Page 34 of Shots & Echoes

Fight her.

Prove it.

Prove you belong here.

I shifted forward, just about to close the distance—to throw, to take, to win?—

And then?—

A hand caught my arm. Strong. Rough. Pulling me back like a leash snapping tight.

Knox.

His body heat burned through my jersey, his grip iron on my bicep. Possessive. Commanding. Like he had the right to put his hands on me. And fuck me, I let him.

He leaned in—so close his breath skimmed over the side of my neck, hot and deliberate. His voice was low—gravel wrapped in smoke—and aimed straight at my spine. “Do it,” he murmured—dark, coaxing—like he was inviting me to destroy something. To destroy myself. “Beat her ass. Lose control. You know you want to, princess.”

Princess.

The word coiled around my throat like a chokehold—mocking, filthy, his favorite fucking weapon. And it worked.

Heat surged through me—rage and arousal tangled so tight I couldn’t tell which was which. Didn’t know if I wanted to punch him or kiss him until it hurt.

Maybe both.

He knew. He fucking knew.

That I wanted the violence. That I needed it. That he was the only one who could drag it out of me like this.

His grip tightened—thumb pressing into muscle—holding me back, holding me still. But it didn’t feel like control. It felt like possession.

The girls were watching—I felt their eyes—uneasy, curious, like they sensed this was more than just practice. More than just a near-fight between teammates. This was something else. Something wrong. Something they weren’t invited into.

But I didn’t care about them. Not when he was this close. Not when my whole body was burning under his hand.

I turned my head slightly—just enough to see his face, to feel his breath on my lips now instead of my neck, even through the cage.

His eyes were already on me. Dark. Furious. Hungry. Daring me. Daring me to give in. To ruin myself. To give up everything I stood for. For him.

My chest heaved—lungs fighting for air—because I wanted it. The fight. The chaos. The goddamn wreckage.

I wanted him to push me into that wall, to see if I’d get up again. I wanted to see if he’d follow me down into the flames. If we’d burn together.

I was right on the edge. Right there. Ready to fall.

But I didn’t.

Barely.

I tore my arm free—ripped myself out of his grasp like it cost me something. Because it did.

I skated back—but my heart was still racing. My thighs were still trembling. My body was still screaming for more.

And Knox? He was still fucking watching. Like he’d already won. Like he was going to pull me back under the second I let him.

And I would. I fucking would.

Because the scariest part? I liked being his fight. And I knew—I was already losing.

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