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2
Fight Night
-Jade-
Two and a half months ago…
It’s the last weekend before the semester starts. Since arriving on campus, I’ve organized Friday Fight Nights. It’s my specialty, besides the guns I sling on the side.
Tonight’s lineup is what I need to bring in enough cash to survive my junior year at this god-forsaken academy.
You’d think “academy” meant pretentious rich kids flown in by mommy and daddy, literally smelling like money. In reality, this is a school for the delinquent children of criminal families.
I’m MC royalty–a Princess. I roll my eyes at the Princess moniker. I’m not a goddamn Princess. There’s nothing prim or proper about me or my family, who run motorcycle clubs all over the East Coast. My dad is the president, my asshole twinbrothers are his Vice President and Sergeant at Arms, and my fuckwit ex-boyfriend, D’mitri, is the club’s enforcer. I should’ve killed him a long time ago, but his time will come. It almost did last weekend. He should’ve known what I’m capable of. A smile creeps on my face, thinking back to that night.
D’mitri has been ignoring my texts all day. It’s my last night at home before I head to Whitestone Academy for my junior year. I enter the clubhouse, and of course, the crow-eaters are everywhere, lapping up all the men they can, hoping to become someone’s old lady. It’s sad how far they are willing to go to become one. Just a hole for them to dump their cum in.
The clubhouse is stuffy this time of night. It smells of stale whiskey and cigarettes with a hint of weed. It’s a full house, and if my father knew I was here, he’d kill me. Luckily, he is fast asleep at home. Hopefully, I can find D’mitri without running into the twins.
Grabbing a shot of tequila from Slash, who is working behind the bar tonight, I nod a thanks as I move towards the back where the guys keep their rooms. I saw this fucker’s bike out front, so I know he’s here. I hear Slash calling out to me, but I’m too focused on getting to D’mitiri’s room, and I can’t hear a word he’s saying over the loud music. I throw back my shot, leaving the glass on the nearest table, and head for the hallway.
When I open the door, what I see throws me into a blind rage. I immediately grab my pistol from its holster that’s strapped to my chest, walk up to the cunt currently riding my boyfriend’s dick, point the gun at the back of her head, and pull the fucking trigger.
I don’t think about the sprayback or the fact that I killed someone in the middle of my father’s clubhouse, but it is what it is. No one makes a fool of me. Dmitri’s eyes go wide. I shove the body off the bed, pressing the gun to his temple.
“What the fuck, Jade?” he growls.
“What the fuck, Jade?” I press harder, mocking him.
“What the fuck D’mitri? I should blow your fucking head off too with the brainless bitch on the floor, but your pathetic ass gets to live another day. Have fun cleaning this mess up, cocksucker,” spitting at him, chucking both middle fingers at him as I stalk off toward his door.
He says some shit to me, but I completely tune him out as I exit the room, walking down the hallway and going back out the way I came. Everyone is looking at me, probably because I’m splattered with blood and pieces of skull fragments, but I don’t care. I look at Slash, who is readying a double shot of tequila. I say nothing, nod at him, take my shot, throw it back, and exit the clubhouse.
So here I am, ensuring I collected all the money for tonight’s fights and everything is ready. This is the only time I ever wear my cut. It’s different from the crews. They wear a black vest with our logo and the crew’s name, along with which chapter we are and their ranking. Even though I’m not a sworn-in member, I still have to represent the club so these fools can’t and won’t walk all over me. If you don’t assert your dominance, they will eat you up and spit you right the fuck back out. My cut is a blood-red leather jacket with a matching logo, Devil Incarnate New York chapter, and my ranking, which is Princess.
I freaking loathe that title, but I love the name Jade. My mother nicknamed me that because of how green my eyes are. I despise being called by my real name.Fallon.
The entertainment for tonight is exclusive –invitation only, and it’s sent via text with a time and passcode. Security at the door requires a secret code: it changes every event. We don’t let in just any ole riff-raff.These hoes ain’t loyal.
It’s a solid business transaction between the initial buy-in and the bets placed within the mill. My dad’s club owns this abandoned mill in the middle of nowhere in upstate New York,about an hour north of the city. There are no neighbors, stores, nothing for at least ten miles. It’s all just abandoned houses and farms. It’s the perfect spot to make particular exchanges and hold events without getting caught. The last thing I need is my dad and my annoying ass brothers breathing down my neck.
Oh, and don’t forget to add in the asshole ex who can’t get a clue to leave me the fuck alone. Yes, the dumb fuck thought it was hot that I blew some bitch’s head off over him.“Damn, Jade. That made my dick even harder, my Little Sweetbottom, seeing you go all feral because some crow-eater was on my dick.”
I wanted to slice his throat when he texted me that bullshit. He still texts me daily, begging for forgiveness, but I’m sorry. Again, no one makes me look stupid, and we are not starting now.
I take in the setup around this shitty mill. There are a few windows and an entire wrap-around balcony on the top, where I’m standing now, looking down at the ring. It’s nothing special. There are bales of hay lining a circle big enough for both men and women to throw down in. This is the space where we get to kick each other’s asses.
We don’t do this at school; we bring it right here and place bets on one another. I’ve got a DJ set up on the right side of the ring and a bar on the left: mostly kegs, bottom-shelf liquor, soda, and water. I ordered a shit ton of pizzas to sell for a dollar a slice and two dollar beers. I grabbed my phone and saw we had one hour until the first fight started, so it was time to send the text out.
Jade: The Mill, Eleven p.m. Creampie.
Now, I sit back, look over the roster for the night, and wait for the crowd to show. I know the majority of names on the lineup except for one. Maybe Kayla added him to the list; I’ll ask her when she arrives.
Kayla is my childhood bestie. She comes from a family of criminals just like me, except her family deals in skins and chemicals if you catch my drift. Kayla is my ride-or-die bitch. I trust her with my life. She’s a feisty little brunette with a mean bite.
Not everyone shows up to every fight, but mine are damn good, so it’s far and in between that I have to find replacements.
Twenty minutes go by, and I start to see headlights. I see a white Aston Martin pull up first, and I know automatically that it’s Kayla with the crew. We have a dozen people from the academy who inform us of all the things we need to know daily. Kayla gets out of the car wearing her signature stilettos with tight black jeans and a blood-red crop top that says, “I’m that B*tch.” And her dark green eyes are lined with thick black eyeliner.”I can’t with her.
