He underestimates me.
They all do.
It’s my preferred way of enjoying a fight.
And the reason why I was one of Sydney’s prized underground fighters before I joined Storm.
Because, in the end, they all learn I’m the fucking composer of the symphony.
I growl as I draw upon the strength that dwells deep inside. Using that and the adrenaline racing through my body, I rear up, thrusting him off me. Wild energy surges through my body, sending me into a trance-like state where I access the kind of violence most never see in their life.
I move in ways that can’t be predicted. I’m fast. Agile. And I attack where he least expects it. It’s not my mind propelling me forward; it’s a finely tuned warrior instinct I had to hone from a young age. I may not have been able to fight my father off as a child, but no one goes to battle with me anymore and wins.
When the Italian lies at my feet, beaten, bloody, and dead, I pull out my phone.
“Is it done?” King demands when he answers my call.
I clench my jaw, still pissed off with his earlier bullshit. “Yeah”.
“Good. I’m gonna send you a photo of something I need you to find in his place. Don’t leave without it.”
He ends the call without another word. A text comes through a moment later. A photo of a toy phone. Fucking strange. I ransack the place looking for it, finally locating it ten minutes later. Shoving it in my pocket, I head into the kitchen and clean the blood and grime from my face and body as best I can. Detective Stark will take care of the crime scene like she always does when I deal with someone for her.
Exiting the house into the warm night air, I suck in a deep breath. I was sure this job would ease some of the tension punching through me, but it hasn’t. I’m mad as fuck. King’s bullshit has stirred my emotions into a tangled, fucked-up jumble of frustration, resentment, and anger.
God-fucking-dammit, I want Zara.
I want to kiss her.
I want my hands on her.
I want to fuck her.
But more than any of that, I want something else. Something deeper. Something I’ve never had or desired in my life. And fuck if that does
n’t screw with my head.
24
Fury
* * *
I arrive at Zara’s place just after 10:00 p.m., once I’ve cleaned up and gotten my head together.
She opens the door, her eyes widening when she sees my face, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. She’d be used to seeing this kind of stuff with King. Instead, she wraps her arms around her body. “It’s late.” Fuck, where’s her spark gone? She’s looking at me with eyes that are vacant of any-fucking-thing.
“Late’s always worked for us before, princess,” I say and enter without waiting for her to welcome me in.
The door clicks closed and she follows me into the lounge room. When she sits on the other couch to the one I choose, I move to sit with her. I don’t force myself close—although that’s what I want to do—but rather situate myself at the other end so she’s got some space. I have no idea where her head’s at after our kiss, but by the looks of it, nowhere good.
“Why are you here?” she asks.
I frown. “To talk about what happened today.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Fury.”
She’s shutting down on me. Just when I’ve admitted to myself I want her. Fuck if I’ll allow that to continue. “There’s a whole lot to talk about, Zara, the first thing being I wanna know what you’re thinking.”