He stumbles away, swearing as he pushes through the crowd that gathered to watch. I watch his progress until he’s near the door, then he disappears. Turning back, I realise the fight is paused. Garrett is watching me, his eyes heated with desire and anger. He nods, and I nod back, letting him know I’m okay. A small smile curves his lips as he turns to his opponent.
The crowd starts cheering again then, but they make sure to give me space. It’s strange, them being afraid of me when Garrett is in the room. But I keep the gun close in case anyone tries anything else. You can never be too careful in the underbelly of the city, and that’s exactly where I am. I might be with the Vipers, but I refuse to sit here looking pretty while someone attacks me. I can handle myself, and I will kill if I need to.
I go back to watching Garrett fight, but somewhere in the crowd, I hear a male scream that makes me smile. I’m betting Diesel has found the man. What a shame. Eventually, the crowd relaxes around me, their attention back on Garrett, who’s kicking fucking ass. It’s hot as hell to watch, and I have to clench my thighs together, my lip caught between my teeth as I watch him. No wonder they call him Mad Dog. The crowd’s whispers drift to me. I hear some saying that I’m the Vipers’ girl and not to mess with me unless they want to turn up dead, which makes me laugh.
I guess they aren’t wrong.
I hear other rumours, spoken out of jealousy and fear, the words murmured as they glance back at me, knowing I’m with the Vipers. I try to listen, but after I hear a few snippets of conversation about a disembowelled man and a massacre, I focus on the fight again. Garrett is a machine. Fucking art in motion. His body is a giant weapon, each hit strategically placed and filled with such power that I can see it. His style is raw and wild, his anger leaking out.
It takes him over completely until he barely sees his opponent, he just fights. Getting all that aggression out. They have to hold him back twice as they switch his challengers, but he wins each fight, and when he’s done, he’s sweating. His chest is heaving, his hands are covered in blood, and his face is dark. He ignores the applause and dramatics, instead leaping from the ring and heading over to me. He plucks his bag from the ground.
“Diesel?” he snaps, his face dripping sweat which I have the strangest urge to lick.
“He was listening in,” I offer, just as the man in question appears next to us.
“Let’s go.” He nods, and Garrett storms away. The crowd parts for him as I hop down. Diesel drapes his arm around me as we follow the angry man. Everyone watches us in fear and respect, and I tilt my chin higher at that.
Diesel drives home, and Garrett ignores us the entire way, his head turned as he glares out of the window. When we get back, he prowls through the apartment and to his room, slamming the door behind him. Diesel slips away as well, and I’m caught in the hallway, unsure what to do.
For some reason, I follow Garrett, feeling like he needs me. I open his door and slip through to see him standing there, his body taut and angry, his feet bare. He whirls and glares at me. “What?”
“Are you okay? Want me to look at your hands?” I offer sweetly, softly, like you would approach a wild animal.
“Fuck off,” he snarls and turns away again, as if he can’t bear to look at me.
So I step into the room and slam the door. He wants a fight, then fine. “No, want to talk about it?”
“About what?” he snaps, his built shoulders tensing and drawing up, preparing to argue.
“The thing eating you up?” I press, leaning back against the wall.
He spins and rushes me, slamming me into the wall. His arms land on either side of me, caging me in as he leans closer and glares at me. “I told you to fuck off!” he roars in my face.
But his eyes are lost, wild, searching, and hurting. He’s heartbroken. “Let me help,” I whisper.
His eyes close for a moment. “You can’t, no one can. I hate that you saw me like that…” He trails off. With a self-disgusted snarl, he rips away from me, his hands running through his hair as he starts to pace.
That’s what he cares about? That I saw him lose control? Oh, my damaged Viper. “I enjoyed it. Watching you beat the shit out of those people? It was hot,” I admit, unashamed that I was turned on as I observed him.
He ignores me, so I carry on, trying to pull him out of his self-hatred. “Really, it was. All that power in your body, it’s sexy as hell. The way they look at you, the way they fear you…you’re untouchable.”
He stops, his back to me, chest heaving.
“I want you,” I state, taking a shot.
He shudders, so I step around him, my eyes meeting his, knowing I’ll have to take the first step with him.
“I’m wet from watching you.”
“Get out before I kill you,” he warns, but there is desperation in his voice, he doesn’t want me to leave.
He doesn’t mean it, I can see it in his face, in his eyes. He wants me to stay, he wants me to fight this for him, with him. Help me. I see it written across his features. I wonder if no one else has ever looked under all those layers of anger to the scared, damaged man crying out for help underneath.
His fights, his anger, all a way to protect himself.
He needs someone to push him, to rip him out of it, but it might just kill them to do so…then why am I willing to try?
He’s my captor. My enemy. But I can’t walk away from him.
“Nah, I don’t think I will. You want this too, want me. So why not just give in?” I grin.
“What makes you think I want you when I can’t even stand to look at you? When I hate you? Hmm? Tell me, baby, what makes you think you’re so fucking special that I would fuck you? Or let you touch me?” he grinds out.
I revel in his anger, refusing to be intimidated and back away like everyone else. He’s lashing out due to fear, due to anger. I know that, ’cause I do it myself. “Because you’re hard, because you watch me when you think I don’t notice, because you imagine fucking me, even if you hate it.” I lay the challenge down, and he doesn’t disappoint as I reach out to touch him.