Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 135792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
The guy took the hit, but kept himself upright, and when he swung back, Knox was ready for him. He would not be disrespected. He evaded the punch at the last second and kicked the bastard’s side.
“How’s this for fucking adrenaline?” he yelled, narrowly avoiding the guy’s attack.
Fucker had long arms so when Knox fell back to avoid the hand swinging at his face, he still got scratched on the cheek, and the hard rock blasting from the speakers became an anthem of war.
He grabbed the guy by the hair, because he wasn’t below shitty moves, and punched his face, feeling something shift in the bastard’s nose. When the guy tried to claw at him again, Knox let go, then kicked him in the stomach.
He was deaf to the yelling around them, too focused on the blood pounding in his ears, and as soon as the asshole was down, it was game on. Knox jumped him like a wolf at the first taste of blood, and rained down punches, straddling his chest in a well-practiced move that kept the guy’s arms down.
The fist that crashed into the side of his head and made his skull drum came out of nowhere. It managed to blindside him enough that the two pairs of arms dragging him away remained faceless as the world spun.
Through the fog that had settled on his eyes, he saw his opponent pulled up by a huge dude in a red hoodie.
“Let go and fight me!” he yelled at the guys dragging him, and he writhed against them like a goat on steroids, painfully aware that this would usually be when Liv arrived with reinforcements.
Spectators turned into meaningless shadows, because there were now four guys against him, and he’d pissed them off enough to ensure they wouldn’t go easy on him. Blood rushed to his limbs, and he attempted to twist away from the double grip. When one of his arms was tugged on hard, he realized that the man holding onto it was ready to dislocate his shoulder if he didn’t surrender to the beating about to commence.
He’d fucked up. His anger had gotten the best of him, and no one would want him once he lost his teeth during the ordeal coming his way.
There had been a moment when he could have slipped out of the hold. He should have run then. And to make matters worse, his heart started pounding all too fast, pumping blood harder than it should. He clenched his eyes, breathing deeply in a desperate, if useless, bid to calm down, because he was not fainting here.
Despite the frantic drumming in his chest, his gaze focused at last, just as the fucker who slighted him wiped blood off his mouth, staring Knox’s way like a predator that knew it had its victim cornered. The cool air seemed to thicken when he spat and showed Knox a mean grin. He raised his fist, and—
“I see you already met my new friend,” someone said in a voice as calm as it was imposing, and the punch that might have KOd Knox didn’t land.
It took him painful seconds to realize he recognized the voice coming from somewhere behind him. Okay. So maybe his teeth would stay in his jaw, because the patches on Cy’s vest spoke volumes even to those who didn’t know him personally.
The guy whose nose was already swelling from Knox’s punch glanced at Cyborg with a sour expression. “Seriously? This little shit is under your protection?”
Knox grinned and licked the blood off his teeth. “I told you not to fuck with me.” He didn’t, but it sounded good.
“That’s enough. Scram,” Cyborg said, standing right next to Knox, and for the very first time it was clear how tall this mofo was. Surely over six-foot-five, he towered over everyone else, outgrowing even the dude in the red hoodie Knox had already identified as dangerous. At five-ten, Knox was no hobbit, but damn.
The crowd dispersed, as if pushed away by a spell only Cy knew, but while the bleeding fuckface remained tense, the two pairs of hands let go of Knox, leaving him to stand on his own.
“Well?” Cy asked, regarding Knox’s opponent, perfectly relaxed.
The guy took a deep breath, took another glance at the ‘Sergeant-at-arms’ patch on Cyborg’s vest, and exhaled. “He needs a muzzle, ‘cause he’s rabid,” he said in the end, but didn’t dare spit at Knox’s shoes before walking away.
Knox put his palms against his forehead. “Fuuuck,” he groaned. Way to make an impression. Though what did he know? Maybe in the gay world shit like this was hot? He definitely considered the respect Cy was treated with impressive.
But with the uneasy feeling settling in his chest, Knox dove for his pill bottle and rolled one onto his hand while Cy’s muscular form loomed on the outskirts of his vision like an NPC waiting to be approached by the main character. But as Knox raised his hand, about to swallow his meds, Cy grabbed his forearm, keeping it from going anywhere near his mouth.