Lucas swung at him in rage, and Xavier let him. He blocked it with one forearm, threw his elbow into Lucas' ribs, and drove him back against the wall. Lucas fought hard—stronger than Xavier remembered—but Xavier's training with Viola showed. Every block, every counter, every strike landed where it hurt most.
Every punch Xavier delivered carried months of buried frustration. Every kick was payback for the bullying, the humiliation, the verbal abuse Lucas had thrown at him when he was still powerless.
"You remember pushing me down the stairs?" Xavier growled as he slammed Lucas onto a glass table. It shattered under them. "You remember calling me trash? Beating me in the shower? Making everyone laugh at me?"
Lucas spit blood at him and swung again. Xavier caught his wrist, twisted it behind his back, and slammed his face into the floor.
"You're not killing me," Lucas rasped. "You wouldn't dare—"
