Gareth wipes the blood off his brother’s face, but Kill keeps grinning as if I’m not on the verge of murdering him.
Jeremy is also cleaning some of the blood that I didn’t know I had on me, but he has to stay in the ring because I’m not fucking sitting down or staying still.
I can’t.
My feet are moving of their own accord, my mind is racing, and my blood is pumping.
Let me back in there.
Let me back.
Fucking back!
“Niko!” Jeremy shakes my shoulders and I finally look at him through my hazy vision. “Maybe you should leave.”
“Fuck no.”
“You don’t look good, man.” He pauses, the silence punctured by all the fangirls—and fanboys—calling my name. “I don’t know how to describe it, but this is different from your other times. Maybe you should take the pills.”
“Fuck. No.”
“Fuck this, Nikolai.” Jeremy clutches me by the nape, nearly shoving my forehead against his. “I don’t care about the lowlifes you beat up this morning. Fuck those people. Fuck them, okay? But Kill is your cousin. He agreed to this because he saw you were struggling, but you’re beating him to a pulp.”
“He’s fucking enjoying it…”
I trail off when I feel an intense gaze at the back of my head. For a moment, I think Kill is letting his psycho demons loose so they can try to intimidate mine—and fail miserably—but no.
It’s coming from the crowd.
My gaze flits through the undefinable faces, not lingering on any so that I don’t see them as people with bags strapped around their heads.
In a few seconds, my eyes find those intense blue ones.
I’m dreaming.
Fuck.
I’m too far gone to imagine Bran actually coming to the fight club when his brother isn’t involved. Pretty sure he’s allergic to violence, blood, and craziness. Which is why I stayed away today despite how every cell in my body protested at the prospect.
I blink once, but he’s still there, standing out like a sore thumb in his polo shirt, pressed pants, and slicked-back hair.
A dash of dark blue fixates on me and I completely forget that I have to lose him like Dad said.
I have to remove him from my life.
How the fuck will I be able to do that when he looks at me like that? I’m getting fucking hard the more he watches me with undivided attention, his gaze sliding from Jeremy to me.
A leggy blonde taps his shoulder and he cuts eye contact and forces a smile, then she throws herself in his arms. He hugs her back.
My eyes narrow on his hand on her.
Is that the next Clara? She doesn’t look like a Clara type. More sophisticated, happier, and definitely not cheap.
Pretty sure I’ve seen her before, but where…？
Who gives a fuck? He’s using someone else for his stupid public image. God forbid the fucking asshole actually accepts he’s gay or bi or what-the-fuck-ever and gets over his fucking self.
“Nikolai!” Jeremy brings my attention back to him and slaps my cheek with the back of his hand. “Where the fuck did you go, man?”
Somewhere not nice.
“Hey, Jer?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you stop me if I have this crazy idea about killing innocent girls?”
His lips part. Jeremy is this big mafia prince who doesn’t hesitate before inflicting pain, but he’s looking at me as if I’m the Mad Hatter. “What girls are you thinking about killing, Niko?”
“Anyone who gets in the fucking way of what I want.” My gaze flies back to the crowd, but he’s not there.
The spot beside the blonde is now empty as she drinks from a can of beer and joins the excessive cheers.
Where the fucking fuck did that asshole go now?
You know what? It’s fine.
It’s better I don’t see him when I’m this way.
I’m fucking fine.
Maybe if I rip a page from Bran’s denial book and tell myself a lie for long enough, I’ll be able to believe it.
Once the fight resumes, I’m back at Kill’s throat. I beat him the fuck up and he takes it with taunting smirks and provoking words as if he wants to drain my energy—and get himself killed.
By the time the fight finishes with the absolute destruction of my cousin, the crowd is going wild. My name echoes and reverberates, but the thrill doesn’t touch my skin.
Nothing fucking does.
I storm to the locker room, my shoulders tense and my throat dry. Every swallow feels as if I’m slowly cutting at my insides, curling and twisting them into a huge pool of fucked-up red.