Chapter 35 #2
Riot’s entire body tightens. He doesn’t speak yet, doesn’t move, just breathes. Heavy. Controlled.
“You know what I’m going to do to her, Riot?
” Kane continues, voice a low, venomous purr.
“I’m going to make it slow. Messy. I’ll start with her legs.
Maybe her tongue—slice it out so she stops mouthing off.
Then I’ll let you watch while I bleed her dry.
I want you to hear it—every scream, every last fucking breath. ”
Riot doesn’t snarl. He doesn’t scream. He just launches. A blur of fury. A living weapon set loose.
They slam into each other like meteorites colliding. Kane’s ready—clearly trained, fast for his age, every move precise—but Riot is pure rage and violence incarnate. He’s not fighting to win. He’s fighting to end him.
Fists crack bone. Riot drives Kane into the metal shelving behind him, sending tools and rusted parts flying. Kane grabs a wrench and swings but Riot ducks low, slamming his shoulder into Kane’s ribs and tackling him to the concrete.
I scream as they roll, teeth bared, punches flying wild and brutal. Kane lands one. Two. Riot spits blood and laughs like a man who’s already dead inside but still chooses to burn.
Riot grabs Kane’s jacket and slams him into the concrete, hard enough to rattle bone. The impact cracks through the room, but Kane only snarls, teeth stained red, twisting beneath him like a serpent.
Fists fly, flesh meeting flesh in a sick rhythm of hate and vengeance. Riot’s knuckles split open, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t blink. He pummels Kane with the kind of rage that’s been festering since the second she disappeared. The kind that doesn’t stop until something breaks.
Kane claws for advantage, landing a sharp elbow to Riot’s ribs. Riot grunts but doesn’t falter. He pins him again, hammering blows into his ribs, his face, his jaw until Kane finally throws a knee up into Riot’s gut.
The wind rips from his lungs as he crashes back onto the ground.
Blood spatters the floor as Kane scrambles up, dragging himself upright with a snarl. His face is a mask of fury and ruin. He lunges, fists swinging, and they collide again—flesh against flesh, bone against bone. No technique now. Just violence. Just war.
The world narrows to blood, breath, and the sound of bodies breaking.
They crash into the table. Riot shoves him back. Kane lands a punch to Riot’s ribs, hard enough to make him stumble, but Riot grabs a metal pipe from the ground and swings. It misses Kane’s skull by inches, slamming into a support beam, denting the steel.
“Riot!” I scream.
He turns just as Kane slashes. The blade grazes his ribs but Riot grabs his wrist mid-swing and snaps it with a sickening crunch.
Kane bellows.
My heart is pounding so loud I can’t hear. I shift, twisting my arms, wrists screaming from the zip ties. I rock back, then forward, then slam my weight sideways.
Once.
Twice.
Crack.
On the third hit, the chair crashes to the ground. Pain sears through my side, but I grit my teeth, twisting until one of the wooden arms splinters beneath me. Sharp edges bite into my skin, but I don’t stop. I grind my wrist against the jagged wood, flesh tearing, blood slicking my palm.
Snap.
One arm free.
I breathe through the pain and reach down, fingers trembling as I tug the knife from my boot. I cut through the other tie, adrenaline turning every second molten. The chaos of the fight rages feet away—grunts, fists, snarls—but I don’t look. Not yet.
I push up, unsteady, snatch the blade in one hand then I see it. Riot’s gun, skidding across the floor. Dropped in the scuffle. I dive, grab it and click off the safety.
Kane has Riot pinned beneath him, blood dripping from both of them. He’s got the upper hand, pressing his blade down against Riot’s throat, ready to end it.
But I’m already behind him. And I press the barrel to the back of his skull.
“Enough,” I say.
Kane stiffens.
Riot stops mid-swing, panting, knuckles cracked open and gleaming.
“Get the fuck off him,” I murmur, the muzzle pressed to the back of his skull.
Riot groans beneath him, bloodied but alive, eyes flicking up to me—wild, wide, and burning with something feral.
I shove the barrel harder. “I said move.”
Slowly, Kane shifts off Riot. Hands raised, breath ragged. He turns his head just enough to glance at me, blood dripping from his temple.
I step around him, blade still clutched in one hand, gun in the other. My heart's a drumline, my skin on fire. I meet Kane’s gaze. He’s coughing, barely holding himself upright. But still smiling.
“Look at you,” he rasps, voice cracked and laced with cruel pride. “Gun in your hand… rage in your eyes. Maybe there is more of me in you than your whore of a mother after all.”
I press it to his forehead. I tilt my head, smirk twisting through the blood on my face.
“You were right about one thing,” I say sweetly. “I am like you.” I press the barrel to his forehead. Hard. “I’m not afraid to kill people who get in my way. Especially the ones who hurt what’s mine.”
His lips twitch, like he still thinks this is a bluff.
I lean in closer.
“You never should’ve underestimated me.” Pause. “Save me a seat in hell… Daddy.”
I pull the trigger.
Blood sprays. His body drops, twitching once before going still. I lower the gun. My breath shudders out of me, then Riot’s hands are on my face. Holding me. Steadying me.
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, throat working. “I would’ve killed him.”
“I know. But it needed to be me.”
He presses his forehead to mine, blood and sweat and air between us.
“So,” I murmur, cocking my head as I run my tongue across a split in my lip, “how many people did you kill to get here?”
Riot’s eyes flash like he’s still halfway feral, blood crusted along his knuckles, chest heaving under the weight of violence he hasn’t fully shaken. He steps closer, towering over me, and something almost tender flickers beneath the storm in his gaze.
“Not enough,” he says, voice low, gravel-thick. “And I’d fucking do it all over again—twice as loud, twice as bloody—if it meant getting to you in time, Little Stray.”
His hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing against the smear of blood on my cheek like he’s memorizing me. Like he still can’t believe I’m here.
Alive.
His.