Playboy Princes: Royals of Arbon Academy

by Eve, Jaymin

  Excitement warmed my belly, and I rolled my shoulders in preparation. A small part of me worried that maybe the guys hadn’t made it work, maybe I’d end up fighting some other arrogant dick with sloppy footwork and heavy fists.

  But then… “Violence versus The Dean!”

  Fuck yeah.

  Wait, which ring?

  Chapter 20

  As it turned out, I didn’t need to worry. Enough people either stepped out of my way or nudged me in the right direction. In fairness, my violet-colored Violence costume really did make me stand out a bit.

  “You can’t be serious,” Brandon—ahem, sorry, The Dean—sneered when I stepped into the ring with him. “I’m not fighting a girl. What kind of joke is this?” He looked around, condescending laughter radiating from his whole form. Fucking hell, even with the mask and black outfit, even without the stupid, obvious persona, it would’ve been dead clear that this was Brandon Morgan. He just oozed a special sort of assholery.

  “Are you questioning this ancient organization?” the announcer asked, sounding legitimately surprised. “You know the rules. No one requests or denies an opponent. You fight or you forfeit, and if you forfeit, your name is blacklisted and you never fight again.”

  No one could see his face, but Brandon’s eyes narrowed at that. It was abundantly clear he didn’t like having that sort of ultimatum thrown in his face.

  “Are we good to go ahead?” the announcer pushed.

  Brandon nodded once, his fists clenching at the same time, before he forced himself to relax. From one of his loser friends on the sideline, he grabbed a pair of short blades, the sort that you fought with one in each hand. He wouldn’t have the reach of my baby, but double the blade was always something to keep an eye on.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered.

  I didn’t reply. I didn’t move or twitch. My wakizashi was in my hands, and that was the only sign I gave that I was even remotely ready for this fight.

  I’d waited a long time to match up with this asshole. An asshole I’d had to let beat me. Who’d filmed his cruel brutality and shared it around.

  An asshole I was going to destroy.

  He lunged at me first, driven by his need to take control. His ego required that of him. Of course I’d expected it, so I was ready this time. Ducking low and to the left, I slid past both of his blades, angling my body to cruise right between them and come up behind him.

  The first slice of my blade hit something hard on his shirt, flinging it back at me. I was close enough to see that this fucking piece of shit had sewn some sort of micro-fine Kevlar into his outfit, one that was impervious to even the unmatched sharpness of my wakizashi.

  “Take any opportunity to cheat, why don’t you,” I murmured.

  They had quite a few rules here, and one was that your clothing couldn’t protect you any more than your opponent’s. If he had Kevlar, so should I. But Brandon’s was so well designed that it was nearly impossible to tell. Thankfully, I spotted a few flaws. A few places where the fabric moved differently.

  He was already swinging again, and I was reluctantly impressed with his skills. He knew his way around those blades, but his cocky confidence was going to be his downfall.

  My wakizashi swished with a flash of silver, clashing against his, and I felt his flinch at the bite I took from his right blade. Yep, his Kevlar might be state-of-the-fucking-art, but my sword had been gifted through a long line of warriors. It never dulled and was made from Damascus steel, forged in a way that was so rarely done, there were only five of these swords in the world. If I had enough time and power in my swing, I had no doubt I’d even take out his body armor. Thankfully, I didn’t need to.

  Stepping into him, my sword pushing both of his back, I pivoted, dropping to my knees. I ran my wakizashi down his right side, aiming for every vulnerable point he hadn’t armored.

  Brandon cried out, dropping his right-handed blade before he tried to swing at me with the other. I was on the ground though, out of his reach and rolling to a safe distance before I bounced to my feet.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he snarled.

  Clearly, he was the only dumbass who hadn’t put it together to know I was Violet, and I had a sneaking suspicion it was because he thought of me as that poor, pathetic loser bleeding on the floor in front of him.

