But she doesn’t need my protection now. Not only does she have her husband and son, but I can finally admit that she’s in a better place than I am.
I always thought I was her rock and anchor, that I had to be strong for her, but I didn’t stop to think about how much that fake strength would eat away at the edges and seep inside.
That’s how it feels right now—like I’m dissolving from the outside in.
The scene of Anastasia clinging to Daniel keeps replaying at the back of my mind in a loop, in spite of my attempts to stop it. It’s whirling, repeating, and fucking up my breathing.
The way her lips parted when she looked at him and knelt between his legs. Lips that were only mine to kiss. Lips that only smiled at me.
Not anymore, though.
We’re over.
That’s what she said and when I didn’t agree, she proceeded to fucking prove it.
I hit the bag harder until my knuckles and muscles scream with pain and exertion. Until my vision is hazy with sweat and a red mist.
“Are you done murdering the punching bag or should I come back in a bit?”
My head whips to the side to find the fucker Daniel casually leaning against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankles.
I abandon the bag and stride toward him. Thank God the gym is empty, because it’s about to turn into a crime scene.
Sweat drips from my lashes and temples, and the exhaustion from punching the bag slowly recedes as adrenaline moves to the forefront.
Daniel raises his hands and backs away. “Whoa, calm down, mate. You’re making a grave mistake.”
“I’ll worry about that after it happens.”
He keeps backing away and I’m on him, my strides longer and with intent.
“I notarized a new will just now that says if I die under mysterious circumstances, Knox killed me.”
“Might as well make it happen then.”
“You’re being an unreasonable bloody idiot right now.”
“I’m the unreasonable bloody idiot? Are you sure that’s not you? Since…I don’t know. You are the one who put their fucking hands on her. On the one person that I’ve ever called mine. Let’s break down the fucking reason, shall we? What was it, exactly? Jealousy? Or maybe it’s your constant need to feel something after your secondary school crush broke your heart and stomped all over it as if it were mere rubbish? Is it because the only person you wanted never wanted you back, and that made you develop a phobia of blondes you still struggle with even as an adult?”
He stops backing away, his shoulders turning tense and his features gradually shutting down. The agreeable mask he wears for everyone slowly disappears, allowing his true image to show.
The raging, bitter fucker who also hates himself. That’s the one thing we had in common when we got close, and no matter how much he’s hid that fact, it’s still a huge part of who he is.
“Shut the fuck up, Knox.” There’s a warning in his clipped tone.
Bloody fantastic. Now, we’re getting down to business.
“It hurts, doesn’t it? Being hit upside the head by the truth. Being reminded that you can have any woman except the one you really want, because she only ever used you, right? You were nothing to her and always will be.”
His fists clench at his sides and I expect him to punch me. I’m waiting for him to make the first move so I can pummel him to the ground. However, his lips curve, and the holes in his cheeks appear grotesque as he smirks. “Just like you’re nothing to Anastasia, you mean? She threw you away the first chance she got. And guess who she chose? Moi.”
I lunge at him and he’s waiting with a raised fist. I punch him first and he punches back just as hard. I might’ve been the one who was working out on the bag, but his hits are fueled with as much adrenaline as mine.
It’s like he’s waited for this moment to release all the pent-up energy that’s been growing inside him as well.
I tackle him to the ground, but before I can pin him down, he rolls us around and kicks me in the balls.
“Motherfucker!” I curse, grabbing the throbbing area and stare up at him, because he’s standing, panting, his eyes shadowed. “That’s a fucking low blow.”
“Just like bringing her up. Do that again and your dick will be next.”
“Not if I kill you first.”
“You can try. Doesn’t mean you’ll succeed.”
I crawl to a sitting position, wincing at the pain in my balls. The fucking bastard got me good.
As much as I want to rearrange his features and sell them for parts, I know he meant it about my dick. He can be a raging arsehole when provoked and I definitely did that by mentioning his Achilles’ heel.