CHAPTER 46
**ZION**
The Pit buzzes with electricity, the raw, gritty atmosphere almost tangible in the air. This old warehouse has been transformed into an underground fight club, its concrete walls adorned with graffiti, dim, flickering lights casting long shadows.
The smell of sweat, adrenaline, and anticipation hangs heavy as the crowd presses in closer, forming a tight circle around the makeshift ring.
I stand in the center of the ring, my expression fierce and unwavering. My jaw is set, eyes locked onto Ethan standing opposite me. The harsh light accentuates the tension in my muscles, my clenched fists ready for the fight.
The crowd is loud and chaotic, a mix of shouts and cheers filling the air. People are eagerly placing bets, each person’s voice adding to the noise. The energy in the room is electric, with everyone focused on the fight and the stakes rising as the anticipation builds.
Ronald, standing by my side with a worried expression, says, “What’s going on with you, Zion? Why are you so worked up over Ethan and Winter? It’s just some girl. What's so special about her. You’ve never acted like this before. Why is this making you lose your shit?”
I barely register Ronald’s words, my mind singularly focused on Ethan. All I can think about is the way Ethan’s hands were all over Winter, touching her skin, holding her. The image of his fingers tracing her arm, his hand on the small of her back, her smile as she looked up at him—it all fuels the fire burning inside me.
My rage is a roaring inferno, and I don’t care about anything else right now—just the overwhelming need to make Ethan pay.
Ethan stands across the ring, his smirk taunting me. He doesn’t seem to grasp just how intense I can be, especially where Winter is involved. His cocky attitude only fuels my anger, and I’m burning with a fierce determination to show him how ruthless I can be. He’s about to learn the hard way that crossing me over Winter is a mistake he’ll regret.
The crowd roars, placing their bets, their voices melding into a frenzied chant of names and odds. The air crackles with anticipation, the atmosphere charged with the primal energy of impending violence.
The referee steps back, signaling the start of the fight, and my focus sharpens. I ignore the cacophony around me, every fiber of my being honed in on Ethan.
The crowd’s roar crescendos as I explode into action, driven by the overwhelming need to make Ethan pay for every moment he touched Winter. The memory of his hands on her fuels my fury as I launch myself at him.
The bell sounds, and I charge, the pounding of my heart drowning out everything else. My first punch lands squarely on Ethan’s jaw, jolting his head back and drawing a collective cheer from the audience. I immediately follow up with a sharp jab to his ribs, relishing the satisfying crunch as he stumbles.
Ethan quickly shakes off the impact, his smirk remaining firmly in place. “You know, Zion,” he sneers through clenched teeth, “I get why you’re so protective of your sister. But come on, who wouldn’t want a shot at her? That ass of hers is irresistible. I’m looking forward to feeling it again.”
His words are a knife twisting in my gut.
"She's not my fucking sister!" I scream
I channel my anger into my next punch, aiming for his face.
He dodges and lands a punch to my side, the pain sharp but manageable. I roar, fueling my rage. I’m not just fighting Ethan; I’m fighting for Winter, for every touch he dared to lay on her.
We circle each other, exchanging blows. Ethan’s hands are quick, landing a couple of sharp jabs to my torso.
“I can still feel her body under my fingers as I felt her up and I bet she loved every second of it. Can’t wait to feel those curves again.”
The crowd’s faces blur into a mass of energy that fuels my aggression. I seize Ethan’s arm and wrench it sharply behind his back, feeling him gasp as I twist.
“How about this?” I snarl, delivering a brutal right hook that sends him crashing to the ground. “Think you’ll be able to lay a hand on her with a broken arm?”
Ethan twists free, shaking off the hold on his arm and smirking. “Keep dreaming, Royal. Not only will I be touching her with my hands, but I'll have her beneath me soon enough, my cock inside het. Your anger just makes her all the more enticing.”
I’m consumed by a volcanic fury. Every punch, every kick I throw is fueled by the images of Ethan fucking Winter.
I deliver a crushing blow to his ribs, feeling a crack under my knuckles. He stumbles, but his eyes are still defiant, his mocking smile a constant irritation.
“You think you can claim her after this?” I roar, landing a devastating uppercut that knocks him to the ground. “You’re going to regret every word you said about her!”
Ethan struggles to get up, his breath ragged.
“I’m just getting started,” he says, trying to stand. “You’ll have to do better than this to keep her.”
My rage is a white-hot blaze. I charge at him, throwing a flurry of punches and kicks. Every blow is fueled by the need to protect Winter from his arrogance and disrespect. I feel my energy waning, but I push through, driven by the desire to make him pay for every touch, every word.
As the fight drags on, Ethan’s mocking tone starts to fade, replaced by the sounds of him struggling to keep up. My fists are relentless, each strike a message: Winter is not up for grabs, and I won’t stop until he knows it.
Ethan’s fist slammed into my cheek, and I welcomed the pain, roaring like a feral beast as I launched myself at him with savage intensity. Victory was certain—I knew it as well as he did.
I raised my hand, ready to deliver the final, knockout blow. But then, I noticed movement in my peripheral vision. Ethan took a moment to gather himself, and suddenly, everything came crashing down around me.
Snowflake.
What the fuck was she doing here!
Un-fucking-believable.
Fueled by rage and the need to end this fight, I delivered one final, powerful blow. Ethan crumpled to the ground, his body sprawled and motionless.
The crowd’s roar is deafening, but all I can hear is the pounding of my own heart. I stand over Ethan, breathing heavily, knowing I’ve made my point.
My eyes lock onto Winter.
She stands there, hand on her chest, staring back at me.
You’re in fucking trouble, Snowflake.
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