Page 34 of Barons of Decay (Royals of Forsyth University #10)

“Okay, that’s enough,” Hunter declares, stepping between Arianette and Mateo’s wandering eyes. Me? Well, I’m about to fucking snap.

“You’re fucking with us, right?” I ask, looking at my new frat brothers. “Is this some kind of initiation prank? A first Fury punking?”

Their silence tells me everything I need to know. We’re screwed.

“Who gave them to you?” Carson asks.

“This chick down on the Avenue.”

“You took drugs from a random chick? Are you a fucking moron?” I ask. Again, I’m met with the quiet that confirms, yes, Mateo is a moron. “Well, it’s obvious he can’t go in the ring like that.”

All eyes shift to me and Hunter.

“Why are you looking at us like that?” Hunter asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“We know this is new for you, and we were trying to give you a little time before you dove right into intra-frat activities, but one of you is going to have to go in,” Carson says. “Otherwise, you’ll look like a bunch of gaping pussies.”

“Fuuuck,” I thrust my hand in my hair.

Hunter exhales and says, “Look, I’ll do it if you want.

I can hold my own, but do you know the cognitive damage a concussion can cause?

Memory loss, concentration issues, processing speed.

” He lists them off like they’re written on his hand–which they’re not because he’s avoided concussions and doesn’t need to.

“Not to mention the physical effects like dizziness, headaches, sleep disturbances–”

“I’ll do it,” I snap. “Save your brain. It’s not like I’m going to win a Nobel Prize in physics or whatever.”

“You sure?” Hunter asks. “Because we can forfe–”

“No!” The group of guys all shout at once, and I’m pretty sure if I don’t step in there will be a revolt in our first week as Barons.

“No forfeiting.” I may start throwing punches sooner than later if everyone doesn’t chill.

Thankfully, they believe me, and I can save my knuckles for the main event.

“It’ll be fine. Rob, clean up Mateo and get his ass out of here so he can ride this out somewhere safe.

Carson, find me some shorts and whatever else I need to get ready for tonight.

” I look over at Hunter. “Go let that mean older lady in the leopard print know there’s been a change in fighters. ”

“I’ll help you get ready,” Bronwyn says.

In the black heels she’s almost as tall as I am, her long legs hidden beneath a long skirt that matches the top.

Her hand rests on my chest and her black painted lips are dangerously close.

I’ve tasted them before, even though I was high as fuck at the time.

“Every fighter needs a woman in their pregame ritual.”

“Isn’t that the Baroness’ job?” Carson asks.

“Any other year and I would have been the Baroness,” she snaps, gaze flitting over to Arianette.

“I put in the work over the last three years, I have the bloodline and legacy. I know exactly how to take a pregame edge off and then walk you out to the ring so that everyone is both jealous and fears you.”

The locker room is quiet, waiting on my response. And to be fair, my brain is running through the scenarios of exactly how she’d help me with my nerves because they are on a rampage right now. But she lost me the second she mentioned bloodlines and legacy.

Because fuck her.

“Bronwyn is right. She put in the time and has the history.” I look over at Arianette who has her teeth bared at the other girl.

“But Arianette has something you don’t.” I reach out and tug her top down, revealing the bandage.

Ripping it off, I say, “ Our mark . So you may want to back the fuck off now because you won’t have to deal with me, you’ll have to deal with her. ”

And Arianette Hexley is a stone cold killer.

Bronwyn rolls her eyes and mutters, “Whatever,” before striding out of the locker room.

That gets everyone else moving. Rob and a few other guys manage to get Mateo on his feet and help him toward the door.

As Mateo passes by, he grins over at Arianette and says, “You like waffles? Maybe we can go get waffles.”

“Keep moving, dumbass,” Hunter says, ushering the group to the door. He follows them out and Carson returns, dumping a duffle bag on a nearby bench.

“This is all of his stuff.” He unzips the top and rummages inside. “Shorts, a pair of gloves, a cup to protect your junk, rolls of wrap and tape.” He sets a pair of slides on the bench and holds up a small case. “I think this is a mouth guard…”

“Okay, Carson,” I cut him off, “thanks.”

He looks up, a small crease of worry between his eyes. “You need anything else? A shot? Some weed? I could try to find some Scratch, but you know the Dukes are zero tolerance on that shit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Awesome.” He stops just short of the door. “Porterfield is a good fighter, but he tends to fall into patterns. Pay attention and you’ll find an opening. He also is impatient and goes for the first hit. You can either take it and go from there or beat him to it.”

I nod, trying to follow all the little details. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

He exits and it’s just me and Arianette. I ignore her, grabbing the shiny red shorts out of the bag. A little flashy, but maybe it’ll hide the blood better. I undress, kicking off my shoes before I remove my shirt and pants.

I’m pushing my feet through a pair of black compression shorts when I look up. Arianette’s staring at me. “Jesus, Baroness, I’d tell you to take a picture but you’re welcome to stare at me naked any day of the week.”

She doesn’t shift her gaze, but says, “Death found you, too.”

I pull the shorts up and adjust my dick and balls. “Excuse me?”

Her finger runs across the throat. “Death. It came for you.”

“No shit,” I mutter, grabbing the red shorts to pull over the top.

“Was it wearing a mask?” she asks, head tilted.

“No.” Sometimes I wonder what it’s like in that little head of hers. “He had pimples and a chip on his shoulder.”

She frowns, and I sit on the bench, pulling out the rolls of hand wraps and tape. I take a deep breath, trying to settle my heartbeat. How the fuck did I end up here again? I’m used to group home scuffles and prison brawls. Not organized fights in front of the entire Greek system.

I pick up a roll of wrap and study it, unsure of where to even begin.

