Playboy Princes: Royals of Arbon Academy

by Eve, Jaymin

  Easy for her to say. “I’m not sure I can keep my heart separated,” I admitted. “I mean, not that Rafe has indicated I’m anything except an annoying gnat in his life, but…”

  I groaned again. I actually had no idea what I was saying.

  Mattie threw a small cushion at me, shaking her head.

  “You need to get out of your own head, girl.”

  I snorted. “Wish I could.”

  Fuck. I really wished I could.

  * * *

  There was no one on the running track a few days later, and I took full advantage, pushing myself harder and faster than I had in a long time. My muscles enjoyed the stretch and strain, and I was happy to feel some flexibility and strength return after too long without exercise.

  I moved on to the bag next, hitting it hard and fast, taking out my frustration on something that couldn’t fight back. It was less than satisfying.

  When I’d been punching the bag for an hour, muscles fatigued as fuck, my palm reader buzzed. Glancing down, sweat pouring off me, I stopped what I was doing to focus on the message.

  Angel: Fight tonight. 9 P.M. Don’t be late, Cinderella.

  The buzz of adrenaline almost knocked me to my knees. My exhausted knees.

  “Shit,” I muttered. I never would have worked myself so hard if I’d known that fight was tonight, but... it’d be fine. I’d skip out on my afternoon classes, have a nap, and by tonight I’d be good as new.

  I’ll be there.

  I messaged him back, and then I went to get myself ready.

  A shower followed by sleep was the exact ticket I needed, and by the time 8 P.M rocked around, I was more than ready. The purple outfit slid on like a second skin, my mask and wakizashi blade the final touches. I didn't bother to cover my blond hair. I hadn’t last time either, and judging by the way I was being treated by some students and staff, those who knew about the fights knew exactly who Violence was.

  At 8.30 P.M a knock sounded at my door, and I opened it to find three black-clad, mask-wearing, mysterious and sexy dudes standing there.

  I mean, not so mysterious because I would know Jordan, Nolan, and Rafe anywhere. I almost couldn't believe I’d mistaken Rafe for anyone else the first time. Their eyes were each distinct, and I needed to up my observation game if I wanted to stay alive in this new world.

  “Ready?” Nolan asked, sounding uncharacteristically somber. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Jordan nodded at that like he wished I’d reconsider. Neither of them truly understood, and that was okay. I got other things out of my relationships with them. But Rafe, he got it.

  “Don’t baby her. She doesn’t need it, and she could kick both of your asses,” he growled.

  I eyed the impressive physiques of all three and wondered if I could take them all. I wasn’t stupidly overconfident; I knew I had weaknesses that could be manipulated if someone studied my moves, but I was fairly certain not many fighters tonight would have the years of training and discipline I did. And none of them had had my sensei as their teacher. He was always my secret weapon.

  “Let’s do this,” I murmured, stepping out with nothing more than my Violence persona and the key to my door, tucked into a small pocket on the edge of my outfit. Jordan stopped me, though, before I got it properly secured.

  “Let me hold that. I’m not fighting tonight.”

  I shrugged, handing it over. I trusted him, and this was a fairly big step in proving that.

  The four of us walked in silence to a hallway I hadn’t been in before. The panel in this wall was harder to open and took two of them. “That’s why you all picked me up,” I noted as we stepped through.

  Rafe nodded like he was impressed I’d managed to put two and two together to get four. “The location moves every time, and with the new threat level of the resistance being raised to a three, we’re being extra cautious.” He shrugged. “In truth there are so many different passages that it’s nearly impossible for anyone to track this without inside knowledge.”

  “And yet it was tracked last time by the Swiss guards.”

  Rafe made an annoyed sound, sending chills across my skin. He could be scary with the way his chest rumbled and his aura darkened. I’d never met anyone who contained so much dark energy before, and I couldn’t help but think of the way I’d left him in that secret alcove.

  The way he’d brought me to orgasm with barely any effort.

