Destroyed(45)

Oaks bent to the side, breathing hard. His tanned skin flushed red with anger and pain. “Oi, motherf*cker. I thought you said you wouldn’t retaliate.” He charged, pushing me back with well-aimed strikes. Fist after fist landed on my jaw and chest. Every wallop brought more light. More space to breathe.

I felt lighter, more human.

I smiled as he slugged me with a right hook, and I fell to my knees. Stars and bright lights danced in my vision, dispelling the white fog that’d crept over me. I was on the mend.

I’d found what I needed.

My teeth clanked together as Poison kicked me in the chest. My lungs slammed closed, stopping any air from entering.

I lay on my side, gasping like a f*cking dying fish as Poison delivered kick after kick to my ribs. I kept my body clenched against the onslaught, protecting bones with thick muscles.

Confusion and memories—the mess in my brain—evaporated, giving clarity.

When Poison’s leg came in grabbing distance, I reared up and head-butted his chest. He went down just like a giant oak tree, bouncing on the springy floor. “What the f*ck, Fox?”

Climbing to my feet awkwardly, I kicked him once. “I said I wouldn’t put you back in the hospital, not that I wouldn’t try.”

“That’s a lie. You said you wouldn’t touch me. Period.”

I smiled, feeling a trickle of hot metallic drip from my nose into my mouth. “Oops.”

He charged upright and lunged. His shoulder connected with my chest, driving me backward to collide with the ropes.

I closed my eyes as he trapped me and welcomed the flurry of fists to my sides. Every bruise sent pleasure and relief. Every agony helped me inch toward bliss.

Poison danced away, fists held upright, protecting himself. I advanced, arms tied behind my back. Breathing was difficult. Seeing was difficult. Every movement screamed with pain. But I couldn’t stop yet. Not yet.

“Fox. Do—” he shouted just as I sprung and roundhoused his ear. Victory thudded swift and hot even as my wrists grew slick with blood from the twine.

Poison stumbled to the side, holding his head where I’d kicked him. His bald scalp showed a massive swelling building under the skin.

“You’ll pay for that,” he growled.

“Come and get me.” I stood taller, leaving myself wide open for a free shot to my jaw.

He wasn’t stupid. He sensed the trap and backed away, searching for a weakness. His hands flexed as he plotted his next manoeuvre.

I knew the moment he made a decision and jumped as high as I could go as he charged. The moment he rammed into me, my legs wrapped around his waist, and I used my skull to crash against his.

He stumbled, falling to the floor, landing on his side with me clinging to him. More stars flashed in my eyes, but I didn’t unlock my ankles.

He walloped me in the side, sending dull agony through my lower back. Another fist connected with my solar plexus, collapsing my lungs, so I couldn’t catch a breath.

Then he did a cheap shot.

An elbow landed in my groin. My balls shot inward, yelping in excruciation. Fire licked right through me. My legs let go on their own accord, and he pushed me away with an angry grunt.

The crowd’s chants and encouragement for Poison clanged in my ears. The agony of the junk shot sent nausea building in my gut.

Fucking cheater.

I rolled to my knees, bowing over bent legs, gasping through the wash of pain.

Poison stood, breathing hard. A cut spewed blood from his forehead, tracking on either side of his nose. “Done, Fox?”

“You’re never done. No matter what condition your body is in. You always finish the objective.” My handler stood above me with the all too familiar crowbar. He’d beaten me bloody enough times for me to shudder whenever he came near. I was right to fear him.

“Answer me, operative.”

“Yes, sir.” I kept my eyes downcast as he patrolled around me. I stood steadfast, not letting him see my fear. Out of nowhere, he thwacked the crowbar on my thighbone. It snapped with a horrible crunch.

I bit my lip so hard it bled like a waterfall in my mouth, but I didn’t move from my position. I didn’t make a sound.

Shoving a gun with a silencer into my grip, he pointed toward the horizon where a compound full of diplomats and informants rested. “Go finish your mission, operative. If you succeed, then we’ll fix your leg.”

I nodded once and clutched the gun as if it could give me pain relief.

I hobbled off to work.

“Never done, Oaks,” I growled, launching myself upright. Dropping my shoulder, I knocked him off his feet and went down with him. He punched my jaw and my cheekbone, until a few teeth rattled, and I could no longer see out of my right eye.

Only when I let all the fight out of my body and flopped to the side did he stop punching me. “Done now, motherf*cker?”

I grinned, no longer in my broken and bruised body, but floating in a sea of calmness. Peace, serenity—a drug of oblivion.

“Yes. Now I’m done.”





“You need to stop him from coming here. I’m done giving him his f*cked-up therapy.”

I left my pain free haze, where no thoughts or flashbacks existed to pay attention to the rumble of male voices. A car door slammed, blocking off the noise of street life and night time comings and goings.