Page 57 of Destructive Truths

His menacing gaze bores into mine, but I get distracted by the raindrops kissing his forehead as they slip down the fallen strands of his inky hair and dance down the edge of his face. “I can’t do that, love.”

Anger rears her ugly head, seeping through my veins and invading my headspace. “Yes. You can.”

We are two minutes into the second round. Unlike Rohan, I haven’t held back, unleashing every ounce of anger and delivering each blow with a side of untamed frustration. Him blowing me off after Donnacha, the snide remarks in class, that stupid song that plays on repeat in my mind, the way he left Liam’s on Friday—all of it comes rushing out, blow after blow.

Judging by the cheers and jeers of the crowd, many people are enjoying seeing me put this fucker on his arse, myself included, but he’s half-assing it, and that’s pissing me off more than his pretty face ever could. Like it or not, this fight is important to me, and I don’t want to win because Rohan suddenly found his moral compass and drew the line at hitting a girl. “Stop being a little bitch and fight back.”

“That’s it, love. Get mad.” The cunning dip of his lips riles me further, and he knows it. “Think of all those times I pissed you off and use them, baby. Make me bleed.”

My fists fly at him in quick succession, connecting with his jaw, nose, and then finally his ribs, over and over until he’s bent forward, heaving out a cough as the air sputters past his lips.

I won’t lie, a part of me is enjoying beating on him, but the need to prove myself overwhelms the satisfaction. The syndicate members are watching, and Lord knows I can’t let them see me as anything less than exuding strength and respect. It’s one thing to beat the shit out of someone who won’t defend themselves, but to actually hold my own against someone like Rohan is another. Unfortunately, he’s not playing ball, refusing to do anything other than stand there unmoving, and it’s driving me insane.

Finally, Rohan lifts his head, his arm slung around his rib cage as he holds his side. “That’s it, mo bhanríon.” He coughs. “Show me how you hate me.”

“You’re infuriating.” I swing left, catching him on the jaw and cracking his neck to the side, knocking him off his feet and onto his knees. When he peers up at me under his brow, he says, “End it, love.”

“No,” I bite out. “I don’t want to win like this. Get the fuck up and fight back. Make me earn it.”

“Finish it, Saoirse. Just take the final shot. I deserve it.” Time freezes as I stand above him, lost in his pleading stare. My chest rises with every strangled breath, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I won’t allow the syndicate to label me as the girl who won her trial out of pity. I’d rather lose gracefully than take a win I don’t deserve.

Drawing my attention back to Rohan, I beg him to give me what I need. “Please, Rohan. The guy I fell for would never bow down during a fight. He’d never take my power away. Where’s that guy, huh?”

His head lowers, refusing to hold my gaze. “What if I hurt you?”

“You already have.” I step forward, dropping to my hunkers. “What you’re doing now is hurting me. You are throwing this fight, Rohan. How the fuck am I supposed to show everyone I can be a queen when not even you respect me enough to give me everything you’ve got?”

Fighting for a breath, he exhales a sigh, rises to his feet, and cups my cheeks between his hands. “I have my reasons, love.”

“Fuck your reasons. If I ever meant anything to you, you’ll put whatever fucking anti-hero complex you have aside, and you’ll do this one thing for me.”

“Ciallaíonn tú gach rud, a bhanríon.” You mean everything, my queen.

His mouth slams against mine, stealing the air from my lungs. The crowd erupts into an indistinguishable white noise, and everything around me fades away. Then suddenly, Rohan pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. Before I can catch my breath, he swipes his foot out and knocks me off balance, and my back crashes to the floor right as the bell rings, signalling the end of the round.

“Round two goes to Rohan King.”

Prick!

* * *

The next time I think five minutes isn’t enough time to do something I need to remember this moment. There are forty seconds left on the clock, and I am ready to collapse. Sweat mixed with the heavy downpour soaks my skin and exhaustion melts into my boneless limbs. I’m seriously regretting asking Rohan to give me his all because fuck me, he is relentless.

My breaths come in quick, strained pants, and my lungs scream at me for some reprieve. Circling the octagon, I bask in the few quick seconds it takes Rohan to whip off his soaked T-shirt before settling my gaze back on him. A large stream of blood clings to the side of his face, and when he reaches up to swipe it away, he winces slightly on contact before coating his fingers with the sticky fluid. Eyes on me, burning with desire and hunger, he flicks a few drops of blood from his fingers, then brings his hand to his mouth, sweeping the remains off with the tip of his tongue.

Logically, I shouldn’t find that move as attractive as I do, but when Rohan is around, all my logic ceases to exist. My greedy eyes roam over his torso, basking in the glorious divots carved into his stomach and hips, appreciating how they glisten like the sweetest temptation coated in the sky’s tears.

When I finally bring my gaze to his face, his eyes trap me, halting my movement. Reading him like a book, I noted the slight narrowing of his eyes, signalling his next move. Swiftly, he bounds forward, ready to strike, but thankfully, I cut him off, blocking him with my forearm. With a twisted smile, he strikes again, only this time swinging from the opposite direction.

The force of the blow sends a numbing shock wave along my rib cage, making me hiss in pain. Back-pedalling, I quickly circle to the right to give myself time to recover from the blow, but I’m not quick enough. Rohan steps in behind me, wrapping his forearm around my neck. My fingers grip his arm, and I tug forward. A quick glance at the timer, and there are ten seconds to go. My heart races, pounding against my rib cage as I try to recall how to remove myself from a sneak attack.

“Come on, love. Show them what you’re made of,” he taunts, whispering against my neck.

Think, Saoirse. Think.

Pulling down on his arm, I drop into base position, locking my core and assuring my‌ hips are lower than his. Rohan’s hold tightens, and I realise he’s too strong. I need to distract him.

Pushing my hips back, his body folds around my back, bringing his head closer to my shoulder.

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