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Playboy Princes: A Dark College Romance

By:Jaymin Eve

Chapter 1

The wet, heavy sound of my fist smacking into his face would have sickened a lesser woman. Me, though? It made me happy. Every crack of my knuckles into his flesh, every spray of deep red blood, every pained grunt and cry from his bruised throat.

I knew he was done. He’d been done ages ago, but I was toying with him. Dragging out the pain and using his broken body as my own personal rage therapy.

With every swing of my balled fist, every strike of my elbow, knee, and heel, those vile words burned through my brain. Over and fucking over.

Genetically superior babies.

Contracts signed.

Violet’s falling in love.

Fuck me. Fuck me and my stupid, childish, moronic naivety. How could I have trusted him?

Alex. Goddamn Alex.

I kept beating my pathetic excuse for an opponent as I pictured my vile boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—in his place. But physical violence like this was a stopgap. A coping mechanism. What Alex would get would have to be a thousand times worse than a few broken bones and some internal bleeding.

Hands grabbed at me, and I lashed out at them too. My mind was too far lost to rage, and I barely even registered what was happening until my feet left the floor and my thrashing body was slung over a broad shoulder.

“What the fuck?” I screamed, my voice hoarse. I must have been yelling while I whaled on that poor fool, not even noticing it. Fuck, I hoped I hadn’t said anything incriminating.

On the other hand, who gave a fucking shit? I sure as hell didn’t. Let them know exactly who Violet Rose Spencer really was. I hoped Alex would hear about the purple-clad fighter named Violence and feel some real fear.

The dark room around me blurred and my head spun. I was hanging upside down, my long bloody braid almost drooping low enough to brush the floor as someone—probably one of my well meaning friends—hauled me out of the fight arena.

“Let me down!” I demanded, smacking his back with bruised, aching hands. My blade was gone, and I had no recollection of dropping it. When had I decided that steel would make the fight too quick and resorted to my bare hands? I had no idea. But fuck, I needed to get it back. That blade had cost me more of my soul than I was willing to admit, and I couldn’t just let some punk snatch it.

The dickhead carrying me didn’t respond and sure as shit didn’t let me down like I asked. Instead he sped up until he was damn near running out of the fight arena and down a gloomy tunnel. He didn’t bother turning on his palm reader light or pause to check arrows, so he was clearly pretty familiar with the underground network that seemed to span the whole of freaking Arbon city.

I continued to rage for another few moments until a door slammed and I was abruptly dropped on my ass in the middle of a plush carpeted floor. By Rafe. I’d been carried—and dropped—by Rafe of all fucking people. He still had his mask on, but it was him. No doubt about it.

“Oh, boy.” I chuckled a dark laugh. “You seriously picked the wrong night to fuck with me, Prince Prickly.” I clambered halfway to my feet only to be shoved back down to the floor by a rough push to my shoulder.

“Shut up,” he snapped, tearing his mask off and glaring at me with those dangerously beautiful eyes of his. “I am this fucking close to losing my cool, Vi; you need to just shut up for two seconds.” He held his finger and thumb up to demonstrate how close, and I suspected they were less than a hairsbreadth apart.

Normally, I wouldn’t give two fucks what Rafe wanted, but something wasn’t stacking up. So I kept my fury bottled up inside while he paced the expensive, decorative carpet and ran his hands through his messy black hair, over and over.

I pulled my own purple mask off while I waited and tossed it on the carpet beside me.

“Are you done?” I snarked when he finally stopped pacing and turned to glare at me again. I hadn’t tried to move from where he’d shoved my ass onto the middle of the carpet. Not because he’d told me to—fuck that—but because seeing him so worked up and ragey when I was still hyped up on the adrenaline of my fight… well… I was woman enough to admit it was a major fucking turn on. I stayed put on my ass because I was dangerously close to jumping his bones.

Apparently my question hit a trigger for him, though, and his mouth dropped and his face twisted with disbelief. “Am I done?” he repeated, staring at me like I’d grown three heads. “Me? Am I done? That’s what you’re asking?”

I blinked up at him a couple times, confused at where this conversation was going. “Uh, yeah, that’s what I asked. You’re pacing like a caged wolf and looking all”—sexy—“murderous and shit.”

