Page 38 of King of Violence

Julian’s face is set in a hard, cold expression as he walks toward the edge of the ring, wiping his hands on a towel. Blood splatters his face and chest, but he doesn’t seem to care. This is just another night for him.

He meets my gaze as he approaches, the fire in his eyes still burning hot. “Impressed?” he asks, his voice low.

I nod slowly, unable to look away from the sheer strength in him. “Yeah. You...you’re incredible.”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “It’s not about being incredible, Felix. It’s about survival.”

And as he says that, I realize how deeply that truth runs through him—how it’s not just about the fight. It’s about everything he is, everything he’s become. And I’m standing here in the middle of it, just beginning to understand the darkness he lives in.

“Follow me.” Julian pulls me along after him.

The air is thick with sweat and the smell of blood, and the noise is so loud that it seems like the whole underground arena is alive, breathing in sync with the fighters. I can barely hear myself think over the roar of the crowd, but Julian moves with aconfidence that’s almost contagious as he leads me through the dark, narrow hallways beneath the arena.

I try not to show it, but my heart is pounding. The farther we go, the more I realize this isn’t just a fight. This is something else entirely. The gleam in Julian’s eyes when he talks about this world—it’s not the look of a guy who’s here for the thrill. He belongs here. Heownsit.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Julian says over his shoulder, his voice low, like he knows what this place is doing to me. But he also knows there’s no way in hell I’m going to walk away now.

I keep close to him, trying to focus on anything other than the uneasy feeling coiling in my stomach. But the deeper we go, the more I feel the pull of this world. The brutality of it. The way it feeds on violence like it’s a drug.

A new fight has already started. The two men in the ring are vicious, throwing punches like they have nothing left to lose, and the crowd is eating it up, their cheers drowning out everything else. Julian doesn’t stop to watch, though. He just walks toward a door that leads to the back.

I follow, my mind still racing as I try to process the chaos of it all, the way the men in the crowd exchange money like they’re gambling on death itself, the way Julian carries himself like this is just an average Saturday for him. He doesn’t flinch when a guy with a black eye stumbles past us, or when another one slaps Julian on the back with a little too much force. It’s like he’s untouchable.

We stop before a steel door, and Julian doesn’t knock. He doesn’t need to. The guy on the other side opens it immediately when he sees Julian through the peephole. He doesn’t even look at me—just nods at Julian like they’re old friends. Julian walks in without a word, and I follow, trying not to stare at thebloodied rags on the floor and the half-empty bottles of water scattered around the small, grimy room.

“Get ready,” Julian mutters, peeling off his shirt and revealing the blood that’s already half-dried on his skin from the fight. He’s covered in it—his face, his chest, his arms—slick and sticky. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips when he sees the look on my face. “You think this is bad? You should see me when I lose.”

I swallow hard, unable to pull my eyes away. The sight of him is unsettling—how alive he looks, how much he enjoys the power he wields in this place. He’s dangerous, and he knows it. I can’t decide whether I’m repelled or mesmerized by it. Maybe both.

“You gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna help me get this off?” He smirks again, and it sends a shiver down my spine. He’s still dripping sweat, muscles flexing under his skin as he tosses the soaked shirt to the side.

“You can’t do it?” I ask.

His eyes skim down my face. “I tweaked my shoulder.”

I know he’s lying, but I can’t help myself. I step forward, reaching for the edge of his waistband. I hesitate just a second, unsure if I’m even allowed to touch him like this. But Julian doesn’t give me the chance to second-guess myself. He grabs my wrist and pulls me closer, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” he mutters, his voice rough from the fight. “Just help me out.”

I nod, and before I can even process it, I’m helping him peel off the blood-soaked clothes, feeling the warmth of his skin under my fingertips. He’s covered in bruises and cuts, but none of them seem to bother him. It’s just part of the game to him.

And I can’t look away.

He leads me to the small shower in the corner, his bloodstained skin a stark contrast against the white tiles. The water hits his back and the blood starts to wash off, swirlingdown the drain in red streaks. He leans his head back under the stream, his eyes closed like he’s letting the world fade away for a second.

I stand there, frozen, unsure what to do. He doesn’t seem to care about how I’m looking at him or how the room’s heat is making my chest tighten. He looks so...different when he’s like this. Like he’s not just Julian anymore—he’s someone else entirely.

He finally opens his eyes, and when he looks at me, I can see the fire still burning—the hunger, the power.

“You still with me, Felix?” he asks, voice low and teasing.

I nod, but it feels like the ground beneath me has shifted. I didn’t get to admire him that night in my room. I was too distracted by trying to get answers out of him. But now he stands before me with blood and sweat defining his body like paint. His hipbones lead down to a thick cock and toned thighs.

“See something you like?” He smiles, taking his flaccid dick in his hand and stroking gently. His eyes stay on me, daring me to do something.

My mouth goes dry. The memory of him in the ring, tearing his opponent to shreds, makes heat pulse low within me. I’m normally the one to stay in control, but now…now I want...

“Yes.” I take two large steps forward and pull Julian to my mouth.

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