Page 62 of Wicked Temptations
Pain exploded across my face.
My head snapped sideways, my mouth flooding with the taste of copper. I stumbled back two steps, my hand flying to my mouth and when I pulled my fingers away, they came back red. I spat, blood splashing the concrete between my boots.
The crowd fuckingloved it. They thought it was part of the show. Fake blood, movie magic, and theatrical genius. Phones flashed, and someone shouted, “Holy shit! Fight!”
I looked up and saw Jude lower his knife. For a second, there was something in his expression that wasn’t fury. Shock, or maybe even remorse and concern. But then Jude was difficult to read even without the face paint, so it could have just as easily been satisfaction.
It didn’t matter because I’d never tell through the rage burning behind my ribs.
I launched myself at him, and we went down hard. My weight drove him into the ground, and his back hit the concrete with a sound that made my teeth ache. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I grabbed his collar, hauled him off the ground, and slammed him down again.
“Ash—”
I didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want his excuses or his deflections or whatever bullshit justification he’d conjured. I wanted him tofeelsomething. Wanted to crack that shell hewore so well, bring down the walls that kept him protected. I wanted him exposed and vulnerable and in a space I could invade. A place I could fill with myself and all the words he refused to say until I made him understand that some things were worth the risk.
Thathewas worth the risk.
Jude bucked beneath me. A wild twist got a leg between us and then he kicked. His foot caught me in the kidney, and I staggered backward, landing in a crouch. Jude rolled to his feet and slipped into a fighter’s stance.
We faced each other, both breathing hard, both beyond the script now.
The music shifted. Our cue to exit. Neither of us moved.
“You done?” Jude’s voice cut through the noise.
“Not even close.”
This wasn’t performance anymore.
I charged, and he met me halfway. We collided like freight trains. His fist drove into my ribs, and I returned the favor. Pain bloomed hot and immediate, but it feltgood. Real and honest in a way nothing between us had ever been.
He grabbed my vest and tried to throw me, but I’d always been bigger and steadier than him. Stronger, though I played it down and let him keep believing he was equal. I locked my arms around his waist and lifted. For a second he was suspended, his feet off the ground, every muscle straining as he thrashed. Then I twisted, and we both went sprawling.
I took the brunt of it, still unwilling to really hurt him, and we hit the ground rolling. Smoke swirled around us, lit from below by the floor lights. Red washed over Jude’s face, painting him in shades of fury and something that I could convince myself looked like passion and desperation.
I pinned him with my forearm across his chest. My face inches from his.
“When are you gonna start being honest with yourself?” The words tore from my throat.
His eyes blazed. “I am honest.”
“Bullshit.”
“It doesn’t matter now.” He tried surging up against me, but I overpowered him with my size and kept him there.
“It could—”
“Just leave me alone!”
We were yelling now. The crowd probably couldn’t hear over the music, but they pressed closer to the barriers, feeding on the energy. I felt their hunger like a physical thing. They wanted violence. Drama. The spectacle of two people destroying each other.
They were getting it.
Jude’s hands fisted in my vest. For a heartbeat, I thought he might pull me down. Close the final distance. Give in to this thing between us that we couldn’t name and couldn’t kill. I’d never wanted anything so much in life as I wanted that. Right here and in front of the world, I wanted him to make that decision to give us a chance and to bring us out of the shadows.
Instead, he shoved. Hard.
I let him. Rolled away and came up on my feet as he did the same. Blood still coated my tongue, and my jaw throbbed, and every breath pulled tight across my ribs where he’d connected.
