10. HE IS OVER MY HEAD.

Castle.

“Castle,” Adriana’s voice snapped into my ears, harsh and shrill even before the door of the house closed behind me.

I had ignored her call and drove straight to my club, diving into both the corporate side of my business and the shady side, before taking a quick detour to the gym.

And now, hours later, I'm returning home to take a quick shower before heading out again. I had a meeting with a potential wine supplier at my club tonight, and I felt gross from my sweaty skin.

Shrugging off my leather jacket, I threw it on the settee before making my way up the stairs, ignoring Adriana.

But just like I expected, she followed behind.

“Castle…”

I entered my room, but before I had the opportunity to slam the door in her face, she slid into the room with me.

“What do you want?” I asked nonchalantly, peeling off my tank top, not wanting to show how much she irritated me.

I looked up as I spoke and saw her glossy lips pressed into a tight line.

“Where the hell did you go last night?”

An unbidden image of Angel lying naked forced its way into my mind, and I clenched my jaw.

“Business,” I replied calmly, keeping my expression neutral, but the lie tasted bitter in my mouth.

She laughed. “Business… of course.”

Her eyes narrowed as she continued. “Funny how your business had a nice ass in a suit and a damn mask.”

She was angry and I understood why, so I stayed silent. Because she wasn’t wrong.

“You left me, Castle. At a charity ball we showed up to as a couple. What was I supposed to tell the people asking about you? Who did you think would play the host when you left without warning anyone?”

“You handled it,” I said quietly.

Adriana took a deep breath, her chest rising like a warning. “Do you even care about how you made me feel?”

I met her eyes and replied honestly. “No.”

She swallowed. And for a moment, she seemed so small, so hurt that I almost berated myself. Emphasis on almost.

But then I remembered that this was Adriana, and she wasn't as innocent as she likes making people believe… me inclusive.

She took a step forward.

“Please, tell me last night was a one-time thing. Tell me the ball pressured you into making some mistake and I'll believe you.”

Shaking my head, I sighed.

“Adriana, just stop. Please. You'll only hurt yourself.”

That silenced her for a moment. And then she said, “You know what the worst part is?”

I tilted my head. “Enlighten me.”

“The worst part is that you don't care about me at all, even though I'm carrying your baby and your heir.”

She paused dramatically, eyeing my expression. I don't know when a long laugh escaped my lips.

“You're what now?” I quirked my eyebrows, challenging her to repeat her statement.

“I'm pregnant, Castle. With your baby.”

The audacity! She really thought this would work?

I smirked and nodded, allowing her to assume that I believed her but I didn't. Although I knew all about her indiscretions, I had never mentioned them because I wasn't interested in her that way.

But for now, I'll play along.

“And what do you want me to do?” I asked, turning to grab a towel. I was this close to dismissing her.

Turning back around, I saw her eyes linger on my chest before she swallowed hard and looked away.

“I’m not going to be humiliated by you, Castle. I won’t be one of those women,” she stated.

I looked at her long and hard, a cold smirk making its way to my lips.

“You already are,” I said, colder than I intended and then I stepped into my bathroom and closed the glass door, effectively shutting her out.

But as the water cascaded down my skin, I could feel my agitation underneath. I needed to make someone bleed, that's the only way to shut it all off.

And I knew exactly where to go.

***

The crowd was already howling by the time I stepped into the cage—the scent of blood, sweat, and smoke thick in the air.

The underground ring was hidden deep beneath the ruins of a warehouse in Red Hook. There were no lights except the bare bulbs strung above the cage, and no rules except one: survive.

I rolled my shoulders as I stepped inside, the metal door clanging shut behind me. My boots echoed across the concrete as I shrugged off my hoodie, revealing my bare torso—scars, ink, and muscle layered like armor.

Across the cage, a thick slab of meat named Mando cracked his knuckles. He was at least six-five, and built like a truck. Judging from the grin he was flashing me, he thought this would be easy. That meant only one thing—he's new around these parts.

Good.

The bell clanged and the crowd erupted, and I launched.

A left jab, clean and sharp, sliced across Mando's cheek. He stumbled but recovered fast, and swung at my ribs. I let him connect—just enough for him to feel confident.

Then I twisted, and slammed my fist into his side. Once. Twice. A third time for good measure. He grunted and backpedaled, his eyes wide now.

There it is. Fear.

I smirked, spitting blood onto the floor.

“Come on,” I growled. “Thought you wanted a fight.”

Mando charged. I ducked the swing and nailed him in the kidney, then gave his jaw an uppercut, hard enough to make his teeth rattle and he crashed against the cage.

The crowd was chanting my name now—“Castle! Castle!”—but I tuned them out.

This isn’t for them, it's for me.

I'd been coming out here ever since I was eighteen. After the death of my mum—the one good thing I had in my life—this acted as a good outlet for all my rage and bitterness.

I threw another punch but just before my fist landed, he flashed through my mind.

Angel.

The soft fall of his lashes.

The way his eyes appear hooded when he's turned on.

The sound of his voice, low and dangerous when he said—

“Open up for me, baby boy.”

Fuck.

My hesitation lasted half a second but it was enough.

Mando’s right hook came out of nowhere and cracked across my jaw like thunder. My vision tilted and before I could comprehend what was going on, I was slammed back against the cage.

The pain sliced through my entire body, and just like that, the rage returned.

I saw red as I lunged forward like a beast, my fists flying—one, two, three, four—each strike punishing and deliberate.

His nose burst open and his lip split, causing blood to coat my knuckles. But I didn't stop.

I slammed him to the floor and straddled him, throwing another hit, and another, until someone yelled for the bell.

Mando’s form was limp beneath me when I got up, my chest heaving as blood dripped from my hands.

Yet all I could think about was him.

It was just one night. One damn night, and Angel Di Cristina is in my head like a goddamn ghost.

I stalked off the floor without waiting for the payout. Tomas tossed me a towel, and I wiped the blood off my face in silence.

“You good?” he asked.

I didn’t answer because no, I wasn't good.

I showered in the grungy locker room, fast and cold, scrubbing the fight off my skin but not the frustration burning in my veins.

By the time I slid into my leather jacket and threw a leg over my Ducati, my jaw still ached from Mando’s hit, and my head was still full of Angel’s voice.

I twisted the throttle and drove into the night, feeling the engine roar under me.

I had a meeting to get to and a wine supplier to charm. And maybe—if I was lucky—some peace to fucking mind. But I doubt it.

There's no peace for me. Not with those damn gray eyes haunting me.

*****