I walk again, and Thomas follows. “I didn’t know you’re into guys.”
I slip my hands into my jacket pockets. “There are some things you don’t know about me.”
He scratches at his brow piercing. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Because I was trying to ignore it myself. “You know now, don’t you?”
Thomas quickens his pace, struggling to keep up. “Okay, then I’ll ask something else: why Kingsley? Don’t you think it’s a little unprofessional to get tied up with him, considering everything?”
“Good grief, Thomas.” Teeth clenched, I grip my brother’s shoulder tightly, nails digging into him, and he stops in his tracks. “I’m getting close to him by whatever means necessary, not getting ‘tied up.’” I’ve finally found something that can get through to the hollow bastard. That’s it.”
My efforts with Kingsley have fallen flat until now. He’s still not an open book—nowhere close to it—but at least it’s not like I’m talking to a brick wall. And maybe I’m reaching, but I think he enjoys my company.
Not that I don’t simply enjoy what we do together. I enjoy feeling him, hearing him louder than anyone’s ever heard, and getting off on him. I can’t get enough of Kingsley, but there is an ulterior motive. It’s not how it started, but it’s how it is.
Shit, is that what I’m doing? Fucking around with him because I want something from him? An uneasiness settles in my stomach, but I ignore it.
Thomas leans away from me, his brown strands falling into his face. He pries my fingernails from his shoulder, eyes disbelieving. “Jesus Christ, mate. Okay.”
I let him go with a huff and continue, putting distance between us.
Thomas may not believe me, but I’m not lying. Yes, Kingsley and I are fooling around. No, it doesn’t mean I’m into what we’re doing enough to get wrapped up in him. Having heart ties to one person has never been my thing. One quiet, privileged prince with a cute arse will not change that.
As soon as we get to the arena, that familiar scent of sweat, blood, pain, and humidity washes over us. The building is filled to the brim with violent, rowdy people watching as one man beats the other mercilessly into the ground; it’s incredible. Thomas and I grab a corner spot near an exit so we can easily bail if things get hairy.
The ref lets it go on for way too long, and by the end of the fight, the poor man is such a bloody, crippled mess that they need three guys to drag him out of the arena. Meanwhile, the crowd cheers on the smug bastard who won.
The next couple of idiots looking to beat each other bloody are walking into the arena in seconds. I immediately recognize the crazy-eyed, scary-looking man from last time: Victor. He’s got more fire in his eyes than before. I feel bad for whoever has to fight him after the embarrassment he faced last time.
I look to the other side of the arena. Victor’s opponent’s back is facing me, and the tall fucker in front of me is hindering my view, so I’m struggling to get a good look. But when I can finally see some of him, my heart sinks.
Thomas nudges me with a cheeky grin. “It’s your boy toy.”
“He’s not my boy toy,” I grumble, eyes locked on Kingsley.
My brother laughs gleefully, but I tune him out. How can I pay attention to his silly taunts when Kingsley’s about to go head-to-head with the vengeful man whose neck he mangled? He could barely beat him last time, and I don’t want to watch Kingsley end up splat on the ground.
The referee announces Victor and Kingsley’s rematch, and the crowd goes wild. My stomach is churning watching the hungry scowl on Victor, and for some goddamn reason, I’m holding back my legs from running past the fence and fighting Victor myself.
A whistle blows, and the match begins. Like a bear, Victor lunges at Kingsley, narrowly missing him when he dodges. He pulls the same move again, but this time Victor is too quick and lands a solid punch to his gut, making him double over. Then lands a right hook to the jaw, and blood flies out of King’s mouth and onto the floor.
It’s only begun, and Kingsley is off to an inauspicious start.
Tired of the tall guy before me obstructing my view, I push to stand. Some guy behind me yells at me for blocking him, but I don’t care. Kingsley’s getting his shit rocked in the arena, and it’s all I can focus on.
They go back and forth, swinging and lunging, with some hits landing and others barely missing. I suck hard on my tongue piercing as blood continues pounding in my ears. I cannotdo something irrational. Now isnotthe time to act crazy over a perfectly normal fight between a maniac and the man I think about more often than I care to admit.
Victor steps back, giving King the room to stand up again, but I know that wild look in his eyes. Hell, I’ve had that intense, raging glare myself. Victor isn’t letting him get up for the hell of it.
Kingsley is standing when Victor lifts his foot, slides his hand into his sock, and pulls out a sharp, gleaming knife. Kingsley doesn’t even see it coming before Victor’s jabbing it toward his gut.
“Fuck,” Thomas mutters with a gasp.
Victor swings again, but King jumps back just in time, over and over. Instead of stopping the match, the ref is sitting on hisarse and watching it go down as if he doesn’t have a fucking job to do. You can’t bring a knife into the arena. It’s a rule. But then again, when you’re in a place that’s built around bending the rules, anything can become fair game.
Kingsley’s back hits the net, and Victor’s right before him when he charges at him. My lungs are on fire as I shout my head off, similar to the rest of the crowd. Only their shouts are out of joy, while mine are out of pure, heart-stopping fear.
But then King whips around, grabs Victor’s arm, and knocks the knife right out of his hand. His fist collides against Victor’s nose, and then he dives for the dropped weapon. Kingsley holds it up to Victor’s neck, not speaking a word because his firm stance and hard glare say it all. Victor’s eyes search for a solution, but quickly—and smartly—realizes there is none. With a grimace, he throws his hands up in surrender.
