My Family Wanted a Sacrificial Bride, They Got a Boxing Queen Chapter 04

My Family Wanted a Sacrificial Bride, They Got a Boxing Queen Chapter 04

Jett’s hand, stinking of booze, was less than two inches from my face.

I glanced down at the razor-sharp stiletto heels on my feet, and Knox’s voice surfaced in my mind—the way he used to knock my hands down with a focus mitt.

“Vesper, we train to fight, and that means discipline. Don’t start trouble. Don’t bully the weak.”

Right. Discipline.

I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. I’d give him three more seconds.

Jett’s hand was barely an inch from my face.

Knox, I’m sorry, but that whole discipline thing? I’m putting it on hold.

The crack of splintering wood echoed through the banquet hall as my stiletto heel punched straight through the yacht’s hardwood deck.

Jett froze.

I opened my eyes, and what he saw staring back at him was pure, unfiltered predator.

I seized his outstretched wrist and bent it backward. His shriek shredded the air, and I flung him aside with disgust, stripped off my restrictive suit jacket, and kicked off my heels.

Underneath my trousers, the MMA wraps I always wore for heavy leg work were wound tight around my shins.

Before Jett could process what was happening, I dropped my shoulder, grabbed his collar and belt, and executed a textbook throw that sent his hundred-and-seventy-pound body sailing through the air.

He crashed directly into the seven-tier champagne tower, glass exploded, champagne flooded the floor, and Jett twitched twice in the wreckage before going completely limp.

Two seconds of dead silence passed before the room erupted in shrieking.

“Vesper! Have you lost your damn mind?”

Reginald’s face had gone gray, and his finger shook like a tuning fork as he pointed at me.

“This is Thorne territory! You’re going to get our whole family killed!”

Cleo was cowering in the corner, her hands clamped over her mouth. Shock was written all over her face, but there was something else in her eyes—something that looked almost like awe.

I rolled my shoulders, and my neck cracked with a satisfying pop.

“Why are you screaming?”

I shot Reginald a cold smirk.

“I thought the Thornes liked violence. I’m just demonstrating my core competencies.”

“Is that so?”

A low, rough voice cut through the chaos from the main entrance.

The heavy doors burst open as two columns of black-suited security shoved them apart, and the crowd scattered like they’d seen the grim reaper himself.

Magnus Thorne—the heir with a reputation for psychotic violence and unpredictable cruelty—walked through the wreckage.

He stood close to six-three, his face all hard angles and barely restrained menace. As he moved, he shrugged off his tailored suit jacket and tossed it to a bodyguard, and his fingers unhurriedly rolled up his sleeves.

Even through the fabric of his shirt, the terrifying density of his musculature was unmistakable—the coiled power, the sheer lethal presence.

He carried himself with a lethal weight that pressed down on the room, suffocating every breath.

Reginald collapsed to his knees, his soul practically leaving his body. Cleo squeezed her eyes shut because she couldn’t bear to watch what came next.

Magnus stopped three paces from me, and his eyes locked onto my face.

Everyone in that room knew it was over. Vesper Kane was a dead woman.

I didn’t retreat a single step. My blood was on fire.

I licked the corner of my mouth, and right in front of him, I tore off my silk tie and ripped the hem of my shirt.

I wrapped the strips around my knuckles to form makeshift hand wraps, and my eyes swept over his stance and core like a targeting system.

“Your base is solid. You’ve trained.”

I tapped my wrapped fists together and gave Magnus the cockiest grin I had.

“So what’s it gonna be, Mr. Thorne? UFC rules tonight, or no-holds-barred?”

“One more thing. If I beat you to death, is my family off the hook?”