Page 64

Arianette

The atmosphereoutside the locker room is jarring, especially after the quiet moment Damon and I just shared. I need air, even if it’s the sweaty scent of hundreds of people packed into the gym. Being close to Damon like that was unnerving. He’d defended me to Bronwyn, asked me to stay and assist him. I felt useful for once, using my experience from dance to wrap his hands. But the story he told me about how his throat was slashed–that had been unexpected.

Death reveals itself in mysterious ways.

Tucking my fingers into my pocket, I feel the hard metal of his jewelry, and search for the hoop from his nipple. The hard ball is larger than the others, still warm from being so close to his body.

“Everyone to your seats!” A voice announces over the loudspeaker. Above the ring is a timer counting down to the final fight. The energy flowing through the gym is unlike anything I’ve experienced. My dance performances were always in front of crowds dressed in evening gowns and tuxedos. Patrons of thearts, not beer-drinking frat boys and girls barely wearing any clothes.

The music is loud, and I use my hands to cover my ears. I fight the crowd that funnels like a river, everyone looking for seats. Everyone seeming to know where to go. Beer sloshes, splashing on my legs.

“Keep up,” Damon says, glancing back at me.

I push through, invisible to this crowd, maybe looking just like another Crypt Chaser. I’m forced to duck out of the way when a shirtless man, holding an ice pack under his bleeding eye, is ushered past me into a different locker room.

When I look up, Damon and the other guys are gone.

“You look lost.”

The voice is familiar, and although I know I’m not supposed to talk to anyone, I’m relieved to see the blue hair and moth tattoo belonging to Lavinia Lucia.

“I got separated from Damon.” I push up on my toes. I can’t see him, but Hunter’s fair hair is visible closer to the ring. “I think I’m supposed to be with them.”

“Fuck yeah you are,” Lavinia says. “You’re his Baroness. He needs you by his side during the fight.”

“To what?” I’d already done the one thing I could by wrapping his hands. “I don’t know anything about fighting.”

“I doubt that,” she says, hand moving to her hip. “In Forsyth, a Royal is only as strong as the woman by his side. Your job is to support him simply by being there.” Her eyes skim down my body. “Well, and maybe by showing a little skin and making everyone jealous as fuck you belong to him.”

“That’s what Bronwyn said when she tried to replace me.”

“Bronwyn?” she repeats, grabbing my wrist and heading through the crowd. “Bronwyn Lee?”

“I guess so. She said in any other year, she would have been the Baroness.”

Lavinia rolls her eyes. “Look, there’s always some girl who thinks she’s going to be the new House Girl. In my year it was Verity Sinclaire.” She pushes a guy in a DKS shirt out of the way. “She thought that she had the position locked-up, and she probably would have made a great Duchess if things were different, but you know who she is now?”

I shake my head.

“She’s the mother-fucking-Princess and rightful heir of West End. She’s got a baby and three men groveling at her feet.” She stops suddenly and spins. “Nothing in Forsyth is guaranteed, especially not with the Royals, so Bronwyn Lee can go fuck herself, got it?”

I nod. “Got it.”

She moves behind me and pushes me toward an area just behind the ring, where Damon, Hunter, and a few other BRN guys are waiting. “I don’t know if you like that guy or not,” she looks at Damon. “He could be the biggest tool ever, but tonight you need to do whatever he needs to get through that fight, because the house odds are solidly on Porterfield and he’s going to need whatever extra boost you can give him.”

She places her hands on my back and pushes me forward. I stumble toward the guys and when I look back, all I see is her blue hair disappearing into the crowd.

“Jesus, Arianette, where were you?” Hunter asks, more annoyed than worried. “You’re not supposed to wander off alone.”

“I didn’t,” I reply, irritated. “I got separated.”

“Do it again and I’ll get one of Ares’ collars and put you on a leash.”

The serious glint in his eye tells me he’s not joking, and I push past him toward Damon, who is fussing with the edge of a piece of tape. I take his hand and re-secure it under the wrap just as the speakers crackle to life. “Are you ready for themain event?!” A voice blasts from all four corners of the gym. “Representing the Dukes, we have Sean Porterfield, undefeated in his last three fights.”

Music blares and I watch a big guy, thick with muscles, climb into the ring. His hair is flaming red and freckles scatter across his nose. He lifts his arms in the air and the crowd explodes into a cheer. A girl waits for him in his corner, in tight cut-offs and a glittery bikini top. When he gets to her she jumps into his arms, wraps her legs around his waist, and shoves her tongue down his throat.

The crowd in the stands right behind Porterfield gets even louder, cheering them on. The couple parts and Porterfield shouts into the crowd, “To the victor!”