Page 104 of Wicked Games

“What?” he splutters.

“Run,” I repeat.

He looks between me and the door, then takes off toward it.

Seeing him try to flee triggers something inside me, and I let out a primal growl as all the anger and rage I’ve been actively repressing breaks through my carefully constructed walls and hits in a rush of adrenaline and bloodlust.

I catch up with him when his hand is only inches from the broken doorknob and grab his shoulders.

He shrieks and tries to flail out of my grip, but I just throw him away from the door. He stumbles into the center of the room and sort of freezes like a deer caught in some proverbial headlights.

I’m on him a second later, and we tumble to the floor as I get my arms around him in a tackle hold.

Either he’s too fucked up to fight, or he doesn’t know how, because his fists bounce off me as I get on top of him and pin him to the floor.

“Please don’t, I’m sorry,” he begs, wiggling to get out from under me.

My first punch slams into his jaw, snapping his head to the side, and my second lands in the center of his stomach.

He gasps and tries to curl into himself as the wind is knocked out of him, but I don’t give him the chance and deliver another blow to his stomach that leaves him gulping for air like a fish on land.

“Come on,” I growl and get off him. “Is that really all you’ve got?”

He rolls onto his side and shakily gets up on his knees, still gasping and trying to pull in air. He manages to climb to his feet, then lunges at me.

I let him get a hit in, and the impact of his fist on my cheekbone is sharp and annoying, but not nearly hard enough to do more than piss me off more.

He swings again. I block him with one arm and deliver a hook to his jaw with the other. He stumbles away from me and falls to his knees.

I wait as he gets back up and throws himself at me in a messy tackle. His weight is enough to knock me off my feet, but I’m already swinging as we tumble to the floor.

William’s survival instincts finally seem to kick in, and he starts grappling with me for real. He’s punching and kicking and writhing to get out from under me, and the flailing is as entertaining as it is infuriating.

Every hit that he lands only serves to fuel my rage, and I give in to my instincts and stop holding back.

His nose makes a sound like puffed rice cereal being crushed as my fist connects with it, and droplets of blood splatter acrossmy chest when I slam a left hook to the side of his face. He blocks my next hit but can’t get one in as I pummel him with hit after hit until someone grabs my shoulders and drags me off him.

I don’t fight as Jax throws me onto the floor a few feet away.

William is in rough shape, but he’s still conscious as he lays where I left him, gasping and groaning like the pathetic worm he is.

“You can kill him later,” Jace says calmly. “We want our fun first.”

I glance back at him. Felix is holding his free hand and rubbing his face against Jace’s palm, but his eyes are fixed on me, and his smile is dark and full of heat.

“Promise?” I rasp, my throat tight with the leftover rage from the fight.

“Promise.” He smacks a loud kiss against Felix’s temple and untangles himself from him.

Felix whimpers and starts rubbing his hands over his chest.

Jace shoots me a smirky grin and heads over to where William is still lying on the floor, his face covered in blood and already swollen with bruises.

Jax tosses Jace his mask, and they put them on.

I barely pay them any attention as they haul William to his feet and get his mask on, then drag him toward the door, supporting his limp body between them. His feet do a decent impression of the Road Runner as he tries to keep up with them.

Felix’s eyes are full of heat as I stalk toward him, and the needy cry he lets out when I pin him against the wall only serves to fuel my desire for him.

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