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Way to read the room, dick.
My gaze strays to Nikolai, who’s on the opposite side of the ring being prepped by none other than Jeremy—the recent president of my anti-fan club.
The mere look at the brute is enough to kill any erotic thoughts. I definitely have no qualms about destroying his features and giving him the incentive to go through a desperate reparative surgery.
“You okay, Lan?” Remi asks from outside the ring and passes me a bottle of water.
He’s the only one of the guys who loves accompanying me on these bursts of violence. There’s also Ava, who loves to come cheer for me. She must be in the crowd somewhere as the president of Fighter Landon Club.
Ava and I have an easygoing relationship. I help her in bringing Eli down and then she helps me with all my gossip needs. What she doesn’t know is that I also help Eli sometimes. What? He’s still my cousin. The King men might fight and see the world through different lenses, but we’ll always be family.
Or that’s what Grandfather Jonathan says.
At any rate, I’ve been taking part in underground fighting since Eli first took me to one—behind our parents’ backs, naturally.
After his first years in uni, my cousin gradually pulled out from these scenes, but I found a much-needed venting outlet in the adrenaline this provides.
The crowd.
The screams.
The fuck fest that usually takes place after.
REU’s students' shouts surround me in a halo, a drug that shoots through my bloodstream and shoves me toward the sky.
I grab the bottle from Remi, down half of it and pour the other half on my head, then shake it out like a dog. Girls swoon and I offer them my usual charming grins that would make them drop their knickers if I as much as asked. The only difference now is that I couldn’t give a fuck about their attention.
I don’t even have the right motivation to finish this fight.
“Do you have to do this?” my clone asks from the side of the ring.
Brandon is about the last person one would expect to attend fight clubs. He’s more squeamish than a sheltered prince and he looks the part of an upper-class, preppy boy with his groomed hair and snobbish face. He came dressed in a white shirt, a beige cardigan, pressed trousers, and classic Prada loafers.
Still, the fact that he chose to offer his support is a rare event that I plan to make full use of.
My lips curve in a sly grin. “Do you have to be here?”
He slides a hand in his pocket, posture straight and voice calm. “You’re the one who texted me.”
“Oh? Since when do you come running after I inform you of my fights?”
“Mum asked me to keep you out of trouble.”
“Didn’t think you listened anymore.”
“You’re my brother. I won’t like seeing Mum cry if you somehow get yourself killed.”
“Aww.” I jump down from the ring and ruffle his perfectly styled hair, sending it into irreparable chaos, then smile.
He pushes me away. “Stop it.”
“I knew you loved me.” My grin disappears as I grab him by the collar of his shirt and whisper in his ear, my voice hardening, “But try again, Bran. You’re a terrible fucking liar.”
As I pull away, his eyes widen a little, not enough to be noticed by Remi, who’s busy trash-talking Nikolai’s fans. However, Bran can’t hide from me and just unconsciously proved one of my grim theories. The one I was contemplating when I sent him the text about my fight with Nikolai.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” For all intents and purposes, he does sound unaffected.
“I’m talking about your recent fascination with Nikolai. Care to explain yourself?”
