Page 94 of Cruel Games

Ivy tugged me forward by our shared grip, jerking my whole body past hers and opening me up to several cheap shots she could have taken. I closed my eyes and tried to duck and cover, hoping to avoid the worst of the blows. Instead, I just kept going past her as she spun around and planted her foot on my ass, and shoved me the rest of the way.

I’ve never been so embarrassed about landing face-down in the dirt in my life.

Fuck.

Absolutely the fuck not. No way was I letting her have this fight so easily.

Her arms crossed over her chest as she stared down at me, a sly smile on her lips in obvious silent challenge. Those perfectly shaped eyebrows curled in an upward arch as she watched me regain my footing, obviously fighting the urge to laugh at me.

She could laugh if she wanted to. I wasn’t about to let it bother me.

“Is that how we’re gonna play it, bitch?” I dusted my palms on my pants and growled in warning. “Be careful toying with a wild dog. They’re liable to bite.”

And with that veiled threat, I lunged, planning to take her down without even needing to land a single punch. My hands came up from side to side, barely an inch away from connecting with her each time. The rapid movements and close calls had her on the defensive, exactly where I wanted her.

When she took another step backward, I leaned into the movement and shoved her on her ass, turning the tables completely around from where we had been moments ago.

The disheveled, drunk firecracker stared up at me with fury and indignation from her seat on the ground. “You’re such a prick, Jackal,” she groaned, rubbing her hip as she stood again. “And you’re going down.”

I chuckled at her bravery, her confidence, however misplaced it might be. “Bring it, kitten.”

And holy fuck, did she ever. Her fists flew faster than I even thought possible, at least half of them connecting with various parts of my body. After about the fifth punch to the gut, I started fighting back, blocking her moves with moves of my own and then countering with punches I pulled to make sure I didn’t hurt her.

I didn’t want to actually harm her, as much as I hated her. I just wanted to teach her a lesson. And hell, if we won our freedom, then she could go back to whatever fucking life she had outside of tormenting us, and I wouldn’t have to share my damnbathroomwith a space hog anymore.

She was deceptively wobbly on those heels because the second it became serious, all indications of her inebriated state were gone in a flash. It was like she’d turned off the part of her brain the alcohol made woozy, tapping into the little bit of cognitive function she had, forcing it to work for her in the only way that mattered. Off to the side, Coyote and Dingo watched with wide grins and wider eyes. I even saw Dingo tug a second bill out of his pocket and wag it in Coyote’s direction.

The fucker grinned as he met my eyes. “Twenty more says she drops him in the next ten minutes.”

“Double or nothing,” our usually silent partner grumbled, adding his own bill to the growing stack on the ledge they leaned on.

“You’re on.”

Ivy cleared her throat, the sound of her heels tapping against the concrete in annoyance a distraction that reminded me I was supposed to be fighting, not watching the other two turn this into a betting ring.

“Are you forfeiting the match, Jackal?”

My scowl turned into a vicious grin. “Not on your life.” My feet slid apart as I hunkered down and brought my hands up in front of me for defense. “You’re going down, kitten.”

She didn’t wait for an invitation this time. Her grin widened as she lunged for me, fists up, closing the distance like a pro. Punch after punch came for me, landing on my shoulder, my ribcage, my gut, but never with enough force to hurt me. And like a switch had been flipped in my brain, I began to desire that pain, to want her full force coming at me, taking out her rageand her anger and indignation on me like she’d done to that man in the club.

I wanted her to hurt me. Because I remembered what it felt like to not have an outlet for that pain. For the self-doubt and anger at the world for telling you that you’re not enough.

And I could take the pain. I’d still win, but at least she could get something cathartic from the exchange.

“That’s right, hit me,” I mumbled every time she got close, “harness that anger. Embrace the rage. Make it your bitch.” Her next swing landed on my bicep, and this time, it stung a bit more than the last one.

“There you go!” My smile was almost too wide for my face, and with every landed punch, my cock twitched in my pants, warning me that there was something fundamentally fucked up in me for wanting this pain, letting it arouse me. “Keep it going. Show me what you got, kitten.”

“Stop calling me that!” Her voice cracked as she pulled her top half back, surprising me with a perfectly executed roundhouse kick to the side of the ribs. The damn thing had so much power behind it, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out she’d broken a rib or two. Still, I wheezed through the pain and kept going, raising my hands to defend as she snapped just like she did in that club and went all-out on me.

Hell, I hadn’t even known she had so much in her to get out.

How broken was this bitch underneath that mask of indifference and superiority she wore daily?

As her breathing grew labored, her moves slowed, and I took the opening that fatigue created, landing a few blows of my own on her arms, aiming to unbalance her so I wouldn’t have to knock her out. Maybe she’d trip and do it herself.

Of course, life would feel the need to team up with karma to truly fuck me at that moment. Just as I leaned forward to throw another punch, she dodged to the side, and my momentum keptme going, sending my ass flailing over the short retaining wall separating us from the nearby river.

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