Page 33 of Barons of Decay (Royals of Forsyth University #10)
D amon
There’s an energy about Friday Night Fury that’s contagious. The fights, the booze, the Scratch being passed hand to hand. Everyone is high on something, including adrenaline. It’s probably something about establishing the pecking order among the Royals.
“You’ve been to fights before?” Hunter asks as I muscle my way through the crowd standing outside the gym to get to the door.
“I got in my first fight when I was sixteen.” I’d tried earlier, but never got past the DKS bouncer parked by the entrance.
Later, when I rushed DKS, I went to a few fights with the guys but I don’t mention it–another lifetime and all of that.
“Paid the bouncer off with a quarter ounce of weed. You?”
“Nah.” Hunter grabs Arianette’s bicep, pulling her around two cutsluts dry humping against a car. He pauses. “Fuck, she’s beautiful.”
I eye the girls. “If you’re into gutter-trash, sure.”
“Not the girls, dipshit, the car. Mint-condition 1976 Trans Am.” He nods appreciatively at the matte-black muscle car. “That’s what I was doing at sixteen. Modifying the engine on my car with upgraded fuel injectors. I would’ve loved to have gotten my hands on this one.”
Arianette’s quiet, but listening, eyes wide as she takes in the car, the crowd, and everything else. “What about you, Baroness? This your first Fury?”
“My uncle never would have let me go somewhere like this.” I haven’t even tried to hide the boner I’ve been sporting since she walked out of her room tonight.
It’s not just the short-shorts with criss-crossing ties that reveal a thin strip of flesh down her hips, or the cropped, black tank with a square neckline, or the fishnet stockings.
It’s the fact I can see those hard little bars pressing against the tight fabric, a secret reminder of who she belongs to. “ Ever. ”
The bouncer, a thick-necked DKS named Dillon, is manning the line.
On a whim, I grab Arianette, pulling her body close to mine.
Jutting my hips into hers so she can feel me.
In her ear, I explain, “This is our first time going in as Royals, which means everyone will be watching.” I dip my face towards hers, planting my mouth against the hot, salty skin under her ear.
I drag the hard ball of the piercing along her jaw, and look up to find Hunter watching us through lidded eyes.
Little perv. “You remember the rules, doll baby?”
“Stick close,” she says, fingers touching her lips. “Don’t talk to anyone, men or women.”
“That’s right.” I grab her by the ass and squeeze. Jesus, I’d give up my best piercing kit just to fuck her once, hard and quick. Get it over with so I could think about something else.
“DK!” Dillon’s voice carries over the crowd. He waves me over, and we skirt in front of the growing line. “It’s been a while. Heard you’re a crypt keeper now.”
From anyone else, that comment may have put me on edge, but Dillion’s an okay guy, and more importantly, a customer. I’d had the dude’s dick in my hand when I pierced his foreskin about six months ago.
“I may have declared.”
One of his bushy eyebrows lifts. “Huh. I thought you were solidly independent.”
“Things change,” I reply nonchalantly, then add, “How’s the work? Healed up?”
“Yep. No complaints.” He makes a show of gripping his belt buckle, then nods to the entrance. “Go ahead. Fights are already starting.”
“Royal treatment,” I joke, bumping fists with him as we cut the line. “I could get used to this.”
Inside, there are more people in line for beer than watching the early fight going on in the ring.
It’s LDZ in gold vs PNZ in purple, younger guys–probably freshman.
“Tucker, get your fucking shit together!” I hear shouted from above.
The three of us look up, and I see the Lords sitting in the upper level, Dimitri Rathbone leaning over the railing.
“If you lose this match, you’ll get two beatings tonight! ”
A dark-haired woman steps next to Rathbone, and he slides an arm around her waist.
“Who’s that?” Arianette asks, head tilted up. Her fingers are curled around my belt loop, sticking close.
“Dimitri Rathbone,” Hunter says.
She shakes her head. “No, the girl.”
“That’s Story Austin.” Apparently, Hunter is a Royal search engine. “His Lady. He’s best friends with the King, Killian Payne.”
“Majestic, like a lion,” Arianette murmurs, “rawr.”
Hunter stares at her, probably trying to decipher her nonsense.
“He may have the power, but his other best friend, Tristian Mercer, is from one of the wealthiest families in town.”
“Oh,” Arianette’s expression brightens, “his name is on the concert hall on campus.”
“How, and why, do you know all of this?” I ask. Sure, I know who Killian Payne is, and the guy over in the next box is Simon Perilini, but these were the entitled, rich fuckers I loathed in high school. I did my best to forget all of them, but here I am, one of them.
Christ.
