Knuckles Angry Novels & Stories

My foot connects with his chin, forcing his head backward with such force I’m surprised his neck didn’t snap. “And now you’re going to pay for fucking with us,” I hiss as I crack my knuckles. “Angelo is going to think twice about attacking us again.”

I hesitate for a moment, but I think to myself, maybe I need to release all my anger on the person who caused it. “You’re right. I will fight you.” With that, I strike immediately, throwing a hard jab straight at his face. Rhience shifts just enough for my fist to graze past his cheek. The force of the missed blow sends a sharp sting through my knuckles, but I don’t stop. I follow with a rapid series of punches, pouring every ounce of my anger into each one.

(From Chapter 3 to 4) The man from the bar had bloody knuckles. And it made Angel feel somewhat guilty. ‘Maybe he got hurt fighting those men in suits,’ he thought. But the truth was, the bloody knuckles had been there long before they met. Always split and raw—from punching walls. Punching away the guilt that was eating at the stranger. Angel just hadn’t noticed. Because he was busy thinking of ways to lose his tail—the Luchese mafia family.

I would get…well, crushed. "Not too bad, little girl." He snarled, fueling my fire. He smiled when he saw my anger rise even more. I didn't want the anger to encourage stupid decisions, but as it had consumed my body, I had no choice. I swung my right hook carelessly at his temple, desperate to end this early to avoid any further damage to my body and to prove myself. The lazy move left me wide open, and as he dodged my fist, he landed a blow to my ribs. I stumbled backward in searing pain, positive one had cracked.

Valentine I swore to the seven heavens that I won't let my anger take control of me ever again, and yet here I am completely acting as simple as a marionette manipulated by my puppeteer, anger. My initial blow momentarily knocked Lance out of balance, but he was able to get back up quicker than I initially thought ultimately dodging my second punch as he managed to land his fist on my left cheek. It did hurt, but unfortunately, it wasn't that strong enough to knock me out of balance as I was quick to grab his one arm and land a punch on his stomach, twice. Yhannie and Dominic were both panicking and screaming at us, but all I can hear was just a clanging noise. Anger had utterly taken over m

had taken his life away. I saw Uncle Luca’s cunning smile turn into a grotesque mask of betrayal. My hands shook with anger and frustration as I struggled to maintain control. The truth weighed heavily on me, and the warehouse felt like it was closing in, threatening to suffocate me. My fists clenched, and I could feel the heat rising in my chest. I wanted nothing more than to unleash my anger on him. But I knew I couldn’t. Not yet.

Hell, I’ve seen that fury come to life firsthand a few times; the anger he plays with building and building inside him until there’s no room left. And then he snaps. Just like right now. My hand wraps around his wrist, and I try to break free of his hold. It’s no use, so I just dig my fingers into the tendons there and glare at him. “What the hell’s your problem?” His forearm presses against my sternum as he crowds me more, ice-blue mismatched eyes full of unchecked rage. “You’re my fucking problem. Hockey’s little golden boy, coming out here with your good game tonight, acting like you own the sport.”

His voice is raw. I don’t let go of his wrist. A visible dent now mars the locker door, the metal warped where his fists connected. He tries to pull away, but I hold firm, gently turning his hand over. His knuckles are split and already swelling. He flicks his wrist instinctively and winces, pain flashing across his features. “Stop,” I whisper, throat burning. “You’re going to hurt yourself worse. Please.” He’s breathing hard, jaw clenched so tight I’m scared it might shatter. The anger rolling off him is palpable. He’s angry at himself, I can tell. But underneath it is that deep rage toward the man sitting out in the stands.

A space sacred to me alone. Anger sizzled in my depths as I growled loudly. The frustration I had had for the past few weeks suddenly had no place to stay within me anymore. I clenched my fist and began punching a hole in the wall, not minding the painful shivers it sent down my spine. There was an evident trace of silver in the wall, seeing how it bit deep into my knuckles. It went on for a few minutes until I had enough of it.

How do I conceal the wounds on my knuckles? “I'm waiting or else I'll have them bring down this door.” I open the door and resume back to my initial position. “I said I was fine man. You didn't have to come check on me.” “For starters, you don't look fine and secondly, everyone is worried sick about you. They’ve all been calling you but it's been going into voicemail. “I turned it off.” “You don't look good at all.” “I'm not.” “Jeez, your knuckles are all damaged!” Tony scolds