  “You should know me,” I said calmly, watching as he dropped his right arm down to try and protect that injured side. Blood had spattered across the floor, more appearing as he moved, and even I was impressed with the level of damage.

  “I have no idea who you are.”

  He wasn’t focused on me like he should be, giving me the perfect opening to rush him, using my momentum to smash right into him, sword first.

  It cut through a gap in his shirt, piercing his chest. I couldn’t easily get to his heart, not from this angle, but I hurt him badly.

  He threw me off, and I rolled effortlessly to end up across the ring. Noise exploded, and it was like my ears had just started working again. I’d been so focused on the enemy before me that I’d completely forgotten we weren’t alone here.

  “Get up,” Rafe snarled, his face down near mine. “Stop playing with him, V. Finish him off.”

  I blinked at him, and in that stare, I realized what he was saying. He was giving me permission to kill Brandon, and he’d help me cover it up. All that power and the resources I didn’t have… Rafe was going to lend me his.

  Some girls wanted flowers, but this… this was my fucking date material.

  With a nod, I flung myself up, fingers tightening around the handle. But Brandon was halfway across the fight arena, bleeding everywhere and hunched over like he was barely able to stand.

  “The Dean forfeits the match,” the announcer calls. “He is henceforth blacklisted from participating or watching these nights. Strip him of his weapons.”

  “No!” I shouted, rushing forward. “Finish, you fucking coward.”

  Brandon spun around, and I wished I could see his face to try and figure out what his endgame was here. I mean, he didn’t have to forfeit and give up all rights. He could have just tapped out once I had him down. Or he might have expected I’d knock him out. That was what usually happened, so there was no way he knew...

  His lips curled, and I had a flash of insight. He did know...

  He’d figured out who I was, and he knew I planned to kill him.

  This was a bitch move to save his own neck.

  A smile tilted up my lips, and I deliberately swung my blade around, letting his blood fly off it in a pretty arc. “I don’t need an organized fight to finish you,” I said, low enough that only he would hear over the noise of the crowd. “There’s nowhere you can hide.” I leaned in really close, and he flinched. “I’m really going to enjoy this. Good luck, Brandon.”

  A pained moan left his lips, and his hands pressed to his injured side. No one helped him from the ring, and I stared him down the entire ten minutes it took him to haul his ass out of there and disappear through the tunnels.

  “Come on, V,” Nolan said, appearing out of nowhere. Those green eyes of his were sparkling—he’d enjoyed that fight. “Time to watch the master at work.”

  Ah, that could only mean one thing.

  It was the main event.

  Fallen Angel was fighting.

  Chapter 21

  When I watched Rafe move about the fight ring, I marveled at his skill.

  How the fuck was he even real? No one, and I mean no one I’d ever seen in my life, moved like he did. He fought with dancing, fluid strokes of his body, using it as a weapon. I saw no blades on him, even though his opponent had a pair of short throwing axes, which were pretty much useless against someone as fast as Rafe. That was Goat God’s first mistake. His second was calling himself Goat God, and his third was fighting at all tonight.

  Rafe dispatched him in about forty seconds, leaving the Goat bleeding and broken with one of his own axes embedded in his thigh.


  “I mean, if people are paying money for these fights, they really should find someone better for Ra—uh—Fallen Angel,” I murmured to Jordan and Nolan, who were lingering near me.

  Nolan snorted. “They’ve tried. It’s reached the point where no one decent will sign up to fight him, and he’s left with the idiots who want to prove themselves.”

  That was a problem because I had to admit, watching Rafe fight had my body wound up tight, and I really wanted to see more than half a minute of action.

  Although there was a remote possibility I might orgasm from that, so maybe this was safest.

  “So, it’s over now?” I asked as people started to move. Quickly, without acknowledgement of each other, the crowds dispersed. It was much less insane than the last couple of times when guards had broken up the fight.

  “Do you think Rafe meant it when he said he told his guards not to come looking for this again?” I couldn’t think of what reason he would have given, but he’d seemed sure they wouldn’t show up.

