Page 81 of Tempting Little Thief

The twins rush forward at once, one swinging right as the other spins, leg flying through the air in what is sure to be a bone-cracking kick—attacking from both levels, on opposite sides.

But Bastian must have been a fucking gymnast in his past life as he bends at the knees, dropping him a few inches andsimultaneously strengthening his stance as his upper half folds backward, torso stretched and suspended parallel with the ground. Kylo’s fist no more than slides off the skin of Bastian’s cheek, the momentum with which he dives forcing him to bring his left foot forward for a single step and right into the path of his brother’s boot.

Kylo’s knee buckles but recovers quickly, spinning back and coming up with a backhanded punch that finds nothing but air.

Bastian dips low, sweeping under his outstretched arm and comes up beside Kenex, his left arm flying around and smashing into his cheekbone, waist twisting in the same move to protect his position as Kylo throws himself at Bastian, going for a takedown.

Bastian sprawls, dropping his legs back until they’re completely outstretched behind him, the tips of his toes balanced in the dirt. He presses his chin into Kylo’s shoulder blade, forcing him to let go and adjust, using the moment to wrap his arms around Kylo’s middle. Bastian swiftly spins, taking his back and folding his left arm beneath Kylo’s neck, yanking back before jumping to his feet.

It is all a quick ten-second move, and now Kenex is there, ready to make his.

Bastian squeezes, then tosses the gasping brother to the dirt, leaping over his body in the same second and fists start flying.

The crunch of bone rings over and over, splotches of blood flying as they beat into each other.

One, two, uppercut.

Cheek, chest, chin.

Sweat beads along both boys’ brows and Kylo is on his feet again. He comes up from the back of Bastian, and Bastian spots his shadow, swinging once before dipping and spinning to face the other, but Kylo knew he would. He’s prepared for it and serves him with a left hook, connecting with Bastian’s right eye.

His head whips to the side, left foot shooting back to brace himself, and Kenex kicks at it, dropping him to his knees.

My chest heaves and I push closer, the body behind me following as silent support.

Kenex swings and Bastian’s head whips in the opposite direction from the impact, blood rolling in a steady stream from his temple and the corner of his mouth.

Kylo circles for a better vantage point, coming around and gripping Bastian by the neck, his brother taking the position beside him in the same second, and I start to shake.

I jerk, and the body behind me squeezes itself closer, preventing any escape I might try to make.

Am I trying to make one?

To protect, to give my loyalty to the man who broke into my club and stole one of my own?

That’s … wrong.

Right?

Kylo draws back, prepared to give Bastian all his momentum, and my entire body coils with tension I can’t fight, but when I look at Bastian, my eyes narrow as, I swear, his mouth hooks up in one corner.

He’s …grinning.

And then his hands come up, locking onto Kylo’s wrist, his legs swinging up as he balances his weight like a fucking boneless acrobat. His legs come up a split second later, wrapping and locking around Kylo’s neck, swinging and slamming him to the floor with a booming thud that sends a cloud of dirt into the air. The same moment he’s whipping through the air, he swings, the angle of his fist a downward motion, driving right into Kenex’s temple.

He’s knocked out cold.

Kenex is bent, gripping his side.

And Bastian pushes to his feet, spitting at theirs.

If the crowd was loud before, they’re deafening now.

People scream and shout, whistling and screeching sounds you’d never hear in the training studios at Greyson Prep. It’s pure drunken debauchery.

Fingers wrap around mine, and a swift inhale zips down into my aching lungs, reminding me to breathe. I look down to the large, inkless hand as it peels mine from the frayingrope. Slowly, the guy flips it over, and I frown at the small drops of blood pooling around the crescent marks, a perfect match to my fingernails.

“You hurt yourself,” he whispers in my ear. “He won’t like that.”

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