I can’t help but notice that the Prince’s box is empty–not a surprise given the fact Verity Sinclaire just had her baby. The Counts… well, no one knows if that box will ever be occupied again–at least by Royalty. There’s one left–the Barons–and there’s no sign of the King.
He shrugs. “First, I already knew who they all were, but once Nick Bruin accosted us on campus I decided to do a little more research.”
Of course he did.
Over the ring, I see a sign listing tonight's fights. Up next is a DKS matched up to another LDZ. Then the final, and main fight will be Porterfield, one of the current Dukes, against Alvarez–Mateo.
I feel a little shitty sending him in for the first fight of the year, but neither Hunter nor I are ready for a matchup. I can hold my own, but these fucking Dukes crawled out of the womb with gloves on. I search the crowd. “Do you see Mateo?”
“Maybe he’s already in the locker room getting ready,” Hunter suggests. He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a flask. He unscrews the top and takes a drag, then offers it to me.
“Fuck yes. Thanks, man.” On the first swallow the whiskey burns going down my throat. The second goes a little smoother. I feel those brown eyes on me as Arianette watches.
“Want some?” I tilt the flask toward her.
She shakes her head.
“Hmm.” I tilt the flask back and take another sip, this time holding it in my mouth. I grab Arianette and press my lips against hers, forcing her lips apart. The whiskey releases slowly, from my tongue to hers. Her tongue laps against mine, the alcohol strong.
She coughs. “It tastes like medicine.”
Hunter nods across the room as I hand him back the flask. “Over there.”
A group from brN is huddled by the wall. Frat brothers we went through initiation with, along with a few familiar crypt chasers, who assess the Baroness with their heavily made up eyes. I don’t usually get into girl-shit, but there's definitely a territorial vibe between the chasers and Arianette.
“You made it.” A junior named Rob steps forward. “Want a beer?”
I shake my head. “Is Mateo getting ready?”
He glances around. “I saw him earlier…”
The fight bell clangs, ending the LDZ/PNZ fight. The Prince is being carried off the mat by two of his frat brothers, blood dripping from his mouth. At least Rathbone will be happy.
“I guess we can grab some seats–”
Carson pushes through the group and looks between me and Hunter. “We’ve got a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
His jaw clenches and he jerks his head. “Follow me.”
“ Hooaarrk .”
The smell hits the moment the door of the locker room swings open.
“Jesus Christ, what is that?” Hunter says, pushing in behind me. Arianette, like she promised, sticks to our side like glue.
Whatever it is, it takes over the basic locker room scent of sweat and balls, and seems to come from a crumpled mass on the floor.
There’s a chaser bent over him, her dark hair straight as a sheet.
I’ve met her before–fooled around with her actually, at some of the parties during rush.
If I remember right, her name is Bronwyn.
She shifts and that’s when I see it. Him . Fucking Mateo.
“Nnuughh,” he moans, completely naked with the side of his face pressed against the tile floor. Carson tosses a wad of paper towels over the offending smell–vomit.
“What the hell happened to him?” Hunter asks, looking down at his writhing form. He gags, dry heaving at this point.
“I don’t know,” Bronwyn says, standing up.
Her halter top is mesh and lace, cleverly placed black velvet flowers cover her nipples.
The rest is see-through, giving more of a hint of her round tits.
Her skin is so pale I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she is a vampire.
“We were in here getting ready for the match when he just started getting sick.”
“Oohhwwnnn.” Mateo’s arms wrap around his body as a shiver of chills set in. “I think I’m dying.”
Arianette pushes past me. “His tongue is black. Eyes possessed, dilated.” She bends, pressing her black painted fingertips to his sweaty forehead. “He swallowed a demon.”
Bronwyn lifts a dark eyebrow at the Baroness.
“For fuck’s sake, sister, not now,” Hunter grunts, but Mateo looks up at her and sure as fuck, his pupils are blown wide.
“Did you eat something?” I ask.
“No,” he promises vehemently. “Well…”
A spasm rocks him, shuddering down his limbs like he’s been electrocuted.
“Well what?” Hunter asks.
“Yes,” he flips his answer. “Yes, I did eat something. Kind of.”
“Jesus, Mateo,” Carson rolls his eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I took some ‘shrooms a couple hours ago.” He flops on his back, flaccid dick rolling against his inner thigh. “I wanted clarity going into the fight.”
“Dude, you’re not dying,” Rob snorts, “you’re trippin’ balls.”
“The demon,” Arianette whispers, eyes fixed on Mateo, “it’s trying to come out.”
“Baroness!” Mateo lifts his chin and squints at Arianette. “Looking sexy in those shorts.” He licks his bottom lip. “Wanna let me tug on one of those strings?”