❄︎ Viktor ❄︎
Sweat dripped down my skin, coaxed out from the force of my hits on the punching bag.
Adrian stood off to the side, holding a cigar inches away from his lips as though he’d forgotten it was for smoking. He watched, punch after punch, as my fists connected.
“You should stop before you kill him,” he commented after a few more beats.
I’d heard him, but my rage hadn’t been sated enough. With an uppercut and roundhouse kick, I finally stopped and stepped away from the man trapped inside the punching bag.
“Dead men are no fun.”
I looked up at Adrian, who handed me a bottle of water.
“Breathing, scheming ones are, definitely.” I agreed.
I spared a glance at my watch to check how long I’d been working out. Over two hours, too long to be kissing my fists. Now I was truly concer
