Page 70 of Broken By Silence
He straightens, staring down at him like he’s already won. Like, Elijah isn’t worth the breath it would take to insult him.
Elijah growls, rallies, drives forward with a flurry of strikes.
For a few seconds, it’s chaos.
Fists blur, bodies clash, knuckles crack against flesh. But Oscar weathers it. Always precise, always countering. Every time Elijah tries to build momentum, Oscar dismantles it with a single punishing shot.
One-two. Ribs, jaw. Step back. Sidestep. Hook.
Blood runs from Elijah’s lip, staining his chest. His breaths are ragged. But Oscar’s barely touched, only sweat beading his brow.
I catch the look in his eyes then. He doesn’t need to sign it. He doesn’t need me to translate. It’s written in the fists that keep finding their mark:She’s mine.
The timer shrillsagain.
Oscar stops mid-motion, chest heaving, fists still curled tight at his sides. His eyes burn holes through Elijah, every muscle ready to launch again if he twitches wrong.
Elijah’s hunched, blood dripping from his mouth, ribs bruised, but he’s still standing. He spits red onto the mat, wipes his lip with the back of his hand, and lifts his chin. For the first time, all fight, there’s no arrogance in his stare… only raw honesty.
The silence stretches, thick as the sweat on the ropes.
Then Oscar steps forward. He doesn’t raise his fists. Instead, he sticks out a hand.
The whole room goes still.
For a beat, Elijah just blinks at it. Wariness flickers in his eyes, suspicion, maybe even guilt. But then, with a grimace, he reaches out. Their palms smack together, rough and hard, and neither lets go right away.
Oscar’s stare is sharp, unyielding. “You don’t get to hurt her. Not again. I don’t care if you are her husband on paper. You even so much as make her cry, and I won’t stop next time.”
Elijah’s lips twitch, not into a smirk, but something grimmer, smaller. He nods once. “Understood, but I have no intention of ever hurtingmy wifeagain.”
And just like that, the grip breaks.
The ropes groan again,and for a second I think Roman’s about to drag himself back in for another round, but it’s my dad.
He doesn’t say a word at first. He just walks across the floor like the ground owes him space. Same old boots, same broad shoulders. He’s got that look, the one that used to make me shut my mouth as a kid, the one that says he’s already decided what’s happening and I’d better keep up.
“Dad?” My throat’s tight.
He cuts me off with a hand, eyesfixed on Crew.
“Relax,” he says, voice steady. “I’m not here to haul anyone out by the ear. Just making sure nobody’s dead.”
His gaze sweeps over Roman with his bruised jaw, Elijah with blood still on his lip, and Oscar pacing like a caged tiger. Then it lands back on Crew, who looks way too entertained by the whole thing.
Will exhales through his nose. “Christ. You boys don’t half-measure, do you?”
Crew flashes a grin like he’s been waiting for this all night. “Still breathing. That’s half the battle, right?”
Dad studies him for a long moment. “You’re up.”
I nearly choke. “You’re going to kill him.”
But Crew’s eyebrows shoot up, eyes bright. “Me? You serious?”
Dad doesn’t look away as he unbuttons his cuffs. Just calm. He plants himself in the center of the ring. “You’ve been carrying too much without an outlet. That’s dangerous.”
Crew barks a laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “What, this is about the whole addict thing? Because, I swear, I’ve been clean. Haven’t touched a damn thing.”
