Chapter 3 – Lance #3
Rage consumed me, white-hot and blinding. I lunged forward, but he was ready this time, sidestepping and catching me with a sharp jab to the ribs. Pain exploded in my side, but I barely felt it through the adrenaline.
"Everyone said you were dead. But no. You've just gone soft. And you were easy to find."
I feinted left, then struck right, my fist connecting with his jaw with a sickening crack. "Tell my brother to stay the fuck away from her."
The enforcer laughed, the sound echoing in the stairwell. "You went soft for a woman?" He spat blood onto the floor. "We both know you don't have it in you anymore, Lance. The old you would have slit my throat already."
"Maybe I've evolved," I growled, ducking under his wild swing and catching him with a brutal body blow.
He staggered but didn't go down. "Evolved? Or gotten weak?"
His next blow caught me off guard, a glancing hit to my temple that made my vision blur for half a second. I shook it off, refocusing, recalibrating.
This ended now.
I feinted again, and when he moved to block, I dropped low, sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs, but he recovered quickly, rolling to his feet.
Not quick enough.
I was on him in an instant, slamming him against the wall, my forearm pressed against his throat. He clawed at my arm, his face reddening as I applied pressure.
"The old me would have killed you already," I said, my voice deadly calm. "The new me is giving you a chance to deliver a message."
He tried to speak, but could only make choked, gasping sounds.
I eased up, just slightly. "Tell Hector if he comes near what's mine, I'll remind them both exactly what kind of monster they created."
The enforcer's eyes bulged, his face turning an alarming shade of purple. He struggled, kicking and thrashing, his nails digging into my skin hard enough to draw blood.
I didn't let go.
I applied more pressure, watching as his movements grew weaker, his eyes rolling back. Just as his body was about to go limp, I heard it, the voices at the top of the landing as the door opened.
“Go ahead two floors down. That bathroom will be less busy.”
“Thank you so much.”
Morgan’s voice.
The sound cut through the haze of violence like a knife.
I turned.
Morgan stood in the doorway, her face slack, her wide eyes locked on my hands around the man's throat.
Her gaze snapped to mine.
And she looked horrified.
Something twisted inside me, a cold, sinking feeling that spread through my chest.
The enforcer sagged in my grip, unconscious but alive. I let him drop to the floor, my hands suddenly feeling too large, too dangerous.
"Lance..." she whispered, shaking her head, taking a small step back. "What the fuck?"
I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair.
"He was a threat," I said flatly.
Morgan's eyes darted to the man on the ground, her expression shifting from confusion to something worse.
"You just—you just knocked him out like it was nothing."
My jaw clenched. "Because it was nothing."
She swallowed hard, her throat working. "Who are you?"
I watched her back away, the distance between us growing with each step she took.
Her question echoed in my head. Who was I?
The truth was, I didn't even know anymore.
The man I'd shown Morgan—protective, controlled with a mysterious past—was only one layer.
Beneath that was a darkness I'd spent years trying to bury, a violence that had been bred into me from childhood.
How could I expect her to accept all of me when I'd only ever let her see carefully selected pieces? When I'd kept the ugliest parts hidden away? I'd been terrified that if she knew—really knew—she would run. And looking at her face now, I knew I'd been right.
Even after that moment in the on-call room, when her body had responded to mine with a hunger that matched my own, I couldn't bridge the emotional distance I'd created. Physical connection was easy; honesty was the real challenge. And I'd failed her.
I watched her retreat further down the hall, her scrubs still rumpled from our encounter.
She was fighting with herself—I could see it in the way her hands trembled, the conflict etched across her face.
What had happened between us minutes ago pulled her toward me, but this—the violence, the truth of who I was—pushed her away.
I wanted to call after her, to explain that this wasn't all of me. That I was more than my training, more than my past. But the words stuck in my throat as I realized I didn't know if that was true. Maybe this was exactly who I was—a man who could shift from lover to killer in the span of minutes.
The man on the floor groaned, already starting to regain consciousness. I had to deal with this situation, and I needed Morgan far away when I did. Some parts of me she should never see.
"Go back to Gwen," I said, my voice eerily calm even to my own ears. "I'll take care of this."
Morgan hesitated, her gaze darting between me and the downed enforcer. And then I told myself I didn’t care when she fled, her footsteps echoing through the stairwell.