Page 109 of Filthy Little Regrets

When my opponents are done being announced, they fall into a fighting stance with practiced ease. The eager looks on their faces spell their demise, though. Anyone who grew up in this ring knows better than to be excited.

The two of them separate, coming at me from both sides, and I allow it. These people didn’t come for quick deaths. They want a show. I take a few hits before slipping out from under them and kicking the one on the left in the back. He drops to his knees as the other lunges for me. I grab his arm and throw him into the ropes, spinning and taking the hit the other guy launches at my face. His fists smashes into my jaw, but I can’t feel it.

This little dance goes back and forth—them gaining the upper hand, beating me down, and me slowly gainingcontrol again. About five minutes in, the two of them trade looks, their faces filling with apprehension as they realize a little too late that I’ve been playing with them.

I spit the blood filling my mouth from a split lip onto the concrete. They look at me. I nod, confirming what they suddenly understand. Even with two of them, this fight isn’t fair.

One of them shouts at the announcer, and the other tries to leave the ring, but the crowd blocks him, trapping him and his friend inside the ring. There’s no escaping. They share another wary look, resolve straightening their spines.Time to stop fucking around.They charge at the same time, rushing for me, losing focus in the wake of knowing they’re not escaping until this is over.

I stop holding back. I block every punch they throw, gain the offensive, and drop one with a blow to the temple. Corner the one with gold teeth. He lashes out, sloppy fists that glance off my sweat-slicked skin. I grab him, grasping his head, and with a brutal twist, forcing it around until his neck breaks.

I drop him and move to his friend, who’s slowly rousing. His death is as swift as his friend’s, and I rise, ignoring the shouts of protest and the victorious screams. Aside from the numbness filling my insides, their deaths barely register. It used to bother me, but at some point, taking a life became as easy as breathing. It helps that these assholes deserved their deaths. Though, there’s no reveling in the kill when you’ve been forced to do it. It’s simply another choice ripped away from me.

Glaring up at where my dad sits on the platform, I spit out another glob of blood, my message clear.

Fuck you.

twenty-nine

CASSIA

Irrational jealousy and paranoia riddle my thoughts. Mace was less than forthcoming about his whereabouts tonight. There were no meetings on either of his calendars. His phone is off, so I can’t track it. I may or may not have made a special trip to Rex Technologies, lying to his assistant Kyle about meeting Mace for dinner, only to learn he hadn’t been back to the office since earlier this morning.

Which leaves two big questions.

Where the fuck is he? Why did he lie?

I glare at the ceiling, trying to force my eyes to close, but it’s impossible to relax with the dozens of scenarios filling my head. The most pathetic is louder than the rest.

What if he’s cheating on me?

Fucking some other woman the same way he fucks me. We don’t make sweet love—ours is a vicious battle of wills—but it doesn’t lack passion. The very thought of him indulging someone else has my blood boiling. I swear I’m not jealous. I don’t want to be the wife he steps out on. The woman who stays and lets him walk all over me.

Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I check for any messages from his phone, scour through his emails for any suspicious conversations, and finally check his social media. I half expect to find pictures of him with some woman.

My grip tightens on the phone. Dammit. Iamjealous, and I don’t even know if I have a reason to be.

The faint click of the front door shutting has me shooting out of bed. Heart hammering, blood rushing, I drop my phone onto the mattress and storm out of the bedroom. I stop at the mezzanine and grip the railing. Aside from the soft yellow glow from the nightlight plugged into an outlet, the foyer is dark. Mace is sitting on the floor, leaning against the door, head in his hands and fingers buried in his hair. He doesn’t even notice me.

That’s the first thing that tells me something is wrong.

Holding on to my anger, I slowly make my way down the stairs, eyeing the man who somehow weaseled his way into my mind and took up space. I wish I could expel him, leave him sitting alone in a halo of dim light to fight his demons, but I can’t. He’s the flickering candle left burning on the table at midnight, and I’m the winged creature fluttering closer.

The man himself barely shifts when the stairs creak. Hardly reacts at all when I turn on the light. His knuckles are an angry red, one of them cracked and bleeding. I jolt, my mouth dropping open before I quickly slam it shut. What the fuck happened? I pad across the marble and sink to my knees in front of him. Mace still doesn’t acknowledge me. I don’t even think he’s breathing.

My gaze strays over each bruised finger, lips turning down and forehead lining at the damage. Throatsuddenly dry, I swallow, gripping the silky edge of my sleep shorts. “Mace?”

His fingers fall from his hair, and slowly, he raises his head, resting it against the door and gazing at me with eyes devoid of emotion. A gasp rips out of me. A giant bruise rings one of his eyes. Dried blood rests along a split in his swollen lip. There are marks on his neck, and as my gaze moves down his arms, I notice they’re covered in marks as well.

The shock of finding him like this steals my words.

He sits a little straighter, wincing with the movement. “How was your night?”

My eyes widen, incredulity zapping through me. “How was my night?” I ask, leaning toward him to make sure he sees how bizarre that question is. “Mace, what the hell happened?”

I swear he tries to force a smile, but the split in his lip stops him, and he releases a heavy breath. “Fuck.”

Pressing my lips together, I shake my head and get up, rushing to the kitchen for an ice pack and a washcloth. He watches me when I return. The dark secrets he keeps flicker within the depths of irises, out of reach. Like he’s protecting me from whatever he’s done. Usually there’s a spark of life, the twisted delight he gets every time he tortures me with his presence, but tonight it’s gone.

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