After He Chose My Adopted Sister, I Bought A Wilder Beast

It was the first time I'd heard Lucas speak. His voice was extremely hoarse, with a rough, gravelly texture.

"I need a release," I said, looking him straight in the eye.

His arms, hanging at his sides, tensed. "Don't..."

"Hmm?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. He let out another low grunt. "This isn't how you get a release."

"You're my first, so you'll have to endure it," I ordered.

I shoved him onto the large double bed. Leaning down, I kissed my way down his chest, following the path of a knife scar.

Lucas still had that rough mask on his face, his hands locked tight in the cuffs. He lay there stiffly, completely at my mercy.

His muscles stayed rigid, clearly unsure of what to do. At the crucial moment, he suddenly raised his cuffed hands, stopping me at the waist. "Are you sure?"

Hearing his deeply restrained, ragged breaths only made me more impatient.

"I'm just a stray from the fighting pits," he said, his voice dropping even lower as he looked at me.

My answer was a fervent movement that left no room for refusal.

He let out a soft moan and closed his eyes, his thick lashes the only thing that trembled.

The next morning, harsh sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, falling directly on the rumpled sheets.

The night had been exquisite, and I was half dead from exhaustion.

I was nestled against Lucas's solid chest, my whole body aching.

My phone started vibrating like crazy. I fumbled for it under the pillow.

It was my best friend. "Where are you? Kevin got a little hurt last night protecting Eva, and everyone in the family is looking for you."

I replied, "No time. I bought a new bodyguard, or maybe a plaything, at the fight club last night. I'm busy blowing off steam."

My friend immediately sent back a giant "?", followed by a barrage of messages.

"Alessia, have you lost your mind?"

"I know the ambush hit you hard, and that bastard Kevin chose your sister. You need to vent. But you can't just put a beast from an underground fight club by your side!"

"An untrained fighter like that is the most dangerous kind! If he loses control, you won't be able to stop him. You'll be dead before you know what hit you."

"Don't gamble with your life just because you're pissed at Kevin! Get rid of that thing from God knows where, now!"

I looked at the screen full of warnings and replied, "You're overthinking it. I didn't fight him. Am I the type to vent with violence?"

The typing indicator on her end paused for a long time before a new message popped up: "Then how, exactly, did you blow off steam last night?"

I replied nonchalantly, "Let's just say... the most primal way."

We both fell silent.

The underground fight club was a meat grinder with no rules. It was filled with undocumented people with nowhere else to go and abandoned kids who'd been sold off.

They were thrown into iron cages for the most brutal fights. Only the survivors became tools for deathmatch gambling.

These people were seen as disposable commodities, used to satisfy the sadistic perversions of their buyers.

In everyone's mind, fighters like these were bloodthirsty beasts, impossible to tame, with no morals, let alone loyalty. Once they lost their usefulness, they were secretly executed.

"If you regret it, I know where he lives," a deep voice said from behind me.

I froze for a second, then immediately flipped my phone face down. Turning my head, I met Lucas's dark eyes. He quickly lowered his gaze, avoiding my own.

"The fixer has connections. He won't give you your money back," he said in a low voice. "But if you give the order, I can make this whole transaction disappear."

"I have no regrets."

"As long as you listen to me," I cut him off, "and obey my orders alone."

Lucas let out a soft "Mmm" in response.

His expression didn't change, but his clenched jaw betrayed his feelings. A scar cut through his eyebrow, visible through his messy black hair.

As if possessed, I reached out and traced the scar with my fingertip.

His muscles tensed again. But as he felt the warmth of my finger, he dropped all his defenses and obediently lowered his head.

I sensed his tension and pulled my hand back. To be honest, after the intimacy we'd shared, his defensiveness annoyed me.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "It's a reflex." Sensing my displeasure, he quickly tried to relax his broad shoulders and bowed his head even lower. "You can touch me now."

"Whenever you need to," he added softly.

I had no intention of being polite.

I rolled over and straddled his hard abs, my hands cupping the sides of his neck, my thumb slowly tracing his prominent Adam's apple.

Lucas's breathing suddenly grew heavy, and his body became frighteningly hot. Even hotter than last night...

I felt it. The subtle change in him.

He tilted his head back slightly, his narrow eyes, rimmed with a dark red, fixed on me.

I swallowed. "How about we go for another round?"

...

After leaving the hotel, I didn't go back to the Marino estate.

I took Lucas straight to an underground clinic.

The doctor said that while his wounds looked horrific, none of them were life-threatening. It was the years of deathmatches that had left him in a state of extreme exhaustion, and he needed medical intervention.

When the doctor got to his cuffed wrists, he suddenly paused.

The doctor pointed to the fresh, bloody marks on Lucas's wrists. "Did you try to break out of these again last night?"

He hesitated, then answered in a low voice, "No. It was her... her nails are sharp."

I froze where I was leaning against the sofa.