  He hadn’t retaliated, not yet anyway, but I knew he was biding his time. I would pay for what I did, and part of me couldn’t fucking wait to find out what he’d choose to do.

  Yeah, I had issues.

  “Think your guard will give us any trouble tonight?” Jordan asked him, and I forced myself to stop thinking about punishment and focus on the now. I needed to get my head in the game if I wanted to fight.

  “No,” Rafe said shortly. And that was it. He didn’t elaborate and apparently no one else had questions.

  “How do you know?” I snapped back because I wasn’t as good at holding my tongue.

  His steps slowed, and he took a deep breath before facing me. Our gazes held.

  “Because usually when I tell someone to do something, they fucking do it. You’re about the only person who seems to take my orders as suggestions.”

  I stepped into him, and I had no idea why I did that— my feet were moving before my brain caught up. “There was one place I took your orders,” I reminded him, my voice husky.

  The blue of his eyes went midnight dark, and I flinched as his hand bit into my hip. Not in a violent way, nope, it was all sex, and I was so fucking here for it.

  He leaned down into me. “I remember,” he drawled by my ear. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about your little episode, Violence. You and I will be sorting that out later.”

  Thighs clenching, pussy spasming, heart fluttering.

  I was so fucked.

  Swallowing hard, I forced myself to step away from him, laughing lightly. “Do your best,” I taunted before I started along the path again.

  Focus. Focus on the fight.

  Rafe could not distract me, especially not if I was fighting Brandon tonight. I knew it wasn’t locked in yet, but I was holding out hope that someone would make it happen.

  I needed to end that fucker.

  Chapter 19

  It was as crowded in the newly set up fight area as it had been last time. Hundreds of faceless, nameless, black-clad individuals. The four of us had split up before entering, and now I wandered through the crowd, drawing lots of attention and ignoring most of it.

  Being the only purple-clad person in a sea of black pretty much guaranteed I’d stand out. Not to mention I’d near killed my last opponent. And I was a chick.

  The perfect trifecta to give me all the stares.

  “All fighters to the designated area behind the rings,” a voice called over the loudspeakers.

  Pushing through the crowd, I headed in the direction of the multiple fight rings that had been set up. On the way here, the guys had told me that tonight there would be three fights happening simultaneously, followed by the main event—the one that got all the attention.

  No doubt it’d be Fallen Angel again, and I wasn’t even angry about it since he was, without any doubts, the most skilled opponent I’d ever fought against.

  And it hadn’t even been a real fight.

  I couldn’t imagine what it must be like when he completely let loose and gave it his all.

  Part of me wanted to fight him in one of these events, one day, just so I could really test myself. For now, though, I had more pressing matters to worry about.

  Scanning the fighters, it was impossible for me to tell if any of them were Brandon. He had no real standout features; he wasn’t tall and broad-shouldered like Rafe and Jordan, and had no particularly interesting facial features and an eye color that was instantly forgettable.

  I might not even know as I fought my opponent if it was him, and that made this very diffi
cult. I wanted to kill Brandon, legitimately wipe him from the face of the Earth, but I couldn't do that to someone else.

  I had to be sure before I made any serious moves.

  There were twenty of us behind the three fight rings. I caught sight of Rafe because, unlike Brandon, his height alone had him standing out.

  I didn’t go near him, though. I knew better than to out him, and since we were often seen together in real life, it was best that I didn’t act familiar with any of my friends.

  The announcer called up the first six fighters.

  “Dragon versus Blades in ring one,” came the mechanical voice. “Frost Bite and Broken Glass in ring two. And Justice versus Violence in ring three.”

  I didn’t startle at my name. Rafe had whispered to me before I’d stepped into this area that I would be fighting at least twice tonight so I needed to pace myself.

  It was almost nice, a warning of sorts, but I didn’t need it.

  Two fights was nothing.

