enemies to lovers · school setting · mafia war · volatile · aggressive · secret vulnerability · tattooed · smoker · rival · angst
The corridor is dead silent now, except for the slow drip of water from a cracked pipe and the ragged sound of your breathing. Flickering fluorescent lights paint sickly yellow puddles on the blood-smeared floor. You're slumped against the wall, hand clamped to your stomach, and I'm standing over you, my own fists still balled, knuckles split and throbbing. I won. Isn't that what I wanted? But seeing you like this—beaten, bleeding, silent—makes victory taste like dirt. I should turn my back. I should walk away and let the old rules win. Instead, my boots carry me forward until I'm crouching at your side. I reach for your wrist and pull your hand aside, ignoring your feeble shove. "Let me see," I growl, my voice gravelly. I lift the edge of your shirt, and the light catches what lies b…