“I can do that,” she says, pointing to the rolls. “I wrap my feet and ankles for dance.”

“No shit?”

“Sometimes I even wrap the other girls.” She slides the cup and mouthguard out of the way and straddles the bench next to me. “Hold out your hand.”

I mimic her position, so that we’re face to face, knee to knee.

I lift my hand between us and she grabs the white tape, quickly looping it around two fingers, eyes focused on my knuckles.

Her hands are small but sure. Every wrap pulls just tight.

She doesn’t ask what I need. She already knows.

Drawing in my thumb, she hooks it into place, securing the tape. Those tiny hands are firm. Confident.

“Are you scared?”

“No.”

“Oh, it’s just that you haven’t taken a breath since I started.”

Refusing to prove her point, I hold onto my breath a moment longer before taking a short inhale and releasing it.

The wrist wrap comes next–crossing over the back of my hand like armor, looping tight, reinforcing the same bones I’ll be throwing at Porterfield’s face in under thirty minutes.

But her touch isn’t clinical. It’s respectful. Ritualistic.

Reminds me of how I set up my tools before a piercing.

“I was seventeen at a ‘last chance’ wilderness program,” I blurt.

“It was a lot of bullshit, but better than group homes or detention. That’s where I learned archery and how to use the crossbow, how to gut a fish, and build a fire.

” She turns my wrist around, smoothing out the tape, then gestures for my other hand.

“It was a group of non-violent offenders, prime for rehabilitation.” I roll my eyes.

“We hiked all day and at night we’d set up camp, build a fire and cook dinner.

It can always be a little tense when you have eight oppositionally-defiant, adrenaline and hormone-fueled teenagers in one place.

Tempers flare over stupid shit all the time, but one night everyone was just tired and on edge…

” The memory of that night is still raw, even after all this time.

One second, everything had been normal, the next…

“...we were just sitting there, eating our cowboy dinner–”

“What’s a cowboy dinner?”

“It’s a little packet you make with foil to cook meat and vegetables and potatoes and shit over the fire.”

“Oh.” Riiiiiip. She tears off a small piece of tape with her teeth. “Then what?”

“Everything was fine, until our leader, Jake, decided he wanted to get to the bottom of why everyone was so tense. Pot stirring, really. He made us go around and talk about our feelings. It’s mostly a lot of petty grievances.

Someone took too many potatoes, or didn’t do their fair share of firewood collection.

This one kid, Brad, he never wanted to talk, even though we all knew counseling is a requirement for being in the program.

A lot of times, Jake would let shit slide, but that night he didn’t.

He wasn’t going to let us go until Brad engaged.

” It was a fucking stand-off, and he was getting more and more pissed.

“I was tired from hiking all day, had a blister on my foot, and was over the drama. I stood up to leave and Brad just snapped. He jumped me. He was a big guy, had fifty pounds and five inches on me. He flung his arm around my chest and grabbed one of the knives left out from prepping dinner.” Arianette stopped taping.

Stopped moving entirely. I look up and meet her wide brown eyes.

“I barely felt it. Just a pinprick at first. But then the blood started to spill. Honestly, I don’t remember much.

” I know they managed to radio a helicopter and get me life-flighted to Forsyth General.

“The cut itself wasn’t that deep, but the loss of blood was substantial.

” I shrug. “So yeah, death wasn’t wearing a mask.

He was a dumbass kid with an attitude problem. ”

The second I finish speaking, I instantly regret revealing all of that.

I hate talking about it. Hate the feelings it brings back.

Arianette’s eyes are fixed on the scar, then she blinks to refocus on my hand.

Quietly, she finishes the last loop and tears the tape with her teeth again. “There. That should hold.”

“Huh.” I stretch them both out, testing the support. “That’s pretty good.”

“You probably need to take out the piercings.”

“Right.” I start with my eyebrow, pushing each one free from the skin, then nose and lip.

“I’ll keep them safe.” She offers her hand, and I place each one in the center of her palm. Her eyes flit to my chest, to the hoops in each nipple. I’d shown them to her once before, and my cock thickens thinking of that night, how well she took my needle.

“You want to take them out?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow. “See how it’s done?”

She pushes her hand into her pocket, secreting away the jewelry she’s already collected. My eyes are drawn to the ties on the sides of her shorts. It’s obvious she’s not wearing panties and Mateo was right. It would only take one quick yank.

Those quick, small fingers that just skillfully wrapped my hands, graze my chest, moving to the ring on the left side.

The pad of her finger touches the bead, pulling gently on my skin.

I hiss, the sensation sending a jolt through me.

Swallowing, I explain, “There’s a dimple in the bead. You’ll just need to pop it out.”

She’s hesitant, much more so than a few moments ago with the tape. Probably because her own piercings are so sensitive. “You don’t have to be so gentle,” I tell her, using my finger to flick the ball. “I can take it.”

That loosens her up a little, but she still uses a soft touch, one that actually makes this moment more sensual than I wanted.

Slowly, she pops the ring out of the ball, then takes her time easing the stainless steel wire out.

My cock throbs between my legs, thickening under the compression shorts, solid against my thigh.

I look at her chest and see the bars pressing into her top, she’s turned on too.

The blood drains from my head, straight down to my dick. It would be so easy to tell her to get on her knees. To do what Bronwyn promised and suck me off before the fight starts.

“It’s time.” Carson bursts through the door, and the wild energy of the crowd follows him. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” I reach for the hoop on the right side, and tell her, “I’ve got it,” because the last thing I need is her touching me more. I give her the final ring, and she tucks it away with the others.

“What now?” she asks, standing up when I do.

I twist my neck, cracking it on both sides. “I guess it’s time for me to go kick some Bruin ass.”