Page 89 of Cold Carnage

His laugh was hollow, desperate. "Don't I? I've seen that look before—seen how you can't stand to let anyone else have what you think is yours."

I faltered for a split second, and he took advantage, landing a punch squarely on my nose. Pain exploded behind my eyes as stars danced in my vision.

But it wasn't just physical pain—it was the shattering of illusions I'd held onto for too long.

"She's always been mine," I snarled, blood trickling from my split lip. "She was mine first."

Brendan's eyes widened with fury. His face twisted into a mask of pure rage. He came at me again, this time with the force of a man who'd lost everything. His fists hammered against my ribs, and I felt a sharp pain shoot through my side.

But I wasn't backing down. Not now. Not ever.

I caught his arm mid-swing and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to the ground. He thrashed beneath me, spitting curses and struggling to break free.

"Get off me!" he roared, trying to buck me off like a wild animal.

I tightened my grip, pressing my knee into his spine. "Not until you listen," I growled, breath coming in ragged gasps.

He twisted violently, managing to throw me off balance for a moment. He scrambled to his feet, launching himself at me once more. We collided like two storms meeting head-on, fists flying and blood splattering onto the pavement.

He landed a punch to my jaw that sent me reeling, but I countered with an uppercut that left him staggering backward. The fight became a blur of pain and fury—a brutal dance where neither of us would yield.

Brendan lunged at me again, but this time I was ready. I sidestepped his attack and drove my fist into his gut with all the strength I had left. He doubled over, gasping for breath.

Seizing the opportunity, I delivered a swift kick to his knee, sending him crashing to the ground. He tried to rise, but I pinned him down once more, panting heavily as adrenaline coursed through my veins.

"You done?" I asked between breaths, staring down at him.

He glared up at me, defiant even in defeat. "Fuck you," he spat, blood mixing with saliva on his lips.

I wiped the blood from my own mouth and spit onto the pavement beside him. "Stay down," I warned, my voice low and dangerous.

For a moment, he looked like he might fight back again, but then the fight drained out of him. He slumped against the ground, breathing heavily as reality set in.

I stood over him for a few more seconds before stepping back. My body ached from the beating I'd taken—and given—but there was a grim satisfaction in knowing I'd come out on top.

Spitting out more blood onto the sidewalk, I took one last look at he before turning away.

The fight had drained the last of my strength, leaving me hunched over, hands on my knees, catching my breath. The taste of blood lingered in my mouth. But as I straightened up, I noticed the flash of cameras and the murmur of voices.

"Ryker Kane, what are you doing outside Paige Adams's house?"

"Didn't you wear that yesterday, Kane?"

"Why did you and your brother get into a physical altercation?"

Their questions bombarded me, each one hitting harder than Brendan's fists. I felt a surge of anger and helplessness, my teeth grinding together. Paige had been right—I didn’t have anywhere to go without her. My car was still at her place.

As the questions kept coming, I tried to push past them, but the photographers closed in like vultures. The flashes blinded me, their incessant shouting filling my ears.

"Ryker, answer us! What's going on between you and Paige Adams?"

My fists clenched at my sides. The urge to lash out at them surged within me, but I knew it would only make things worse. I needed an out—a way to escape this chaos.

Then my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

Come inside through the back.

Paige.

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