“Don’t you fucking dare,” I growled, jabbing him in the ribs with my elbow. “Revenge is mine. You start thinking about how we can get Claudette in the ring for next fight night.”
Nolan laughed. “Yeah, sure. Claudette risking a broken nail. Let me get to work on finding a unicorn to shit out rainbow ice cream while I’m at it.”
He snickered at his own joke as he merged back into the crowd and left me alone once more. They were seriously good at doing that, which made me wonder how long they’d been attending these clandestine fights. Also made me wonder just how deeply they were involved, given how easily Rafe had managed to get me on the bill.
“Okay folks, are we all ready for round three?” The main commentator bellowed his words into a microphone like he was some kind of performer. Hell, maybe he was. With everyone disguised to varying extents, the commentator could well be a celebrity or a royal himself.
Excitement warmed my belly, and I rolled my shoulders in preparation. A small part of me worried that maybe the guys hadn’t made it work, maybe I’d end up fighting some other arrogant dick with sloppy footwork and heavy fists.
But then… “Violence versus The Dean!”
Fuck yeah.
Wait, which ring?
Chapter 20
As it turned out, I didn’t need to worry. Enough people either stepped out of my way or nudged me in the right direction. In fairness, my violet-colored Violence costume really did make me stand out a bit.
“You can’t be serious,” Brandon—ahem, sorry,The Dean—sneered when I stepped into the ring with him. “I’m not fighting agirl. What kind of joke is this?” He looked around, condescending laughter radiating from his whole form. Fucking hell, even with the mask and black outfit, even without thestupid,obvious persona, it would’ve been dead clear that this was Brandon Morgan. He just oozed a special sort of assholery.
“Are you questioning this ancient organization?” the announcer asked, sounding legitimately surprised. “You know the rules. No one requests or denies an opponent. You fight or you forfeit, and if you forfeit, your name is blacklisted and you never fight again.”
No one could see his face, but Brandon’s eyes narrowed at that. It was abundantly clear he didn’t like having that sort of ultimatum thrown in his face.
“Are we good to go ahead?” the announcer pushed.
Brandon nodded once, his fists clenching at the same time, before he forced himself to relax. From one of his loser friends on the sideline, he grabbed a pair of short blades, the sort that you fought with one in each hand. He wouldn’t have the reach of my baby, but double the blade was always something to keep an eye on.
“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered.
I didn’t reply. I didn’t move or twitch. My wakizashi was in my hands, and that was the only sign I gave that I was even remotely ready for this fight.
I’d waited a long time to match up with this asshole. An asshole I’d had to let beat me. Who’d filmed his cruel brutality and shared it around.
An asshole I was going to destroy.
He lunged at me first, driven by his need to take control. His ego required that of him. Of course I’d expected it, so I was ready this time. Ducking low and to the left, I slid past both of his blades, angling my body to cruise right between them and come up behind him.
The first slice of my blade hit something hard on his shirt, flinging it back at me. I was close enough to see that this fucking piece of shit had sewn some sort of micro-fine Kevlar into his outfit, one that was impervious to even the unmatched sharpness of my wakizashi.
“Take any opportunity to cheat, why don’t you,” I murmured.
They had quite a few rules here, and one was that your clothing couldn’t protect you any more than your opponent’s. If he had Kevlar, so should I. But Brandon’s was so well designed that it was nearly impossible to tell. Thankfully, I spotted a few flaws. A few places where the fabric moved differently.
He was already swinging again, and I was reluctantly impressed with his skills. He knew his way around those blades, but his cocky confidence was going to be his downfall.
My wakizashi swished with a flash of silver, clashing against his, and I felt his flinch at the bite I took from his right blade. Yep, his Kevlar might be state-of-the-fucking-art, but my sword had been gifted through a long line of warriors. It never dulled and was made from Damascus steel, forged in a way that was so rarely done, there were only five of these swords in the world. If I had enough time and power in my swing, I had no doubt I’d even take out his body armor. Thankfully, I didn’t need to.
Stepping into him, my sword pushing both of his back, I pivoted, dropping to my knees. I ran my wakizashi down his right side, aiming for every vulnerable point he hadn’t armored.
Brandon cried out, dropping his right-handed blade before he tried to swing at me with the other. I was on the ground though, out of his reach and rolling to a safe distance before I bounced to my feet.
“Who the fuck are you?” he snarled.
Clearly, he was the only dumbass who hadn’t put it together to know I was Violet, and I had a sneaking suspicion it was because he thought of me as that poor, pathetic loser bleeding on the floor in front of him.
“You should know me,” I said calmly, watching as he dropped his right arm down to try and protect that injured side. Blood had spattered across the floor, more appearing as he moved, and even I was impressed with the level of damage.
