Somewhere behind us, a group of drunk frat bros start cheering, egging us on. One of them yells, “Get a room!” but another shouts back, “No, let ‘em fuck right here!”
Ava just laughs, biting down on my lower lip. “God, I want you,” she moans, her hand finding my cock through my jeans and stroking it until I’m half-blind with lust.
I glance over my shoulder, checking in on the fight. Raf is taking more hits than I’d like, but I can’t bring myself to care. Not when Ava is grinding her soaked pussy against my leg and begging for it. My world narrows to her– her mouth, her hands, her raw hunger.
I hoist her up by her ass, and she wraps her legs around my waist before I slam her back against the wall, kissing her hard. She likes it rough, and I’m nothing if not a giver.
“After the fight,” I growl against her mouth, “I’m gonna bend you over and–”
She cuts me off with another kiss, her tongue in my mouth, hands in my hair, nails raking my scalp. I can’t get enough of her. I’m tempted to fuck her right here, right now, but I’m not a complete animal.
The bell rings, signaling the end of the round, and suddenly there’s a commotion near the ring. The crowd surges, and I hear the announcer’s voice blaring over the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner by knockout…Diesel!”
My blood runs cold. I turn, squinting toward the ring, and see Raf on the mat, blood streaming from his mouth, barely conscious. Wes is kneeling over him, face white as chalk.
I drop Ava, and she stumbles, dazed. For a second, I just stand there, stunned. It takes a moment for my brain to catch up to what I’m seeing.
Raf lost.
The crowd is going insane, but all I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears. I look down at Ava, then back at the ring, where Wes is helping Raf to his feet, his eyes wild and unfocused. He spits a glob of blood on the mat, then turns, eyes locking on mine.
Even from across the warehouse, I feel the weight of his stare– and in that second, I know exactly how bad I fucked up.
I’ve seen that look before. I know what it means.
Next time, I’m the one who bleeds.
CHAPTER 30
AVA
The car ridehome is so silent, it feels like I could drown in it.
Not the good kind of silence, either, like the campus library late at night or the apartment when all the guys are off pumping iron at the gym. This is the kind that rings in your ears and makes your skin itch, a black hole where words go to die. No one’s spoken since we left the warehouse, since the blood on Raf’s face stopped trickling and Ford quit smiling for good. Even the radio is off, which is like a war crime for Wes, who usually can’t survive a five-minute drive without a playlist.
Raf rides shotgun, his body coiled so tight I half-expect the seatbelt to pop. He stares straight ahead, arms crossed, like if he lets go for even a second he’ll murder every person in this car and then himself. Wes just drives, jaw locked, hands at ten and two and white-knuckled around the wheel. Ford and I are in the back, but he’s sitting with his knees spread, elbows braced on his thighs, head down and hands dangling limp between them. He hasn’t looked up since we left.
If there were an award for most awkward group vibe, we’d be getting a standing ovation.
But here’s the thing– underneath it all, I’m kind of… delighted.
I mean, I probably shouldn’t be. I’m supposed to be traumatized by the night’s events, or at least worried about the guys, but I can’t help it. My plan actually fuckingworked. Maybe not flawlessly, since Raf did end up with his head bashed in, but still. The Kings are crumbling. I can feel the fractures in real time, little tectonic shifts in their unbreakable bond, and it’s all I can do not to laugh out loud.
Instead, I turn my attention to the scenery flashing past the window– dark woods, empty road, the occasional pair of headlights carving through the gloom. Every now and then, I catch my own reflection in the glass, lips twitching at the edges in the smallest, meanest smile.
The only hitch is that I’m still technically supposed to be the weak, trembling, traumatized girl. Which is why I’m working overtime to sell it. I keep my body language small and folded, shoulders hunched, knees pressed together, fingers twisting together like I’m worried I’ll be punished if I make a sound. I even bite the inside of my cheek every now and then for effect.
At least I’m sitting comfortably on this ride. I ditched the butt plug the second we got to the warehouse, left it in the bathroom trash like a bad omen. I feel lighter without it, like I could float out the window if I tried. Not that anyone here would notice right now.
Half an hour into the drive, I decide to throw a grenade into the void, seeing how it lands.
“So…” I start, then immediately regret it as three sets of eyes flick to me at once– Wes in the rearview, Ford out of the corner of his eye, Raf through the reflection in the windshield.
I swallow thickly, playing the part. “Are you… okay?” I direct it at Raf, who’s still bleeding just a little from his split lip.
He doesn’t even turn around. Just lifts one hand, palm out, and growls, “Don’t.”