He just gaped at me, seemingly lost for words for the first time since ever. It didn’t last long.

“Are you fucking joking? You just almost killed that poor fuck out there! With your bare hands!” His eyes were pitch fucking black at this stage. “What the hell happened? Did you have some kind of psychotic break in the time between the game and fight?”

Guilt washed over me. I’d been so focused on channeling my rage I hadn’t given my opponent a second thought. At least, not past how I could inflict the maximum amount of damage and pain, all while picturing he was Alex.


Still, there was no way in hell I’d be apologizing or explaining myself to my biggest tormentor at Arbon Academy.

I arched a brow at him and held steady eye contact. “Is killing against the rules in these fights? I didn’t get a handbook.”

If anything, his eyes just bugged out wider before a carefully neutral expression closed over his face. “It’s not,” Rafe admitted from behind clenched teeth, “but it creates a hell of a lot of trouble and the winner is required to clean up their own mess. I seriously doubt you’ve made the necessary connections here to handle a body disposal. Nor could you afford it.”

Ah yep, there he was. Arrogant, entitled prick.

He did kind of have a point, though. Body disposals were expensive, so I generally avoided killing my opponents to save my measly cash reserves.

“What do you care?” I snarled, not ready to calm down anytime soon. Beating the shit out of a nameless, faceless opponent had tempered my rage somewhat, but I was far from done. If Rafe wanted to fight, so fucking be it.

The cruelty in his glare as he curled his lip in a sneer said everything I needed to know. He wanted a real fight just as bad as I did.

“I don’t,” he spat back at me. “I’d have happily left you there to deal with your own mess. There would have been plenty of sleezebags willing to trade a cleanup for something other than cash, and I bet you’re no stranger to that kind of trade.”

Oh. Did he just call me a whore? That was cute.

Riding the manic high coursing through my veins, I laughed out loud. “Is that the best you’ve got, rich boy? Calling the orphan girl a whore? Oh, you’re so original. Remind me again how you’re managing to top your classes? It’s sure as shit not from your IQ.”

His brows dipped, and for a micro-second I saw through that infuriatingly blank face and spied outrage. But maybe that was my imagination.

“Listen, Cinderella, you—”

“Save it,” I cut him off, pushing myself back to my feet in an athletic flick of my hips. Okay, fine, I was showing off a bit. Sue me. “I need to get back there and find my blade. Unlike some I can’t just get a new weapon delivered to my door if I lose it.”

I made to push past him, but quickly found myself blocked by his huge body. Holy damn, he was big. Had I noticed that before? Ugh, I could see the edges of his ink curling up the side of his neck, peeking out of his black sweater. Why were the hot ones such awful bastards?

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled, far too close for my liking. Despite not wanting to seem intimidated in any way, I took a step back. It was that or do something dumb, like sniff him.

Focusing on his words, not his body, I planted my fists on my hips. I ignored the still wet blood on them because it was all freaking over the rest of me too. “Oh yeah? You going to stop me, then?”

I had expected more of the same blank, bored stare from him—not the malicious smirk that pulled his lips up or the glitter of excitement in his eyes.

Oh shit.

“You’re damn right I am, Violence. Perhaps you were so lost in your bloodlust frenzy you didn’t notice, but the Swiss Guard found our tournament again. You’re not leaving here until Noles gets back with an all clear. Not that I particularly give a shit if you get executed for illegal use of weapons, but Mattie would have my balls for breakfast.” He lifted his chin and held my gaze with a clear challenge. “But if you want to fight me over it, I have no doubt I’ll win.”

Test my skills against the notorious Fallen Angel? Tempting. Oh so tempting.

I opened my mouth to tell him to give me his best shot, but my body took that opportunity to radiate pain and remind me of the fight I’d just been in the middle of. Yeah, I’d wiped the floor with that punk, but I hadn’t come off totally unscathed. In fact, I’d taken more hits than I normally would have because rage had made me blind to pain.

Damn it all to hell.

Damn Alex right to fucking hell.

“You want to tell me what has your panties in such a bunch you needed to beat that twat to death?” Rafe, observant as ever, seemed to sense where my thoughts had traveled.