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“Hey!” Arlo growls, but he can’t throw his knife at me because Kai’s right up in his face, threatening him with his collection of knives.
“Don’t fucking move an inch, or I’ll gut you like a fish,” Kai growls, his knife pointing at Arlo’s stomach.
“You think you can hurt me?” Arlo licks his lips. “Don’t tempt me with a good fucking time, Torres.”
Suddenly, the fire alarm goes off, drawing our collective attention. The dean’s grim look as his hand hovers over the button while he stares me down from the slammed open door to the classroom has me swallowing the lump in my throat … because I’m immediately reminded of the promise I made to him last year.
No more fighting on campus.
Fuck.
* * *
Kai
“Was it worth it?”
The deadly stare the dean gives us makes me want to look away. I never fucking look away, but damn, this fucker’s got a threatening aura. I suppose it’s no wonder, considering the name he carries.
I make a tsk sound and turn away, folding my arms. “I did what I had to, to protect my fellow Phantom Society member.”
“And you?” Dean Rivera focuses on Nathan now. “Punching students in the middle of a class?”
Nathan lifts his four-fingered hand. “Rhett insulted me. I don’t take that lightly.”
The dean sighs, rubbing his forehead. “And you think punching and knifing down your fellow students will bring back your finger?”
“No. But they’ll think twice before those Tartarus boys talk about me,” Nathan says.
“Hey.” The dean’s eyes darken as they home in on us. “Don’t even think about starting more beef with another frat house.”
“If they can keep their mouths and hands to themselves, I won’t have to intervene,” I reply, leaning back in my chair.
“Until you lose another eye,” the dean warns.
Damn, that was a low blow.
He chucks his pen down onto the table. “Do I need to put you guys through more community service?” He tilts his head. “Maybe this time I’ll include cleaning all the restrooms on campus. Hmm?”
Nathan makes a disgusted face. “Gross.”
“No, gross would be months in jail,” he says sternly.
And it shuts us both up quickly.
The dean’s fists rest on the desk as he leans over it. “Do you think you run this place?”
I shake my head.
“Then tell me … who does?”
“You, sir,” I reply.
“And do you think I need you two boys to put some Tartarus dimwits in their place?”
Wow. Never thought I’d hear a dean speak about his own students like that, but I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise, considering the frat house his son belongs to. He’s obviously biased toward the Skull & Serpent Society.
“The answer is no,” he adds. There’s another pause. “You will clean up the yard outside Saturday.”
