It doesn’t look like much, but I do see the sign over the door; DUKES UP. In a lame attempt at forgotten festivity, Christmas lights are draped over the doorway, and a sad-looking, weather-beaten wreath hangs on the door. People walk down the street, guys and girls slipping in through the door, and again, I remember why I’m here, igniting another wave of nerves in my stomach. Dimitri takes my hand and pulls it to his mouth, lip rings cool against my skin when he kisses my knuckles.
“You don’t really have to do this,” he assures, dark eyes holding mine. “We can find another way. People like us always do.”
Nodding, I reply, “I know.”
People like us. The people who are used to having nothing. We get by because there’s no other option. Others might throw their hands up in the air, but people like us don’t have that luxury. We find a way.
What I don’t tell him is that it’s not the fight that’s got me all twisted up inside. It’s the possibility of letting them down. Of embarrassing them. Of showing all these people that the Lords chose a Lady who can’t handle her own. I don’t care about whatever pissing contest these frats get into, but even if my Lords seem to have abandoned this stupid game to become Kings, it means something to them to be the best, the strongest, the ones at the top, and it’s not just about their egos. In their world, a loss is a target on your back, just begging for someone to come by and hit the bull’s eye. Like it or not, I’m a part of that now. That means I’m either a credit or a liability. A strength or a weakness.
But in the end, I’m not here to gain our frat fighting cred. I’m here to beat the Countess’ ass and earn a fistful of money doing it, and that’s what matters. “I’m good.” Pushing my shoulders back, I open the door, steel filling my voice. “Let’s do this.”
Tristian is already there, extending a hand to help me down from the seat. I take it and lean on him, jumping to the pavement, and when he takes my bag, slinging it over his shoulder, he sends me a little wink.
“We’ve got you.”
They flank me the same way they do on campus, but this time, I feel less like an ornament and more like a prize they’re protecting. I’ve already proven myself. I killed Ugly Nick. I saved Killian from certain death. I negotiated directly with Daniel. I’ve spent the last three years running from a psychotic stalker, and I’m still standing.
No, I’m no longer an ornament. I’m one of them, and tonight, everyone else is going to know it, too.
The interior of the gym is decked out in more lights. It’s flashy and brash, smoke thick in my nostrils and burning my eyes, and loud music blares through the cavernous room, echoing off the eaves. It’s hard to look at the ring in the middle of it and not see the pit, but I try. A banner above it greets us, boasting, “Tenth Annual Screw Year’s Eve!” Beside the dramatic lettering, an illustration of a sneering woman is riding a bear, brandishing a trophy high above her head as her breasts bulge from her bikini top.
Pure class.
We start through the crowd, and it’s not so bad at first. Everyone’s so occupied with drinking their beers and watching the ring that they don’t even notice us walking in.
Until they do.
One by one, heads turn to look, guys nudging whoever they’re with to get their attention, girls pointing and whispering. Tristian casually drapes his arm over my shoulder, tugging me close enough to plant a smacking kiss on my head.
“These people aren’t shit, sweetheart.”
Unlike the pit, I don’t avoid their stares, my gaze passing over them. “I know.”
But my mask of indifference gets hard to keep up. Killian leads us through, clearing a path through the boisterous crowd. People fall away, out of fear of his size or intimidation. Either. Both. But it doesn’t block out the gossip being whispered as we pass. There are comments about Killer shooting his dad. About their Lady being an actual whore. About the real fight that’s sure to come between the King and a Lord.
We’re getting close to the center when some asshole calls out, “Yo, the Lady’s about to give us another show!”
“Don’t react,” Tristian whispers.
But the guy doesn’t stop there. “You gonna take them all this time? Three dicks, one cunt!”
I’m not sure anyone besides the three of them notice me freezing. It barely lasts a second before Tristian nudges me back into motion, but it takes my breath away, the comment stabbing right into the vulnerable part of me that’s still shy about what happened on Christmas.