CHAPTER 20
AIDEN MARTINEZ
The movement of knuckles ripping flesh is an interesting feeling.
No because of the consequence, the aftermath of the intense pain rattling the bones underneath—misting the humid atmosphere in a crimson drizzle of contentment.
No, it's not that.
It's never been that.
It's what comes before.
It's the silence that interests me. That split second of stillness—more delicate than a breath—that arrives right before my fist connects with the target. That tiny sliver of quiet, that outlandish moment suspended between thought and impact—that's the closest thing to peace I've ever had.
People believe violence is vociferous.
The only thing that causes bloodshed.
They don't know a damn thing.
Violence, the real kind—the kind you don't choose but grow into like a second spine—is quiet.
Precise.
It sharpens everything inside you until the rest of the world blurs out. In that half-second of stillness, I don't hear the crowd screaming for more. I don't hear the wet rasp of lungs fighting to keep up. I don't hear Lucas yelling at me to "keep it clean" because he knows I won't.
I don't hear Vincent's voice in my head, or the echoes of Medellín's streets or the cinch of a cell door banging shut or Harrison Tate's ugly face pretending he doesn't remember exactly where we met.
I chose not to hear because violence is where I thrive.
The only constant that's been present in my life of destroyed promises, twisted loyalties, and blood that keeps landing on my hands whether I earn it or not.
In that breath of silence—I hear nothing. I am nothing.
And that is the only time I ever feel free.
Violence is not a hobby for me.
It's not even an outlet that needs charging.
It's a compass.
When everything goes to hell—and it always does—I can rely on one truth. My body knows how to fight even when my mind can't keep up.
I can do this blindfolded, with one hand behind my back—relying on nothing but the simple direction of the air around me.
I find my target no matter what because everyone is always simple, predictable, and easy to read.
People always lie, family fails you, friends disappear and enemies grow out of your own blood whether you want it or not. Teachers give up and the police pretend they're saints while they drag you through the dirt.
But with violence? There are no misunderstandings.
If I hit you, you break.
If you hit me, I don't.
That silence—that perfect frozen second—is the eye of the storm. Where the chaos pulls back just long enough for me to exist without burning.
It's the only place I don't have to think.
About revenge.
About Vincent.
About a shed explosion that should've gone differently.
YOU ARE READING
Sins of Aiden
Romance"You know I'll find out who did that to you. And they better wish for a headstart." I snap my gaze up. His voice turned awry in my ears at the menacing promise. I stare at him, blinking. "Why are you so obsessed with knowing who did this to me?" "W...