  Jordan shook his head. “That’s not what he meant. No one in the Swiss Guard knows about this part of his life. I’m guessing what he did was give them something else to focus on, and they had no time to worry about this stuff. His father allows Rafe a fair amount of power and control already.”

  “Probably explains why he’s such an overbearing asshole,” I muttered before I slipped away from the guys, making my way with the crowd. Jordan’s laughter followed me.

  When I got into the main hallway, I started to follow the arrows—not that I needed to. Quite a few students were making their way back. I got a lot of looks, and I almost wished for a black cloak to cover my purple ass.

  Standing out was great, if it didn’t put a massive target on your back.

  My weapon was still in my hand though, so I doubted anyone was going to take me on right now.

  Of course, there was always an idiot in the crowd who had to show the woman who was boss.

  “What makes you think you can play with the big boys?” a dude walking nearby sneered at me. I had no idea who it was; he wore a face cover like everyone else.

  I slowed, twirling my blade as I smiled at him. “Hmmmm, maybe the fact that with both ‘big boys’ I fought, I kicked their asses.”

  He wasn’t smiling, and I continued on my way… only to have him wrap a tight hand around my arm, yanking me toward him.

  For fuck’s sake. Here we went again.

  “You should learn your place, bitch. You have a cunt, you don’t fight.”

  A snort of laughter left me, even though he was holding tight enough to leave massive bruises. “What about if you are a cunt? Because that would rule you out,” I said in a sing-song voice.

  Never let them see you sweat.

  Before he could reply, I swung the hilt of my weapon, using the hand he’d stupidly left free, and slammed it down on his wrist. I knew the best place to hit to break a bone, and sure enough, I was rewarded with a satisfying crack.

  Asshole howled, dropping me on instinct as the pain overwhelmed him, but he shut the fuck up when my blade pressed against his throat.

  “I should kill you right now,” I said, with no humor in my voice anymore. “Leave you in this fucking maze to bleed out. No one would find you. No one would miss you.” Everyone else had cleared out when we stopped, so it was only the two of us here now.

  And that made my threat all the more terrifying.

  A whimper was his only reply.

  “Come on, Violence,” a low drawl said from behind me. “Leave this sorry excuse for a human to crawl his way back. You have bigger fish to fry.”

  The dick on the ground looked between Rafe and me, and I was shocked I hadn’t heard him approach. I’d been sure we were alone, but that sneaky bastard was fucking Spider-Man or something, scaling walls and blending into the night.

  “F—Fallen Angel,” the loser stuttered out. “Was just”—he swallowed hard—“trying to make her stop fighting. It’s not a place for bitches.”

  Rafe swung his leg out and kicked him straight in the face, shutting him the fuck up.

  I shrugged, sheathing my weapon for the first time. “See, I didn’t overreact. He got what he deserved.”

  Rafe’s lips, visible under his mask, twitched just a little. I took that for a win.

  “You are well named, Violence,” he said, sounding amused. “Murder is your first thought when someone pisses you off.”

  I shrugged. “What can I say, most of the time, people respond to death threats better than a stern lecture.”

  He stepped closer, towering over me, but fear was the last thing I felt racing through my body.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” he murmured. “I was born in violence and there I have stayed.”

  What the fuck does that mean?

  I knew so little about Rafe, but I had guessed before now that there was darkness in his past. No one was the way he was without being burned in the pits of hell and surviving. I knew that for a fact.

  “Who hurt you?” I whispered and almost immediately wished I could take that question back.

  Rafe wrapped his hands around my arms, but unlike the previous asshole who had already crawled his way out of the tunnels, this didn’t enrage me.

  I wanted this biting grip.

  “What makes you think I’ll share my past with you?” Rafe said close to my ear, voice hard. “Why do you fucking torment me so?”

  I wasn’t quite sure what that last part meant, and I couldn’t even recall what the first part was because my head was all kinds of fucked up with him this close.

