Page 111 of Die for You
Lenny is still restraining Bria, so all he can do is watch. However, he knows this is my fight. He’ll jump in if necessary, but this bitch is mine.
When she punches, I block.
When I kick, she sidesteps.
We know each other’s fighting styles, but I have something Gianna does not—years of pent-up anger because of her.
I won’t fatigue.
I won’t surrender.
I will beat her down until there’s nothing for her to give.
We circle the other, eyes fixed, watching for an opportunity to strike. As Gianna taught me, I look for anything that can be used as a weapon because we don’t always have a gun or knife on hand. And I see it in the large statue of Mary.
I slowly lead her toward it because if I can kick her into it, that statue which sits upon a pillar will fall on top of her—I hope. At the very least, it’ll knock her off-balance, which will give me an advantage.
“All these years,” I start, hoping to distract her from my plan. “I wanted to ask my mother, why? Why did she abandon me? Why did she leave me here to fall prey to the vile creatures inside? But now that I’ve met my mother, I know the answer.”
Gianna listens intently, oblivious to the statue behind her.
“My mother needs to lie, cheat, and steal because she’s nothing but a coward. And I don’t want to be anything like that. If I’m to sit on a throne, it’s because I earned it, not because I stole it. You’re pathetic. A bitter woman who is terrified of being alone.”
Gianna is offended by my barrage because the truth hurts.
And so does the Virgin Mary as Gianna bumps into the pillar, and the statue topples onto her back. Gianna buckles under the force, which is when I advance and slam my fist so hard into her face, a tooth is embedded into my knuckles.
Blood trickles down her chin.
With a roar, she charges me, but I’m faster, and I deliver a roundhouse kick to her stomach. She staggers backward, but soon regains her footing. She grips her dress and rips off the train, freeing her legs. She doesn’t wait and comes running toward me, delivering a succession of punches.
She manages to land two.
One in the face.
The other in the ribs.
The bitch can pack a punch.
I shake off the double vision, and when she throws another punch, I grip her wrist and bend it back, breaking it with a loud crack.
She screams in pain.
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her scream.
She crosses her injured arm over her chest and uses the other to grab my hair like the catty bitch that she is. I try to break free, but she yanks on my hair like whipping reins. She tosses me into the side of a pew, the sharp edge digging into my flank.
Our fingers tangle as I try to pry myself free, but she only holds on tighter and heaves me into the confessional booth.
There’s no way she’s letting me go, so with no other choice, I pull away so hard, she yanks out a chunk of hair.
I use the confessional booth wall as leverage and kick her in the stomach.
She’s hurled through the air and crashes into a tall brass candelabra. The lit candles roll along the floor, but one bounces on the altar, setting the linen altar cloth alight.
With the altar on fire, it sets the perfect backdrop as I elbow Gianna once, twice, in the face. She loses her footing and bangs her head on the side of the altar. The hit is hard, and she grips the edge, her feet slipping out from under her.
She tries to stand but can barely hold her weight, as she’s only able to use one arm for support.
