Either way, her palm comes down, smacking hard against the floor. The next thing I know, Killian is dragging me away. Hell, it barely registers that it’s over, my arms and legs flailing as I’m rudely lifted out of the pool.
“Save it,” he says, grunting with the struggle to hold me when I try to lunge for her again. “Come on, little sister. You won, you got her.”
He drags me to the others, holding me up when I slip in the gelatin. Tristian shoves a water bottle in my hand and starts wiping off my face. Dimitri just laughs, bragging, “You wiped the fucking floor with her! Look,” he points over my shoulder, “she’s crying.”
The first match was just a warm-up, and I don’t let myself decompress one damn bit. I slick back my hair, retying it as Sutton takes Marigold’s place. Eyeing her across the pool, I’m fueled by the obnoxious smirk on her face. I’ve felt adrenaline before; back in the illicitness of my sugar baby days, driving the get-away car, setting that fire with Tristian. But this is different. Raw, full-on vengeance.
“That’s the bitch I want to make cry,” I tell the guys.
Dimitri takes the water bottle out of my hand and replaces it with a shot of something amber. “Here, baby. Drink that and go ruin her fucking face.”
I expect Tristian to argue before the liquor hits my lips—likely some bullshit about dehydration—but he doesn’t say a word. Killian stands in front of me and adjusts the triangles of my bikini, saying low, “Sutton twisted her left knee freshman year at the intramural softball match. She should have had surgery, but she brushed it off.”
“She’s also probably high as a fucking kite,” Dimitri says, taking the empty shot glass from me. “The only girls who go for Perez are the ones with bad habits, feel me?”
Tristian adds, “From what I saw earlier, probably coke.”
I give them a long look. “How the hell do you know all of this?”
“Honestly?” Eyes narrowing, Killian brushes his fingers over a bruise I can already feel developing on my jaw. “Dad.”
“Yeah.” Dimitri kneads his fingers into my shoulders, like he’s trying to get me to loosen up. I don’t. “The first thing Daniel taught us was how to assess an enemy for vulnerabilities.”
“Any weakness,” Tristian points out. “The Royal women have always been a weak spot. For all of us. That’s why they kidnapped you in the first place.”
Rath’s voice drops, hands skating down my arms. “And why Daniel put you in the pit.”
But Killian’s the one who drops the biggest bomb. “It’s the reason Royal women exist, Story. Everyone thinks the Kings gave us Ladies and Duchesses and Princesses as a privilege. They think you’re just toys to be played with because we’re entitled enough to find it fun. But if you want to know the truth?” He levels me with a long, intense stare. “Put three horny fuckers in a house with a nice piece of tail, and they grow…attachments.” His mouth tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “You’re here to be our weak spot, little sister. And it worked.”
I glance between the three of them, trying to process that confession in the middle of all this chaos. It was never about us—the women, the house girls, the tail. Of course, it was always about the heirs to Forsyth. It was about giving them something to lose. A soft, vulnerable underbelly. The more I think about it, the more it fits.
I straighten my bikini strap and roll my shoulders, and there might be alcohol pumping in my veins, but there’s also something else. It’s too complicated to be called anger, but it burns just as hot. “You’re not seeing the whole picture, big brother. Love doesn’t just give you something to lose. It makes you stronger because it gives you something to fight for. Something worth more than some stupid game. Can you think of anything scarier?” The bell rings, cutting through the noise of the gym, and I glance back at the ring, grinning. “Hold that thought. I have to go ruin this bitch’s whole goddamn year.”
I leave them behind me, blank-faced and in varying degrees of stupor. It isn’t until I lift my foot to climb into the pool that I hear Tristian’s voice.
“Fuck me. She’s right, isn’t she?”
I don’t hear anything else, not over the yells of the crowd, but even if I could, I can’t concentrate on anything but Sutton stepping into the cool gelatin across from me. The energy of the crowd amplifies just with us getting in position. Everyone’s here, and it’s not just the Royalty. Right behind my Lords, stands the whole of LDZ’s frat, cheering me on with loud whoops, beers held high. Truthfully, I used to hate them all. For seeing me that night in the basement. For acting like it was fun. For not doing a thing to stop it. For being a part of this whole twisted system and vying for their own places within it.