Knuckles Angry Novels & Stories

With a roar, he reached for the bar table and flipped it over, sending it crashing into the wall. Hundreds of glass shards flew everywhere. His hands clenched into fists,and he punched the wall again, harder than before. His skin over his knuckles tore, but that wasn’t enough. He was panting, fighting for breath, fighting against the monster that wanted to be unleashed. The sudden rush was of realization made his head spin. His lungs constricted. “Fuck!” he bellowed. He had a tape tied around his knuckles they were bleeding, he felt sweat running down his face, but he never cared, he continued his brutal assault until the door bursted open and there stood Angelina.

Bonus Chapter I leave him to let my anger out and abused my punching bag, it was still early in the morning but I was awakened from the cold, while the sugar baby was still asleep hogging the covers and vanishing under them. My knuckles hurt when I remembered about his bruises. I need to let my anger under control, it was exactly why I leave my old life. Beating a person and sending him to his death is not good, even if he's the bad guy. I keep repeating the words while punching the sack until my knuckles throbbed.

Ryan was finished, but as I felt the burning ache in my bloody knuckles, a horrible realization hit me. My anger was getting harder to control. And if I didn't find a way to lock it down, this fucking anger was going to take down my entire future right along with him.

This was more than just a fight; it was a testament to my will, a defiance of my own weaknesses. But there was no room for doubt in the ring. I transformed it into a seething, white-hot anger. "Fuck you!" I bellowed, channeling all my pain and fury into my attack. I drove my knee into his stomach with all the strength I could muster. The impact was solid, and I heard the wind rush out of him, a guttural gasp that was music to my ears. He doubled over before reluctantly giving up and quickly leaving the ring.

They were drinking and joking while my child lay hurt. I gritted my teeth again, the ringing loud, the voices clear. Hot rage seared through me; the heat in my veins matched the thunder of my pulse at my throat, and I forced myself to breathe. I counted again, one to sixty. It didn’t work. I clenched my fist so hard until they drew blood, it didn’t work. My hands shook and counting did nothing to calm me. The anger burned like fire and the pain in my knuckles was small compared to what I felt inside.

“Relax, Zack. We’re all here for business.” But his tone and actions told a different story. It was clear he was trying to provoke Zack, to get under his skin. The tension in the room escalated, a heavy silence falling over us as Zack’s anger became palpable. His fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white. I could feel the heat of his rage radiating off him, a stark contrast to the cool professionalism he usually exuded.

My head rings, and my vision blurs from the strike. My ears ring as I fumble on the ground. What the hell? His hits are hard, too hard. I look at his gloves and notice the tape around his knuckles outlining more than knuckles. Faint gold shining through split tape I realize why he's hitting with such force. He has fucking brass knuckles on! "Hey!" I yell at the guy standing outside the ring, trying to inform him of the knuckles. I run to the other side of the ring, wiping and smearing blood from my eye from my face.

Zane's eyes were turning a dark shade of purple. His lip was busted. “Screw you! Screw you Zane! Keep my wife out of your filthy mouth!” he barked. Zane retaliated landing a blow to Kane's stomach. Kane retched. He grabbed his stomach. The bastard had slipped on knuckle rings. “You're not the only one that can throw a punch bro.” Kane braced himself. Ignoring the pain in his gut. Knuckle ring or not, he was sending this guy to an early grave today.

I know this is not really appropriate, but I have a stressful job and a need to kill, so this way, I can release my anger in a healthy way. I can feel the stinging on my hands as my skin rips while I punch the bag. Not my smartest move, I know. It doesn’t look very well for a lawyer to have their knuckles bloodied and cut. But it was either my knuckles or Cornelius's face.

Her breath hitched, anger flooding through her veins. “This fucking bastard,” she hissed, her knuckles turning white as she clenched the fabric in her hand.