  I moved toward the ring that had the three marked on the middle of the bouncy floor and launched myself up and over the fence that separated the fighters from the audience. It felt like there were a lot of people crowding close to this area, and I forced myself not to run my hands over my braid to check if it was still in place, a nervous gesture I’d spent years retraining myself to not do. My hair was a sore point for me, though, with my sensei harping daily about how I was giving someone ammunition to use against me. He’d suggested I shave it close to my head for a true monk-like existence.

  I’d declined, vain bitch that I was.

  Justice chose that moment to dive over the side barrier, perfectly rolling across the floor to come up right in my face. The fighter was a good six inches taller than me but seemed slender, like he had long-distance running muscles.

  That didn’t mean he wasn’t strong, and he’d likely hold more endurance than most of the bulkier fighters. I wouldn’t underestimate him.

  No one that fought here was going to be an easy opponent.

  Our fight commentator was making the usual intro bit, but I wasn’t listening. I’d zoned him out completely because nothing he could say would help me win. Nope, I was laser-focused on my opponent. Justice.

  He held himself well, loose and ready, showing his training. I took all the time I could, slowly drawing my blade while scanning him for weaknesses.

  “Tanto, right?” Justice commented, nodding to my blade. I was actually kind of surprised he knew what that was. He was wrong; my baby was actually a wakizashi with a twelve inch blade, but he was close. “You know how to use that, little girl?”

  Oh, that was a shame. Just when I’d gained the slightest bit of respect for my opponent, he went and ruined it with some misogynistic bullshit.

  “Guess you’re about to find out,” I murmured, giving a small shrug. I didn’t move around like lots of fighters did to warm up or cover nervous jitters. I found that the less I moved around, the more it unnerved people. Going against the norm always seemed to have that effect… even outside the fight rings.

  Justice smirked as he reached out to one of his friends and took a slightly longer blade from him. It was nothing special. Just a knife. A long, sharp knife, but that was it. Based on the dull gleam off of it, it didn’t even look to be high quality.

  From the corner of my eye, I caught Rafe’s distinctive frame hovering near the edge of my fight ring. Two steps to his left… yep, there was Jordan. I’d know those eyes freaking anywhere.

  Justice lunged at me, swiping with his big-ass knife. My reaction time was quick, but I was still only human. He’d caught me off-guard and nicked the flesh of my upper arm, drawing blood.

  “Motherfucker,” I cursed, spinning out of the way and mentally berating myself. Stupid-ass hormones had just nearly gotten me killed. Maybe it was a bad idea to fight with those two watching me.

  “Pay attention, sweetheart,” Justice mocked, twirling his weapon around in a showy, arrogant move. “This is supposed to be a warm-up for my next fight. So don’t make it too easy, yeah?”

  Anger burned through my veins, but I wasn’t stupid enough to let that emotion rule me. Our fight had begun, and in this place there was no room for any emotions. At all. Internally I was a cool, calm void.

  A deep breath filled my lungs, and as I exhaled, I moved.

  Spin, cut, step, dodge, strike, breathe. Repeat.

  The movements came like second nature to me, and before I’d even broken a real sweat, Justice was flat on his back with my boot on his chest and my blade pressed to his throat.

  “Yield,” he squeaked, displaying his hands in a clear sign of surrender.

  Frowning, I blinked a few times to bring my awareness back to the present. Justice’s crappy knife was several feet away, and blood dripped down his face from a vicious gash in his forehead. My elbow ached a little, and I found a vague recollection of striking him with it in lieu of slitting his throat.

  I didn’t move. Not for a second. Not until the fight commentator got in my face and declared me the winner.

  As I sheathed my wakizashi and exited the ring, I rolled my shoulders, muscles moving easily. Justice was right; that had been a good warm-up.

  Now I was ready to kill a girl-bashing bully.

  * * *

  The next round of fights was announced just minutes later, and my name wasn’t called. But that was actually a blessing because when the commentator announced the names for ring two, I grinned.

  “Subtlety isn’t his forte,” Jordan murmured in my ear, having appeared from the depths of the crowd with some impressive stealth.

