Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 137654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
A slow smile spreads across my face as the air around us thickens like fog. My friends take a step back from us, knowing that I’m gonna need a little more room.
“Goddammit …”“You shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” I muse.
“You shouldn’t murder people,” he snaps.
“I’m going to give you a chance,” I tell him. “A chance to win your freedom.” We both know that’s a lie. He can’t beat me. No one can.
His eyes dart from me to my four friends who still circle us. Their flashlights shining on him allow me to see. “Is this some sick joke?” he demands.
“Not at all,” I say, reaching up behind me and grabbing the back of my black t-shirt. I rip it over my head and toss it to the ground away from us. Now shirtless, I’m ready for a fight. Then I remove my flashlight from the back pocket of my jeans and toss it as well. “I hope you don’t faint at the sight of blood.” I can already smell the copper, and my mouth starts to water. Fuck, it’s been too long since I’ve had a good fight. I roll my shoulder, trying to release the tightness.
“You’re just like your father,” he shouts. “Fucking taking anything that you can get your hands on.”
I hear something behind me. A faint sound of branches snapping. But I don’t turn around. Not yet. “Get up and fight me,” I order.
He shakes his head. “He doesn’t want to play,” Shane says with a chuckle.
“I’ll let you have the first hit. More than fair.” I can’t help but smile.
I hear that sound again behind me, and it’s closer. I take a quick look—on purpose—and he took the cheap shot I knew he would.
He jumps to his feet and lands a hit on the side of my face. I hit him back with a fist to his jaw. His head snaps to the side, and I pound my other fist into his nose. His hands come up to cover it as he stumbles back. I grit my teeth when my knuckles crack as I hit him in the mouth. His teeth rip my skin open like a knife to butter.
I love it!
He falls into Deke, and he holds him up while I hit him over and over. My fist connects with his stomach, face, and head. My skin continues to split. Blood pools down my fists, making them slippery. Deke gets tired of holding him up and pushes him toward me. I swing, hitting him one last time, and he falls back to the ground.
I stand over him, breathing heavy, and sweat covers my body as the rain comes to a stop. My hands are down to my sides, and I can feel the blood dripping off them like a faucet left on—mine mixed with his.
Jeff starts to cough.
“I dare you to get up,” I growl.
“Is that … what this … is?” Jeff gasps for words. “Another dare?” He coughs. “You guys … and your sick … fucking pranks …”
“No!” I snap. “This is you paying for the life you took.” My voice grows louder, and I clench my fists, wanting to hit him some more. My shoulder throbs, but I ignore it.
“When will you get what you deserve?” he whispers roughly. “Huh, Cole? What is your price …?”
I drop to my knees, straddling him. My balled fists rise and then come down on his already bloody face. I scream out of frustration when he just lies there and takes it. I want the sting of a punch. I want the feel of skin breaking. I need to feel it. Need the pain. I deserve it, after all. He was right. I killed my friends.
I fist his shirt and yank his limp head off the ground, my legs still straddling his hips. His eyes black and blue, face split and bloody. Lowering my face to his, I growl. “Give me what I deserve! Why don’t you get your sorry ass up and hit me?” My voice rises. “Why don’t you be a fucking man and fight me?”
He doesn’t respond. His head falls back, and I shove him down, causing his head to hit the ground with a thud.
Deke slaps me on the back. “Go walk it off, Cole. We got it from here.”
I stand and take a step back from them as they pick him up off the ground.
I fist my hands, loving the feel of the split knuckles. The wind picks up, and it makes the blood that covers my body shiver from the chill.
Fuck, I love a fight!
My father says I was born a fighter. He would say if a man can’t use his hands, then what is he good for? The only difference is that my father pays to use someone else’s hands.