Now, I shamefully find their cheers putting steel into my spine, because these forty guys would kneel at my feet if I told them to.
One day, I just fucking might.
But the Counts’ Kappa Omegas are here, too, and pushing up to the front, the Dukes’ Deltas look angry and severe. I know there’s money on this fight—big money—and everyone wants a share. Fuck them. That cash and the title is mine.
A man’s voice blasts through the speakers, echoing off the metal ceiling. “It’s time for the final event! Who will win the Throw Down Crown and become our New Year Queen? The Conniving Countess or the Shady Lady? The Lady can take care of herself, but we all know the Countess bites!
The noise of the crowd swells as Sutton and I wade toward one another, gliding through the smooth gelatin.
“Sweet little innocent Story,” Sutton coos when we’re a few feet apart, “Guess your Lords decided to let you out of the whorehouse to come out and play?”
Just like Dimitri said, her eyes are dilated, wide and bloodshot at the edges. I look down, noting that she favors her right leg. “At least I don’t have to be drugged up just to get through the day. Can’t say I blame you, living with those three pieces of crap.”
“Me?” She bends, bracing herself on two knees, and I do the same. Her eyes flick down to my tits. “My Counts haven’t carved me up like a fat turkey. I wonder if they’re going to give you some new letters tonight? I can think of five.” Her lips curve into a snarling grin. “L-O-S-E-R.” Laughing, she points to my cleavage. “I guess they can tack it on to the ‘R’ you’ve already got. You could be a crossword by the time you graduate.”
That taunt hits home, because she doesn’t know what I did to earn these letters, no more than she knows that the guys have scars of their own inflicted by me. The second the bell dings, I lunge forward, using all of my force to slam into her. We crash to the ground, grunting, and her fingernails dig painfully into my shoulders. Baring my teeth, I grapple her, rolling around, fighting for dominance. It takes a laughably short amount of time to get on top of her, but it means freeing her arm. When I do, she strikes out and clamps her fingers on my nipple, pinching hard.
They’d warned me she’d fight dirty.
“Owwww! Motherfucker!” I shout, but when I fail to bat her hand away, I decide fuck it, and slap down hard across her boob. She yelps, letting me go instinctively, defensively covering her chest. The crowd absolutely loses it. Yeah, nothing better than two women tit slapping each other to victory. “You fucking cunt.”
She reaches her claw fingers out again, but I’m ready for it, this time. I snatch her wrist into a tight, bruising grip, and when she struggles to get free, I grab the other one, tightening my fingers like a vise. I pin them beside her head, and then I dig the heel of my foot into her knee.
She tries to hide her wince of pain, but I see it.
I lower my face to hers to snarl, “I should have let my Lords defile you the way you’d planned on letting Perez take me. You think he’s bad? It’s nothing like having the three of them on your bad side. You wouldn’t walk for a week.” I bring her hand up to her temple and force her head to the side. “But there’s no goddamn way I’d let them near your skanky, diseased-riddled pussy. So I’m going to have to finish this here.”
She tries to buck me off, but there’s this little thing where I’ve been held down before. I know just how frustrating and futile it is to find no purchase with my feet, my elbows, my weight.
I increase the pressure on her knee and she yelps, jaw gaping wide with a pained cry. I release her hand to grab a fistful of Jell-O, and then I shove it into her mouth, jerking around as she thrashes. There was a time I would have been wary of something like this. What if she chokes? What if it goes too far? Am I a killer?
I know the answer to that now.
If I need to be.
She gags, coughing up gelatin as she lashes out with her free hand, but I don’t stop, cramming more and more of it in her mouth, into her nose and eyes. Her hand strikes out blindly, catching me hard on my mouth, but even though it stings like a bitch, I forge on, ruthless, until she’s flapping around like a fish. “They blindfolded and gagged me,” I growl, smashing another handful into her face. Distantly, it registers that I’m tasting blood. “How do you like it, Cuntess? How does it feel?”
The sad thing is, I get it. I understand why the Kings brought women into the Royal fold. It might have even been a good idea, giving spoiled little jerks like this something to love and protect. Teaching them that there’s something more important than ego and power. But people like Sutton and Perez have corrupted it too much to be anything but perverse. Royal women should be stronger than these bitches. We should look at each other and see an ally. We should form something worth a damn, because no one else in this place could ever understand what it’s like. Not like we do. Instead, it’s just another game.