Playboy Princes: A Dark College Romance(30)

Okay, in fairness, it was a bit worse than that. I was pretty sure I could see bone.

Rafe just grunted a pissed-off kind of noise and jerked his injured hand out of my grip. “I told you it was fine. You’re the one who felt the need to play Florence Nightingale, Violence.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah well, no one forced you to go punching a brick wall.”

With his good hand, he grabbed my jaw, bringing my face to his so our foreheads touched. “Yes. You did.”

His intense gaze held me fast, like I’d been immersed in quick-dry concrete, forcing me to see all the conflicting emotions in his eyes. There was too much going on in there for me to easily unpack, but one thing was abundantly clear. Rafe still wanted me. Badly.

“Sure I did,” I replied with a nervous laugh, wrenching my chin free of his grip and forcing my limbs to obey me once more. “Come on, we should go.”

I stooped to swipe my blade from the floor where Rafe had dropped it, and bit my lip against the way my suit moved over my naked breasts. Stupid fucking Prince Rafe had cut my bra in two, and I hadn’t been able to find my panties anywhere in the dark corridor. So that meant I had redressed in my paper-thin catsuit with nothing underneath.

Neither of us spoke as we made our way through the dark tunnels, but I couldn’t help watching him from the corner of my eye. The tension in his shoulders was more than just pain from his hand, and it made me all kinds of smug.

Legit. The sight of Rafe punching a brick wall as I made myself come right in front of him would stay with me forever. Hottest. Thing. Ever.

Not that I’d ever tell him that. Homeboy had a big enough ego as it was, and I was starting to think the universe needed me to take him down a few pegs.

A sound ahead made us both freeze.

I tilted my head at Rafe, meeting his eyes with a silent question. Fight or hide?

His eyes narrowed a moment, like he was weighing our options, but the decision became irrelevant.

“Relax, Fallen Angel,” the vaguely familiar voice called from the shadows ahead. “It’s just me.” Footsteps sounded, drawing closer, then Zachary Westbridge emerged from the darkness. He was dressed all in black, like he’d been attending the fights, but his mask was missing.

“I come in peace,” he said with a sarcastic lilt, his hands held up in mock surrender. “Just needed a word with Violence.”

“No,” Rafe snapped, taking a step forward and kind of shielding me with his body. I mean, it worked. He was probably double my size, and the lighting was shitty. “Fuck off, Zach.”

Instead of arguing back, Zach just laughed like this was the reaction he had expected from Rafe. Or… from Fallen Angel. I couldn’t tell if Zach knew who he was talking to or not.

“Oh come on, you know you can’t hide your pet from us forever. The society has rules, and you agreed to them all when we let her fight.” Zach propped his hands on his hips, his stance relaxed and confident. Whoever this society was, they had to be the ones running the fights. I’d thought it was the resistance, though.

Either way, it looked like Zach was a member. How did that work?

“Not. Now.” Rafe bit the words off, his voice rumbling with the thunder of his rage.

Zach’s spine straightened the slightest bit as his whole demeanor shifted. Suddenly he radiated menace and authority.

“Step aside, Fallen Angel.” His voice was pure ice, and it was clear he didn’t get questioned often. At least, not in his current role. Whatever the fuck that was.

More shocking still? Rafe did what he was told.

Sort of.

He took one very small step to the side. Just enough to “obey” without being a totally whipped bitch. I snorted silently because it was such a fucking Rafe move it was actually funny.

Zach knew it too, judging by the long-suffering sigh he released with a clenched jaw.

“Prick,” he muttered, then turned his attention to me—still halfway hidden by Rafe’s black-clad form. “You fought well tonight, Violence. Really well. Who trained you?”

Instantly, my walls went up. I mean, more than they already were because I’d have been a fucking moron not to be on guard in this unusual situation.

“Just… a friend.” I kept it as vague as possible without outright refusing to answer. If Zach, the man-whoring asshole, really did hold the power to ban me from fights, I didn’t want to risk landing on his bad side.