  I snorted a laugh. “No. I never would have guessed that Brandon Morgan—son of Dean Morgan—would call himself The Dean. Arrogant fuck.”

  “Arrogant, rash, sloppy… you’ll see.” He rested his hand on the small of my back, and I resisted the urge to lean into him.

  He steered me closer to the ring I’d recently vacated, and we positioned ourselves in the shadows to watch the fight. It was like a preview of what I was about to face… if my guys had managed to come through and match us up.

  Fuck, I hoped they had; I was basically drooling at the idea of drawing that prick’s blood.

  The fight started, and I had a worrying thought. “What happens if he loses this round?” I asked Jordan, shooting him a quick look before returning my attention to the ring. Brandon had just taken a hard hit to the jaw, which made me equal parts satisfied to see him beaten and concerned this would cheat me of my own chance.

  Jordan paused before responding, long enough that I knew what he was going to say. “If he loses, you won’t fight him next round. Losers don’t fight again in the same event; it’s just bad business.” He sighed, his sharp gaze traveling across the excited, cheering crowd in the underground arena. “And there’s a whole lot of money changing hands on these fights.”

  Huh. That hadn’t even occurred to me. Back home, people only placed bets on the main-event fighters, and even then it wasn’t major money. No one had enough to spare.

  “Did people bet on my fight?” I asked, curious. Brandon’s opponent slashed at him with a set of Bagh Nakh—also known as Tiger Claws—and my nemesis narrowly escaped being gutted.

  Jordan’s fingertips skated down my spine, and I shivered. “Of course they did, gorgeous,” he replied with a small laugh. “Even with the display you put on at the last fight, I still tripled my money tonight.”

  My jaw dropped, and I tore my attention from Brandon’s fight long enough to gape at Jordan. “You bet on me?”

  His lips curved up in a smug smile. “Vi, I’ll always bet on you.”

  He held my gaze for a long moment, broken only when the crowd erupted and someone bumped into us.

  “Cut it out, you two,” Rafe snarled. “Practice a little bit of tact while we’re all supposed to be incognito.”

  I rolled my eyes, but he melted back into the crowd before I could snap back at him. Much as I hated it, he was right. I shot Jordan
a regretful look, then created a bit of distance between us.

  “And the winner is…” the commentator started, and my breath caught in my throat. I’d stopped watching Brandon’s fight, and now my view was obscured by a group of huge-ass men. Fuck, fuck. Who had won?

  “...The Dean. Who the fuck saw that coming?” This last part was muttered, but I’d shifted close enough to hear him, and I snickered a laugh.

  “Did you see that?” Nolan asked, sidling up to me. I shook my head, and he grimaced. “Dickhead won by dirty tactics. Someone ‘accidentally’ threw a glass bottle into the ring. Bengal tripped on it, and Brandon used the advantage to checkmate him.”

  Whoa. Brandon cheated? Why was that not surprising at all?

  “Watch out for stray trip hazards then?” I replied with a sigh. “Got it.”

  Nolan jerked a nod. “Five minutes until next round. You ready?” I nodded. “You need anything?” I shook my head. “Alright, stay limber and for the love of all that’s holy, make that bastard bleed.” He paused, giving me a feral kind of smirk. “Otherwise we’ll have to intervene on your behalf.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” I growled, jabbing him in the ribs with my elbow. “Revenge is mine. You start thinking about how we can get Claudette in the ring for next fight night.”

  Nolan laughed. “Yeah, sure. Claudette risking a broken nail. Let me get to work on finding a unicorn to shit out rainbow ice cream while I’m at it.”

  He snickered at his own joke as he merged back into the crowd and left me alone once more. They were seriously good at doing that, which made me wonder how long they’d been attending these clandestine fights. Also made me wonder just how deeply they were involved, given how easily Rafe had managed to get me on the bill.

  “Okay folks, are we all ready for round three?” The main commentator bellowed his words into a microphone like he was some kind of performer. Hell, maybe he was. With everyone disguised to varying extents, the commentator could well be a celebrity or a royal himself.