Page 23 of Vengeful King

It comes out of nowhere for me, but it’s even more blinding for him. I punch Casey so hard he reels back, shoes skidding on the damp concrete. He slips and before he can right himself, my other fist is coming at his chest.

I’ve been trained to fight. I know how to handle a gun, a knife, my own fists. It’s not hard for me to knock Casey back into the wall of the club. Once he’s there, I hit him again.

And again.

There's a method to every punch. It’s nearly robotic, the way my fist comes in precise jabs at him. I can tell when he gives up, when his attempts to speak become garbled sounds and then nothing. He slumps against the wall. When his knees buckle, I press an arm against his chest and hold him in place.

And I punch him more.

When his eyes roll back and he loses consciousness, I finally step back, my chest rising and falling as I drag in deep breaths.

Fuck.

I haven’t outright killed him, although I easily could have—and in truth, I was tempted to. But that’s not what bothers me about this situation.

What bothers me is that I lost control. And that knowledge burns in my mind.

I don’t bother dragging him out of the alley. I leave him where he lies, then walk to the back door. When I get there, one of my bouncers opens it. I wave vaguely toward the alley.

“Get him out of here.”

He nods. “Yes, sir.”

It’ll be taken care of. For now, I’m done with Casey.

Somehow, beating the shit out of that man hasn’t done enough. There’s anger still simmering inside me, and it needs an outlet.

So I stride toward the dressing room. When I reach it and pull open the door, everyone looks up. I don’t look at the other girls. My gaze goes immediately to Kate—no,Katrina.

“Everyone out,” I say. My voice sounds oddly calm to my own ears, but the dancers must hear the danger lurking beneath, because they move quickly.

Katrina starts to go with them, and I stop her with a look. “Not you.”

She stops, standing like a rock in a river as the other girls swerve around her on their way out the door.

I wait until the last one is gone and the door has shut behind her before I make a move.

Katrina is scared. I can see it in her eyes; her hands are curled into fists, fingers white-knuckled. She’s a ball of tension, waiting for something to happen.

I step closer, only stopping when there’s less than a foot of space between us. Her delicate honey scent fills my nostrils as I lean over her, forcing her to tilt her chin up to meet my gaze.

“You lied to me.”

She’s barely breathing. I can see her lips part, trembling a little. Her eyes are searching mine for something. Maybe she wants to know how angry I am; maybe she wants to see if she can lie again.

“I don’t know what he told you—”

“You lied about your name,Katrina.”

Her full lips press into a line. The nervousness in her expression is clear, but so are the racing thoughts. “I didn’t m—”

“You lied about not having drama,” I continue, my voice low and dark. I don’t want to heardidn’tfrom her lips. I know she lied. Now, it’s just a matter of figuring out if she lied about anything else.

Her gray eyes are steady. It’s incredible how unflinching they are; I could admire that, if I wasn’t busy trying to figure out what she’s hiding. Either she’s stupid for facing me like this, or she has grit. Something that means she’s not an average dancer.

I’m looming over her, in her space, and she still hasn’t backed away. She just looks up at me, the perfect angles of her face illuminated by the soft glow of the dressing room.

“I did lie about my name,” she finally admits. There’s no apology in her face, no waver in her voice. “I’ve been avoiding him. Casey. I used a different name because I thought it would make it harder for him to find me.”

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