Prologue
I saw the smirk before I heard the words. Something about Sierra—cheap, rehearsed, meant to sting. It didn’t. But I’ve never been good at resisting the pull of a fight. He’d been staring at me all game—taunting, daring, waiting. And when he passed me, mouth curled like he’d already won, something twisted inside me.
The first punch split skin. The second cracked bone. The third—pure spite.
I didn’t stop until hands dragged me back, nails biting into my arms, voices rising in a tangle of panic and fury. Almost loud enough to drown out the throb in my knuckles. Coach was in my face, red and raging, but I couldn’t hear a damn thing. Just the ringing in my ears and the taste of blood curling into a smile.
I should’ve felt guilty. Regret. Something.
But all I felt was the sick, hollow satisfaction of watching someone fall.
The rush.
The control.
The power—it was intoxicating....
Soon... I’d learn what it meant to live without it.
