Shane (Mallick Brothers 1)

When his eyes landed on me, his hand went behind his back.

“Got the knife already,” I said, crossing my arms, watching him as he took his feet, looking me over, likely noting that I had a good fifty pounds of muscle on him.

“Who the fuck are you? Russian? Italian? Since when the fuck do you want the H trade?”

“Nah,” I said, clucking my tongue a little, maybe enjoying the way his eyes were active, like his mind was racing. “See, this isn’t about your little drug peddling. This is personal…”

“Personal? I ain’t never seen your face in my fuckin’ life,” he said, planting his feet wide, not backing away, but obviously not ready to advance, wanting to get a feel for me first.

“No, but you’ve seen my girl’s face before,” I said with a shrug. “You put a look there that, well, I don’t like seeing on a face like hers.”

“Who the fuck are you…” he started, then realization hit, his lips tipping up at the side. He waited a beat, nodding his head, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You having fun fucking my girl?” he asked, the possessive term making my teeth go on edge. “She’s good in bed, ain’t she? Puts up a good fight when she’s in a mood.” At that moment, my blood was fucking gasoline and that stupid fuck just flicked a match at me. “She send you here? Thought maybe her new fuck toy could take down the man who owned her for years?”

Owned.

Jesus.

“Really? She doesn’t suck my cock like she belongs to you,” I said with a smirk, enjoying the way his face went blind with rage for a moment.

“Listen, mother fucker,” he said, everything about him suggesting he was seconds from flipping his shit. That wasn’t exactly a good quality for a leader. “My issue ain’t with you. I want Lea back. She belongs here. She grew up here. Her family is here.”

“You mean the family that stood by while she got raped by you for years? That family? Yeah, she traded those pussies in for my family.”

His head tilted at that, picking up on something in my tone. “Family?” he asked. “What are you into?”

“Let’s just say we spill blood for a living. For a lot less serious issues than some bastard threatening what belongs to me.”

“Please,” he snorted, shaking his head. “You think your hired muscle of a family stands a chance against me and my men?”

“See that’s the thing. This isn’t between me and your men. This is between me and you. And this door isn’t opening until one of us is satisfied. That one of us being me, if that wasn’t clear.”

“I’d say you just signed your death certificate, but we don’t let bodies get found.”

I felt my smile quirk up, my blood humming. “Bring it, mother fucker,” I said, pushing off the door.

I let him plow into my center, momentarily surprised how much power he had packed in a more compact body, but knowing it wasn’t always a true tell to judge a man’s strength by how big he was. I took the hit, smashing harder back against the door. I raised my hand as he took a step back to do the same, swinging hard into his jaw. Nothing, no fight had ever felt as satisfying as the crack his cheekbone made as my knuckles crushed it.

We went that way for a long couple minutes, throwing blows, adrenaline-charged and oblivious to pain.

I shoved him back hard, watching him stumble and slam into the opposite wall, wiping blood from his lip as he tried to catch his breath.

“What’s the end game here, man?” he asked, trying to circle me, but I wasn’t moving from the fucking door.

“You out of Lea’s life.”

“Bitch ain’t worth this shit,” he said casually, but I didn’t believe he meant it for a minute.

“Don’t think I was clear enough,” I said, wiping sweat from my brow. “I mean the permanent kind of out.”

“You think you can kill me?” he sneered.

“Not before really making you hurt first,” I said, charging forward without warning, bending low and taking him at the waist, sending us both flying to the floor with a thud. I pushed up, sitting back on his waist, pinning any retreat with sheer weight.

“Even if you kill me, man, you’ll never be inside her without my ghost hanging there between you,” he said, looking way too pleased with that idea.

And, well, it was the wrong fucking thing to say right about then.

I never understood Eli’s rage until that moment. He had tried to explain it to us after a particularly bad bout once where we had needed to pull him off and throw him in the basement until he burned through it all. He had said it wasn’t that he blacked out, but more that his personality, the moral parts of him, the rational mind, it all took a backseat to the rage that coursed through him, that burned inside like a fire, that blinded you to anything but the urge to get it out.