  “What do you want with me?” I breathed back, waiting for him to push me away.

  Only he didn’t.

  Before I could blink, he’d hauled me into his arms and slammed me back against the rough stone wall. He yanked my purple catsuit down, leaving me in my black sports bra. Rafe pulled my sword out and sliced along the black material, so close I could feel the edge of my blade, but somehow he didn’t break my skin.

  My tits fell free, and he stared for many seconds, his eyes dark and stormy. “Fuck,” he muttered before he lowered his head and sucked one peak into his mouth. He laved at my right breast first, followed by my left, leaving me a moaning, turned-on mess.

  It was the fighting. Seeing it. Being part of it.

  I was fucking wet before this had even started, and add in Rafe… I had no fucking chance.

  My hands clawed at his shirt, the black material bunching in my fingers as I yanked hard, getting it over his head. Our masks remained in place even if we were half naked. Somehow that added to the entire fucking vibe.

  Rafe lifted me a little, and I ignored the pain in my back from the rocks. I was too wound up to worry about pain. The pleasure was dominating my senses.

  He got the bottom half of my suit off, sliding it down so it was off one leg and then the other. He had to lower my feet to the ground to do so, and when he dropped lower, his face was pressed right to my underwear-clad pussy.

  I groaned as his tongue stroked right across my aching clit, working it through the material, making my knees weak as I pressed both hands into the wall to keep some balance.

  He dug his hands around my thighs, forcing them further open, and my back arched to accommodate. His tongue traced along the edge of my bikini line, slipping under and tasting the wetness pooling there. My underwear disappeared in the next instant, and he fucked me with his tongue until I unraveled under his touch. He must have learned from last time though, because he didn’t remove his hands, keeping me prisoner against the wall as he drew every last ounce of pleasure from me.

  “Rafe, fuck,” I groaned, rocking harder against him, needing more.

  I was never gonna have enough.

  He was as skilled with his tongue and hands—and especially his dick—as he was with fighting.

  A true master.

  He spun me around, putting my face against the hard stone and both hands firm against the wall as he caressed
my exposed ass. Normally I was not about ass play, but having Rafe stroke me like this, I was reevaluating my stance on that.

  His fingers spread my legs farther apart, and I could feel the long hard length of his cock against my pussy. He was a little too tall for this to be comfortable, but that didn’t matter since he was able to lift me and slam inside without faltering.

  “Fuck,” he groaned again, the first word he’d spoke since we started this. “Ever since you fucking left me in the hall, I’ve wanted this.”

  “Is th—this my punishment?” I moaned in return, voice breathy.

  Rafe’s laugh was husky, low, and filled with darkness. “No, Violence. This is the prelude to your punishment. So pay attention.”

  “Not possible,” I bit out as he changed the angle, shifting my hips higher. Three more strokes and I was once again on the edge of an orgasm, my body tightening as swirls of pleasure surged in my center.

  Rafe didn’t let me get there though, pulling all the way out, slowly, before slamming back in again and changing the rhythm. My body desperately tried to adjust, needing that high it was chasing. But he changed the pace again, his strokes differing, and when he pulled out again, I was once again standing on my own two feet, pressed against the wall, chest heaving as everything inside of me shook and cried for more.

  Spinning around, I shoved him. “What are you doing? Be man enough to finish me.”

  His lips twisted cruelly, but he didn’t back away.

  “Life is a competition, and you are learning how much I like to win.”

  Fuck!

  I wanted to scream, but since I was standing here naked, one leg of my fucking costume bunched around my ankle and a motherfucking mask on, I decided that I was done playing this game. If Rafe wanted to throw down a challenge, I was going to take it.

  Our faces were close, so he didn’t notice at first as my hand slipped down between my thighs, fingers stroking across my wetness. It wasn't until the moan slipped from my lips, that his eyes left mine, locking on the way I was playing with myself.