Page 10 of Devour
I hang up, I want to focus on the rest of my day and forget about what happened. Life doesn’t pause just because your ex fucked you so hard your legs forgot how to walk.
CHAPTER SIX
Luca
“If you were going to run with my money…” I say, slowly shrugging off my suit jacket and draping it neatly over the back of the chair, “…you shouldn’t have gotten caught.”
I unfasten the button on my sleeve and roll it up my forearms with deliberate calm. “Much less alive.”
My fist connects with his jaw. The crack of bone echoes through the room as he flies backward, landing hard against the floor.
A rush floods my veins. That familiar high. I flex my fingers, my knuckles already stinging and smeared with his blood, I hadn’t meant to hit him that hard, I tell myself it was just me relieving pent-up tension…but who the fuck am I kidding seeing Aria today fucking mess with my head.
“Get the fuck up,” I bark.
Axel, one of my deadliest men—broad-shouldered, cold-blooded, with an eye patch over his left eye, steps closer and crouches beside the bastard. He checks his pulse.
“He’s out cold.”
“Fuck.” The word drips from my mouth like venom. “I wanted to draw out the torture,” I say, pulling a handkerchief from my jacket pocket, I wipe his blood from my knuckles like I couldn’t care less.
“But the bastard’s a fucking pussy, fainted after one hit.” Dominic steps closer, eyes scanning the limp body.
“You seem tense.”
I arch a brow. “You offering to help me work it out?”
He cracks a grin.
“You want to spar?”
We moved to the training room. I strip off my shirt, leaving only suit pants clinging to my wait.
My hands move with practiced ease, wrapping the protective straps around my knuckles as I step through the ropes. Dominic’s already in the ring—shirtless, pacing like a wolf.
The usual cocky grin is gone. Whatever this is, it’s not just a friendly spar. Something’s off.
The crew starts to gather around, forming a loose circle. Nobody wants to miss the show, not when it’s the boss and his right hand squaring off.
“Spill,” I mutter, eyes narrowing as I flex my fingers. Dominic bends his neck to one side and then the other, before moving into an attacking position and shrugging his shoulders.
“I don’t have good news.”
He smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“So, I’ll make it up to you first.”
Then he lunges. The first punch flies. I dodge with ease, but I don’t miss the intent behind it—controlled fury.
I know better than to underestimate him. I’ve seen that look on his face before, right before he puts a bullet in someone’s skull.
He throws a combo. One lands low, solid—right in my gut. I absorb the hit with a grunt, stepping into the blow instead of backing away. Pain sharpens my focus.
I press forward, forcing him to fall back, our movements a brutal dance of give and take. He comes when I back off. I close in when he tries to breathe.
Neither of us says a word, not at first. The air between us is thick, the tension palpable.
I hear the crew’s low cheers echo off the walls, a pack of wolves watching their alphas circle. I block the next jab, my voice low and flat.
