Ruin (Rhodes #1) by Rina Kent

                             . . . . .



                             Present,

                             A gag followed by a rustle stops me in my tracks. Teary wide blue eyes take the place of Dr Linton’s green ones.

                             ‘That’s it, Aaron,’ Aunt coaxes. ‘Squeeze harder.’

                             Father chimes in. ‘The beauty of her soul leaving her body will be your latest masterpiece, son.’

                             With a jerk, I release Mae’s neck. She falls to the ground, hands flying to her throat as she gasps for air. The sound of her deep inhales is so guttural she seems to choke on air.

                             I freeze, my muscles lock together. A frenzied rush of air traffics through my lungs.

                             Fucking hell. I almost killed Mae.

                             The demons were seconds away from winning.

                             ‘I told you not to go against us, Aaron.’ Aunt’s frosty voice taps on my neurons. ‘It’s us and your nature against the cliche version you want to become.’

                             “Never call me insane again.” I bark at Mae then march out of the room. I don’t want to see the look in her eyes. It’ll haunt me.

                             As soon as the door clicks behind me, I connect my fist with a wall. Rippling pain courses through my knuckles. Yet, it does nothing to freeze my chaotic brain.

                             “Fuck!”

                             No one provoked me enough to trigger those memories. Why does Mae have the power to bring it all back with the mere muttering of ‘insane’? Or is it the sincerity behind the word? Does she really think I’m insane?

                             I’m losing myself.

                             This can’t go on. I need someone to punch.



                             . . . . .



                             “Is that all you’ve got?” I jab at Tristan, but he jumps back against the ring’s ropes, avoiding it. With a swift movement, he takes a neutral position. Before I could predict his next attack, he lands a low crippling hook into my stomach.

                             Our harsh breaths are muffled by the other guards’ shouts, training in the adjoining rings. Male musk wafts in the air.

                             Tristan grins. “Less talking, more working, shall we—”

                             My quick uppercut connects with his jaw. His sports’ shoes squeak as he loses his footing. He barely catches himself before he falls out of the ring.

                             I smile, tasting the saltiness of sweat. “Admit it. You’ve become an old man, Tristan.”

                             “I’m only two years older than you, little brother.” He smirks as we encircle each other, like Knight and King before a heated fight.

                             Tristan attempts to right cross me, but my firm-placed arms forbid him any points.