Page 79 of Necessary Cruelty

Twenty-Four

Weaknessof any kind is an unacceptable condition.

Maybe it was all the years I spent so weak that I could barely stand, but nowadays I get off on pushing my body to the limits of what it’s capable of.

I get off on pushing everything to its limits.

But tonight, I’m distracted.

Iain drives a right hook toward my face that I don’t dodge fast enough. Pain explodes on the side of my head and sets my ears ringing.

The pain focuses me, lets me see everything around me with startling clarity. When Iain takes what he thinks is a moment of weakness to get inside my guard, I’m ready for him. My arms wrap around his neck and bring his head down as I drive my knee into his cheek.

His ass hits the mat hard, and he lets out a low groan of pain.

“Okay, enough,” he insists as I reach out a hand to help him up. “You’re in some kind of mood today. Is it blue balls?”

“Never.” I smirk. “Both my hands work just fine.”

It’s a repeat of the same thing Zaya said to me, which only makes me think of her.

Just a few more hours. As soon as West lets me know that the license and contract are ready to go, there won’t be anything else standing in my way.

“Always keep it classy, Cortland.”

My eyebrow quirks. “I might be a married man in a few hours. Not getting any is supposed to come with the territory.”

Like always, Iain sees right through the thing I say to all the shit I’m not saying.

He probably knew what was up when I invited him to the deserted school gym for a few impromptu rounds. It’s amazing how well a few solid hits to the head can clear out the cobwebs.

I’ve dabbled in almost every martial art under the sun in the last few years, but Iain is the only sparring partner I’ve ever had who will do his best to kill me when I ask him to. Every so often we sneak into the school gym after hours to beat the shit out of each other in privacy. Basketball and wrestling are over for the season, so the only people using it after school right now are guys on the volleyball team. Those pussies are easy to chase away.

Every so often, we’ll bring in other guys but Iain will always drop everything for a match. He is the only one who likes fighting as much as I do.

And unlike Elliot or Cal, he doesn’t get wound up about bruising his pretty face.

Giselle calls it barbaric on the occasions she catches sight of me with a broken nose or blackened eyes. My dad just shakes his head before his fleeting attention moves on to something else. Emma is the only one who ever bothers to ask how the other guy looks.

The answer: always worse.

Iain’s face is expressionless as he unwinds the tape from around his bleeding knuckles. “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

“I want my inheritance,” I deadpan. “That’s all this is about.”

If I say it enough times, that might make it true.

“And what does the girl desperate to escape the slums think about an impending teenage pregnancy.”

The real trick to being a good fighter is accepting the pain, maybe even looking forward to it just a little bit. The guy who flinches when he should brace himself and blocks when he should lunge has already lost.

I’m not afraid to take a few hits if it gets me where I need to be.

“I’ll let you know when the topic comes up.”

A brief expression of surprise crosses Iain’s face before it returns to the perpetual mask of disinterest. “You really haven’t told her yet? That’s interesting.”

“I barely got her to say yes in the first place.” The lengths it took to get that yes from her are already a sore subject. “Don’t worry about it. Zaya will do what I want her to do eventually. She always does.”

---