While holding the hand of Zeus.
Pride filled me as one of the guys peeled off his black T-shirt revealing more tats on his chest, ones that left nothing to the imagination of his parentage.
The guy was Russian.
“I’m never shocked.” The guy sneered. “And yet, here you are? Isn’t that one of the rules? No Abandonatos?”
Dante released my hand, jerked off his jacket, then peeled the shirt from his body. “Good thing I’m a Nicolasi, then, huh?”
He dropped his shirt to the floor.
I tried to hide my shock at his perfect body.
But it was humanly impossible not to stare, not to look at the divots of muscle that bulged around his core or the way that bruises marred his dark skin making him look that much more dangerous than the guy standing behind him. The word Nicolasi was written in dark font over his shoulders, and below it, a black raven holding steal knuckles in one claw and a book in the other claw.
Whispers buzzed and grew into a frenzy as the guy sneered. “That’s just a tattoo… I want to see how you bleed.”
Dante grinned like he was having the time of his life. “You first.”
One of the other guys stood and held out his hands. “Silence,” His cold blue eyes fell to me, I remembered the way they raked over me in the classroom. “My brother Ike, it seems, will be first.”
Ike walked into the blood-caked circle and stood in the middle of the crown his chin high, his nostrils flaring.
“Rules,” the guy said before the lights flicked off and a spotlight fell to both Dante and Ike. “Last man standing wins — and if you are the loser, you must forfeit your life — it’s up to the winner to decide if he’ll let you have it. But remember, once you’ve fought in here and lost — you will be marked and be forced to owe us one favor — that is, if you’re still breathing.” He laughed and then said in a low voice. “Begin.”
I locked eyes with Dante.
Only to find his arrogant smile slip.
And a mask of cold brutality take its place.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dante
IKE WAS ABOUT to have a very bad night.
Followed by an equally bad day where both of his eyes were going to swell shut.
The right was already starting to seal, the skin puffing out above his cheekbone like an allergic reaction to my fist.
I grinned at him, then ducked as he tried to land another blow.
His fists moved in slow motion past my face again and again, I kneed him in the stomach, followed through with my right elbow, and slammed my hand against his nose, the jarring sound of cartilage breaking only fueled the flames.
And finally.
I was calm.
Awareness washed over me as I waited for his next step.
It was sluggish, every movement full of pain as he lazily charged toward my body and tried to toss me onto my ass.
I was too big for him to try to lift off the ground, but I let him try, and when he jerked away, I could barely see the white of his eyes from swelling. Blood dripped down his lip.
Right hook, right hook, pound, pound.
His head cracked backward as a tooth fell onto the cement floor, dripping in blood and then his body staggered after it, blood and sweat splattered like a mist into the air.
Chest heaving, I walked over his body, ready to help him up, ready to ask for my favor, the one owed to me. Something about the way these guys operated made me think that I was going to need a hell of a lot more in order to uncover whatever Nixon and Chase thought was going on in this place.
They sent me in blind and said to figure out my own shit.
This was the only way I knew how.
Even though I promised my sister I wouldn’t fight.
In my book, it was the only way to get answers.
I held out my hand.
Ike looked up at it, a look of disgust marred his face, as one of the guys slowly walked down the stairs, like this was his castle, his freaking temple, and everyone participating, his subjects.
“Shh,” someone said to my left. “Andrei’s going to say something.”
And just like that, the room fell into a hush.
I glanced back at El.
Her face was white.
Her eyes flickered with recognition and then she locked eyes with me, pleading for… something.
Andrei held up his thumb, people gasped, then the three guys behind him stepped forward and did the same.
People waited like they were gods.
And then Andrei glanced down at Ike. “Sorry, brother. You have outlived your usefulness—” He looked ready to say something else, but instead he lifted his blond hair and straightened his shoulders, then turned his thumb downward.
His friends followed.
And the rest of the room surrounding me did the same.
My heart raced.
“Kill,” Andrei said so simply, so softly that I knew I had to have heard him wrong. I had no problem with killing — none whatsoever.
But this… this was a kid, he was my age, he was— Someone walked through the crowd.
A gun was placed on a red pillow with a P embroidered.
El looked ready to puke.
I didn’t need to do the math to know who this guy was related to.
Russian.
Petrov.
The family her bastard of a husband used to work for.
If they recognized her and found out that she didn’t really belong to me, belong to us at least not yet — we were done.
I needed all the focus on me.
On this.
I quickly picked up the gun, no hesitation; hesitation got you on the other end of that gun.
I pulled off the safety and fired two rounds directly into Ike’s chest, then one more in his head.
I walked over, picked up my discarded T-shirt, and wiped my prints off of the weapon, then slowly walked toward Andrei.
When we were face to face, I sidestepped him, amongst gasps and whispers.
And fucking sat on his throne.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
El
HIS KILLING WAS swift.
Ruthless.
His fists fast as they pounded out the rage that burned inside him. I’d never been so terrified of anyone in my entire life — of what they were capable of.
I saw his darkness.
And I had no choice but to keep watching.
Not once did I think he was going to lose.
And when their leader glanced over the crowd with an amused glint in his eyes, it hit me. Maybe it was the way the light shadowed his face, or maybe my brain just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
He wasn’t just a Petrov.
He was the last remaining heir.
Andrei Petrov.
One of the most deadly Russian gangs I’d ever encountered, one of the same men who my “husband” had worked for — had bled for, had killed for.
Andrei was the youngest of the Petrov children.
He liked to watch people set themselves on fire and burn.
Which begged the question what the ever-loving hell was he doing at Eagle Elite? When he had contacts all over the world.
He was twenty-one.
He liked blood.
It was all I could gather from when my husband would come to my bed at midnight and use my body.
One time he said damn it Andrei, getting involved with them.
I assumed “them” was another family.
Maybe it was the school.
I didn’t know what to believe anymore.