Kings of Chaos (Dirty Broken Savages #1)(78)

It’s knockdown, drag out, both of us trading hits and trying to take the other down. I can tell the others have stopped their own fights and are just watching me and Gage go at it.

I can feel River’s piercing gaze on me. She’s observing us just as intently as the others, and knowing she’s watching amps me up even more.

Someone who walked in on this might think that Gage and I are trying to beat the shit out of each other for no reason or that we’re pissed at each other, but that’s not it.

The rage has nothing to do with each other. This is just an outlet for it. A way to keep it from consuming us so we can get other shit done.

We fight hard, drawing blood and leaving bruises behind. I sock Gage right in the stomach and he wheezes for a second before punching me in the face.

I taste blood from a split lip, and I lick it up, that salt and iron on my tongue, before spitting it in the dirt and grinning savagely at Gage.

He just glares back and we launch at each other again.

He manages to knock me down, and we grapple each other, rolling in the dirt and leaves and pine needles and shit. Something sharp slices into my arm with a bite of pain that barely registers.

A jagged piece of metal sticking out of the dirt, left behind by someone else who was here before us.

It hardly hurts, and I don’t really pay attention to it.

Not when there’s adrenaline pumping through me like a fucking drug, and Gage is trying to pin me down. I’m bigger than him, so it’s hard, but he puts up a damn good fight.

It goes on and on until my muscles are burning and my chest is heaving. Then Ash cuts in, stepping between us and holding up his hands.

“Not to break up the party, but our time’s up. We gotta go.”

And just like that, it’s over. Gage gets off me, and I get to my feet. We probably look a mess, but I’m grinning from ear to ear as we gather up our shit and head back to the main building.

We troop in to return our gear and stuff, and the kid behind the desk stares at me with wide eyes.

“What?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

“Your… arm.” He swallows, pointing to it.

I look, and yup, there’s blood dripping down my arm. From that cut, I guess.

The kid looks horrified, glancing between us and then back at me like he wants to ask but also really, really doesn’t. I just laugh.

A little blood has never bothered me. Hell, a lot of blood has never bothered me.

“Thank you for choosing Bright Wars,” the kid says, and I know it’s just the shit his bosses tell him to say because he looks like he can’t wait for us to be out of here when we file out.

We all pile back into the car, sweaty and smeared with mostly paint and some blood, heading back home.

Once we make it back, Gage disappears to do Gage shit, and Ash probably has a line of women waiting for his dick. I go into the kitchen and look at the cut on my arm, which is still bleeding.

“Don’t do that in the kitchen,” Priest says, giving me a look.

I roll my eyes. “Like there hasn’t been worse shit in here.”

River’s dog, Waldo, barks from under the table, and I give Priest a ‘see what I mean?’ kind of look.

He just looks unimpressed, then turns to walk out.

“That’s gonna need stitches,” River tells me, peering at the cut. “It’s deep.”

I poke at it. She’s probably right. Plus, it’s still bleeding, which means it’s not going to clot on its own.

“Do you have a kit?” she asks.

“Yeah. Upstairs.”

“Come on.”

She leads the way, and I nudge her toward my bathroom. The first aid kit is under the sink where I keep it for when I need to patch myself up. It’s not like we can just go to the hospital for every little thing that happens in our line of work, so we keep the house stocked with shit to handle it ourselves.

“Sit,” she says, pointing to the toilet.

I laugh and close the lid before perching on it, shoving up my shirt sleeve a little so she can get a better crack at it.

The light of the bathroom reflects off her silver hair, and I watch her hands as she sorts through the shit she’ll need, pulling out antiseptic and a curved needle and the thread for stitching. Her nails are a brilliant, deep red today, and it matches the color of my blood almost perfectly.

She soaks gauze in the antiseptic and starts gently cleaning the blood from the cut.

It’s weird, feeling her be gentle. I didn’t know she could even do that. The stuff burns, but I don’t flinch, just letting her get on with it.

Once it’s clean enough, she threads the needle and gets to work.

Her hands are steady and sure, and she draws the thread through my skin with no hesitation. Her eyes are narrowed in focus, one hand keeping the wound evenly closed while the other moves the needle.

I don’t feel any pain at all. I’m too busy watching her, feeling like I’m caught up in some kind of spell. I’m entranced and can’t look away.

I was being good at first, but that doesn’t last. I can’t help myself with her standing there, being all precise and good at it.

My hands start wandering, groping her while she works. I slide them up her thighs to her ass, giving it a good squeeze before going higher.

I reach under her shirt and play with her tits, squeezing them through her bra before dipping my fingers inside one of the cups to tease and tweak her nipple.