He gives me a mean smile back. “Wasn’t my decision.” As one last parting blow, he adds, “Oh, and don’t forget. You have to stay on your knees. Or your back.” He glances around, catching sight of the other Royal women. “Probably just another Tuesday for one of you.”
I feel the rage in Killian, seconds from boiling over, but I tug him away from the table, Tristian glowering at Simon over his shoulder.
“Ignore that shit for brains,” he says, bringing a hand down on Killian’s shoulder. “You know how he gets about women.”
The tendon in Killian’s neck is already bulging, and I’d know that simmering darkness in his eyes anywhere. If I’m not careful, he’s going to lose it. “I don’t care if he’s got issues with pulling tail. I’m not going to let him talk to her like that.”
I watch Dimitri make his way over, flexing his fist as he inspects his red knuckles. “You’re not getting into another fight tonight. They might throw us out.” I glance back at Sy, who looks just as scathing as he signs the Baroness in. “He’s probably just trying to rile us all up so we put on a good show.”
Killian’s nostrils flare. “He’s going to lose his teeth.” Everyone thinks Killian is so difficult to handle, like he’s always one second away from detonating. In a way, they’re right.
But they don’t know him like I do.
I touch his chest and strain up on my toes, pressing a soft kiss to the tense line of his jaw. “Well, wait until after I’ve got the money, okay?”
He looks down at me, and it’s like magic. First, there’s a slow exhale, his hand coming out to hold my hip. Then he shifts his shoulders and the tendon in his neck disappears. I know when his eyes fix to my mouth, face losing a tightness that I hate to see there, that I’ve pulled him back from the brink.
“If anyone fucks with you, you tell us. I mean it, Story.”
I run my hand down his side. “I will, big brother. Don’t worry.”
The mild, lopsided smirk he gives me when I call him ‘big brother’ sparks a fire in my lower belly. If he keeps smiling at me like that, I’m going to end up keeping my door unlocked at night.
“Come on,” he says, nodding upstairs. “Let’s get up on the balcony to watch for a minute, then you can go change.”
I have a beer with the guys while we’re up there, my eyes taking in the scene below. The Countess ducks into the ring, followed by the Duchess—Bianca. They each give the crowd big smiles, but it’s clear Bianca is having more fun with it, flexing her muscles elaborately, hamming it up for her Dukes, who are watching against the ropes, cheering her on. The Counts are on the other side, standing silently as they watch their Countess wave to the room.
Tristian stands behind me, arm around my chest as he narrates. “See how the Countess left her hair down? That’s exploitable.”
Dimitri leans on the railing at my side, tipping a red cup to his lips. “Rookie move. Girls are always all over the place when they fight—totally fucking undisciplined—so here’s what you do. Grab a handful of hair and—”
“Guys,” I bark, giving them each a glare. “I went to an all girls’ school for a year. I know how to win a fight against the campus bitch.”
Dimitri holds his hands up. “Excuse me, Lady Thrown Down. Was just saying, the Countess is going to fight dirty, so be prepared.”
This is made evident halfway through. The first round is all exaggerated grimaces in the Jell-O and lighthearted grappling. Bianca howls with laughter for most of it, big and toothy as Sutton grabs for her, feigning growls for the crowd.
But somewhere in the second round, things change. I’m not sure if it’s a solid hold Bianca gets Sutton into, or if the Countess has just been biding her time, but suddenly, her elbow comes up, catching Bianca hard in the nose. Bianca’s hands fly up to her face and Sutton tackles her, getting Bianca flat onto her stomach and smashing her face into the Jell-O. Bianca fights back hard, the vibe of the crowd shifting from fun chants to mean barbed shouts. It turns toxic on a dime, and the Dukes are red-faced as they yell across the ring at the Counts, who are smirking as they watch.
It’s unnecessarily brutal. The Duchess never recovers from the initial blow, blood streaming down her chin as she sneers and bucks and takes swipe after swipe. She gets in a few hits, but the Countess shakes each one off, striking out like the viper her house medallion bears.
“Fuck,” Dimitri mutters. “The Dukes are about to go after them.” He nods to the Counts, where Perez is crouched down, coaching Sutton in a series of shouted orders.