Page 37 of King of Violence

I read the text three times before it sinks in. My chest tightens and a thousand questions battle for space in my head.

He’s inviting me into his world. I don’t know if I’m ready. Hell, I don’t know if Iwantto be ready. But I know I’ll go.

Julian shows up at my door like he owns the place—like he’s walked in here a hundred times before and has every right to do so. I don’t even hear him knock; it’s just the sound of my door swinging open, and there he is, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He’s all confidence and raw energy, something I haven’t seen since his last game.

I freeze for a second, the book I’m holding slipping from my hands onto the floor. Julian grins, that familiar smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

“Put on something black,” he says. His voice is casual, but there’s an edge to it that makes my heart skip a beat. “Something grungy.”

I frown. “Why?” I glance at the clock. It’s late, but his tone tells me this is anything but a regular night out.

“Don’t ask,” he replies as he steps inside without an invitation. “I need to show you something, Felix. So put on your best dark, brooding look. You’re gonna want to fit in.”

I want to ask what he means, but the way he’s looking at me—like he’s daring me to question him—stops me. There’s something electric in the air, something I can’t ignore.

I nod and head into my room to change. A part of me wants to refuse—wants to back out, take the easy way out. But anotherpart of me? The part that’s been curious about Julian ever since we met? It pulls me forward and makes me want to follow him into whatever madness he’s dragging me into. Besides, this will get me closer to the truth.

When I step back out, I’m wearing a black hoodie, ripped jeans, and boots. Julian gives me a once-over, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he’s deciding whether or not I’ve done it justice. Then he gives me an approving nod.

“Perfect,” he says. “Let’s go.”

I grab my jacket and follow him out the door, the weight of the night pressing down on me.

The drive is quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound between us. I’m trying to process what’s happening, but Julian’s unpredictable mood has me off-balance. He’s driving, but his focus seems on something else entirely, like he’s already miles ahead of me in whatever plan he’s cooking up. I want to ask him where we’re going, but I don’t.

He slides his hand to my thigh. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, but neither of us pulls away.

We pull up to a nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of town. The parking lot is filled with old cars and luxury vehicles, and the men hanging around the area look...dangerous. It’s like they’ve stepped out of a different world—one I’m still struggling to understand.

Julian’s steps are sure as he leads me through a back entrance into the dark, pulsing underground space. The sound of fists pounding against flesh echoes around us, and the sharp smell of sweat and adrenaline hits me all at once. The room is lit with harsh, dim lights that cast long shadows over the people packed into it. The energy here is raw and untamed, like a wild animal that could break free at any moment.

I glance around, my heart racing. The crowd is massive and the air is thick with tension.

Julian’s already on his way to the side of the ring, where a few men are gathered in a tight circle, all eyes focused on the fight that’s about to begin.

He turns and gives me a stern look. “Don’t talk to anyone. If you do, don’t tell them your real name.” Julian’s fingers graze mine. “Stay here. Lewis will keep an eye on you.”

“Lewis?” I ask.

Julian nods toward a big bald guy wearing all black and a silver chain. Lewis looms in the corner, keeping a steady eye on the two of us. “He’s...a friend.”

Julian smiles and pulls his sweatshirt off, revealing a tight muscle shirt, and presses the cloth into my hands. I try not to gawk at his carefully carved body, but my mind plays a loop of the memory of him naked on my bed.

“I’m next. Wish me luck.”

I swallow hard, but nod. I’m not sure if I should be excited or terrified, but I can’t help feeling both. He walks over to the side of the ring and waits patiently for his turn.

The bell rings, and the crowd roars to life as two fighters square off. One of them is bigger—muscle on muscle—and looks like he’s done this a thousand times. The other is Julian.

He steps into the ring like it’s his element, his eyes hard and focused, like the fight is already decided. His opponent cracks his knuckles, ready to throw the first punch, but Julian doesn’t even flinch. I feel the weight of the room on my shoulders as the tension builds.

The fight starts with a burst of movement. Julian’s opponent lunges at him and throws a right hook, but Julian ducks under it, moving with an almost unnatural speed. He counters with a swift, hard jab to the stomach, and the man stumbles back, clearly surprised by the force behind the blow.

Julian doesn’t give him a chance to recover. He’s on him again instantly, fists flying with brutal efficiency. The crowd isshouting, but I can only focus on Julian—his power, his control, how he dominates the fight without even breaking a sweat. He’s so quick and precise that it’s almost as if he’s playing a game while his opponent can only try to catch up.

The fight doesn’t last long. Julian knocks the guy to the ground with a devastating uppercut, and the crowd explodes in cheers. The man doesn’t even get up. It’s clear Julian’s won.

I’m standing there, wide-eyed and frozen, completely absorbed by what I just witnessed. The raw, unfiltered power that Julian wields—how he owns this world, this fight, these people—it’s both terrifying and awe-inspiring. My heart’s still pounding, but not from fear. There’s something about him that draws me in, something dangerous but intoxicating.

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