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“Hm,” he nods approvingly, “your form is good. You learn fast,” and something in his eyes shifts, darker, engulfing those irises in a deep forest soil hue before saying bluntly.

“Hit me.”

Chapter 10

Dante

Adrian’s body reacts before his mouth does. A sharp, instinctive recoil as his shoulders tighten, and his weight shifts back a fraction, like his system just threw a warning flag. Perfect, that’s what I like to see. That means he understands consequence.

“What? No,” he says in a calm demeanor, furrowing his brows. “I’ll hurt you.”

I laugh, the sound barely leaving the ring. “That’s the point.”

I step closer, not crowding him just yet. “You clearly did some damage. I just want to see how.”

He shakes his head once, quickly. “I can’t.”

“You clearly can.”

I reach out and touch his hand briefly and precisely without ever breaking my gaze from his. My finger traces the ridge of swollen bone like I’m reading a map. I play all my cards to push him even further. “I want you to hit me as hard as you can. The right way.”

I step back and raise my hands to demonstrate. “Power doesn’t come from anger,” I tell him. “It comes from alignment, and you’re already good at that.”

His gaze tracks every movement, and I don’t miss how he lingers on the tensing of my muscles, swallowing hard each time. If I can get this little stray to throw a proper, dangerous punch, he might just stand a chance next time I chase him. And trust me, that will be the last time.

“Touch,” I say, holding up both hands like a target. “Don’t shove. And don’t lock your wrist. You’ll only punish yourself.”

I wait.

His body resists at first, just as I expected. Then something shifts. His stance settles, his spine straightening as instinct gives way to control. He throws the jab cleanly, knuckles striking my hands with a sharp, contained impact. No wasted force. No hesitation.

I absorb it and nod once. “There,” I say, “exactly like that.”

Something flashes through his expression, something like recognition. Like he’s just been handed confirmation of something he already suspected about himself. The dangerous part isn’t the punch. It’s that he liked how it felt. And I can clearly tell as I absorb the way those dead eyes light up.

People mistake control for restraint. They think violence is loud, messy, and emotional, and it certainly can be. But Adrian doesn’t operate that way. And I’m highly entertained by it.

Almost just as entertained as I was earlier today when I pretended to be surprised when he arrived on the Kawasaki. Full blacked-out gear and fuck me, what a view. I almost forgot why I invited him in the first place, almost.

I knew it was him the second I saw him, of course. Even way before he spoke.

The feigned surprise had been for him. The reaction had been for me.

I straighten, stepping back just enough to give him space again. “You don’t strike me as a guy who hits just because he’s angry,” I say. “You do it to correct a mistake.”

His eyes flick up sharper than ever before. Bingo. Color explodes in his irises, consumed by shades of greenery so palpable I lose focus for a second. The mask of innocence he wears is almost enduring and the perfect cover for his rotten soul. Like a kitten left in the rain, yet lunging its sharp little claws into your skin when you try to pick it up.

“Stop pretending and show me what you are truly capable of.” My words are barely cold when a smirk lights up his face. I expected pushback, but Adrian’s already shifting his body in motion.

I keep my figure relaxed, but ready. I have no intention of striking him… I want to see what he does first.

Adrian steps forward, throwing the punch directly towards my face with a force so strong, I feel its breeze as I pivot my head out of the way. He misses, because of course he fucking does; I’m nothing if not a fighter. A killer, to be exact.

I move like water. In an instant, I sidestep, catching his arm mid-air, twist it smoothly behind his back, and lock it there. My other arm wraps around his neck, pressing his back against my torso.

My breath ghosts his ear as I whisper, “You’re holding back.” He didn’t, but I’m curious to see how he reacts to my accusation. How will he face me thinking that I’m underestimating him?

“Again,” I add, releasing him.