He gave me a tight smile. “Well, I’m glad Fallen Angel convinced you to fight again. You made quite an impression during your debut.” His eyes flashed with a kind of feral gleam that I could only explain as greed. He’d made money tonight, no question about it. But hang on a second…

“Fallen Angel… convinced me?” I repeated, shooting Rafe a dark look from the corner of my eye. He wasn’t looking at me, though, as his murderous rage was fully seated on Zach. “Yep, he sure was convincing.” Like how he extracted a favor out of me in exchange for letting me fight. Motherfucker was always going to get me in! “Was that all? We, uh, have places to be.”

A leering grin pulled at Zach’s lips as he eyed my exposed neck. “I just bet you do. All that adrenaline…” He licked his lips—not even joking. Licked them like some kind of excited voyeur. “I’ll cut to the chase. Our society wants to extend a membership invitation to you, Violence. A woman of your considerable skill would be quite an asset to our ranks.”

My brows shot up, surprise holding my tongue long enough for Rafe to react. A split second later, Zach’s body slammed into the wall with Rafe’s injured hand wrapped around his throat.

It shouldn’t have been hot. It really shouldn’t. But fuck if my catsuit wasn’t a bit damp between the legs from watching the blood seep through my makeshift bandage when he tightened his grip.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded of Zach, his voice a threatening rumble. “There are rules, like you just reminded me. She’s only fought in two events.”

Zach, for what it was worth, didn’t look scared or, really, anything more than pissed off. He placed a hand against Rafe’s chest and pushed him firmly away, letting a silent war for dominance play out in their angry glares.

When Rafe took a micro-step away and released the other guy’s throat, I allowed the breath I’d been holding to puff out.

“Two fights that senior members of the society were present at,” Zach replied, as though he hadn’t just been threatened with strangulation. “They were impressed. The offer has been made, and that’s my job done.” He shot a pointed look at me, past my guard dog’s broad shoulders. “Think about it, Violence. The resistance could be the home you’ve always been looking for.”

Shock washed over me like an ice-cold wave, and I said nothing as Zach disappeared back into the darkness without any further explanation.

The society was the resistance? And they’d just issued me an invitation into their group.

Wait…

“You’re part of the resistance? Or you at least know people who are,” I hissed at Rafe. “You’re a fucking prince. They’re trying to take the monarchies down.”

He shook his head at me. “Not here. This is no place to discuss this shit.” He started to move. “Come on; Jordan will be pissing himself with worry that we’re not back yet.”

My hand shot out, and I grabbed his wrist, halting him. “Not so fucking fast, Angel-boy,” I snarled. “I need some answers. Right freaking now.”

The stubborn fucking look on his face told me he wasn’t playing ball, but I was never going to be that girl who blindly accepted a bland “trust me” just because she was getting good orgasms out of the deal. Nope, Violet Rose Spencer was no pushover.

“Tell me, or I swear to fuck, I’ll sneak into your room while you’re sleeping and tattoo ‘little bitch’ right on your forehead.” My grip on his arm was like steel, and my voice was even harder.

He shifted slightly, peering back at me like he wanted to check if I was serious.

“Where would you get a tattoo gun?” he teased, but I was so far from being in the mood for games.

“You want to fucking try me, Rafael?” My threat dripped from every word, and his body stiffened with the slightest tell. He believed me, and it was a damn good thing because it’d be such a shame to mess up his pretty face. I’d still do it, though.

A heavy sigh gusted from his lungs. “Fine. But like I said, not here. It’s not safe… which that weasel-dick bastard Zach damn well knows.”

“Fine,” I shot back, my jaw clenched in anger and frustration and… fear. “Where, then?”

He gave me a small headshake and flipped his palm reader open. “Come on. I’ll tell the guys to meet us there.”





Ugh. I should have guessed where he would take me.

“They might be a minute,” Rafe told me, stepping aside to allow me into the secret underground apartment that I’d been inside of just once before. After my last fight night… when Rafe and I….

Ugh.

“You want to shower or something?” he suggested, closing the door after us and setting the lock. From what I’d seen—this time I’d been paying attention—the door was locked with a keypad entry. Jordan and Nolan must also have the code.