Going Mad For Maddox

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

MADDOX

THE MAN—NO boy because the damn kid can't be any older than seventeen stares at me, a glinting smile spreading across his thin lips, "looks like boss gotch ya' bitch." I tuck my knife into my sweat pocket.

I don't need a weapon to kill this boy, I'm using my bare fucking hands.

I take a step forward, knowing he's locked in here with me not vice versa.

Everything becomes a blur the only thing my eyes being able to see is his smug fucking face, thinking he truly believes that no harm will come to him.

He's a living, breathing dead man.

It would be different if he solely fucked with me, but to fuck with my Kodi?

I need to do this fast. There will be no precision, no acute effort made, but hard, unforgiving mercy.

I'm going to kill him. I don't care who he is, or what happens after. I just want him to feel everything I feel.

I don't even see the world around me anymore, just him. Just his stupid fucking face, his smug smile, like he's already won. I want to rip it off, I want to watch him bleed, to make him regret ever walking inside of my home.

And to whoever just made my baby scream?

I'm going to make sure he understands what happens when you hurt someone who is unequivocally mine.

My fists are tight at my sides, my knuckles burning, aching. I don't think, don't feel anything except this overwhelming, suffocating rage. My teeth are grinding so hard I'm sure l'm going to crack them.

The muscles in my back coil like a snake and I look toward Luna's enclosure to see her watching the boy, eyeing him with a fierce look of hunger.

I've yet to feed her today.

Without any form of warning, I lunge at him, sending my left fist toward his jaw letting his head slam against the wall behind him. The force of the blow, momentarily shocks him, but I'm surprised the kid doesn't let himself fall and tries to send a knee into my stomach but I block it, grabbing it and slam my elbow into his face.

This time he falls onto the ground with a brutal thud.

The kid scrambles, one hand pushing off the wooden floors, the other one swinging out in a wide arc, his fist immediately finding my ribs, I don't wince and get low to the ground, grinding my knee into his chest that makes him grit his teeth. "Who are you?" When he doesn't respond, I grab his arm and begin to twist it behind his back which has him letting out a holler of pain, "I asked you a question. Who. Are. You?"

The kids lip is split, blood gushing from the open cut, "none of your fucking business." He spits out.

"Wrong answer." I twist and twist and twist until I hear a crack which has him roaring out ferocious scream. "I'm going to ask you one more time and if you give me a wrong answer again, I'm going to break your fucking neck."

His defenses that were once sharp begins to crumple, "Issac."

"Issac who?"

"Issac Callaghan."

My body freezes. He's Irish.