light of day. I was basically the messenger. I spilled blood in the limelight—and enjoyed a little fun with it when it came to fucking too. But, Asher? Asher bathed in their blood from the sadism he subjected them to in the dark recesses of our home—and here in this ring. A hobby he’d picked up from his father and that motherfucker’s slaughterhouses.

I rarely challenged him, because even when one of his plans seemed a little fucked-up or fucking out there, I knew it would work out, because of the trust I had in him. But when he’d clued me in on his plans to bring Aurora here and do this today, I’d spoken up and made my reservations clear. He was different when he entered that headspace.

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