Playboy Princes (Royals of Arbon Academy, #2)(48)

“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.

“I have no idea who you are.”

He wasn’t focused on me like he should be, giving me the perfect opening to rush him, using my momentum to smash right into him, sword first.

It cut through a gap in his shirt, piercing his chest. I couldn’t easily get to his heart, not from this angle, but I hurt him badly.

He threw me off, and I rolled effortlessly to end up across the ring. Noise exploded, and it was like my ears had just started working again. I’d been so focused on the enemy before me that I’d completely forgotten we weren’t alone here.

“Get up,” Rafe snarled, his face down near mine. “Stop playing with him, V. Finish him off.”

I blinked at him, and in that stare, I realized what he was saying. He was giving me permission to kill Brandon, and he’d help me cover it up. All that power and the resources I didn’t have… Rafe was going to lend me his.

Some girls wanted flowers, but this… this was my fucking date material.

With a nod, I flung myself up, fingers tightening around the handle. But Brandon was halfway across the fight arena, bleeding everywhere and hunched over like he was barely able to stand.

“The Dean forfeits the match,” the announcer calls. “He is henceforth blacklisted from participating or watching these nights. Strip him of his weapons.”

“No!” I shouted, rushing forward. “Finish, you fucking coward.”

Brandon spun around, and I wished I could see his face to try and figure out what his endgame was here. I mean, he didn’t have to forfeit and give up all rights. He could have just tapped out once I had him down. Or he might have expected I’d knock him out. That was what usually happened, so there was no way he knew...

His lips curled, and I had a flash of insight. He did know...

He’d figured out who I was, and he knew I planned to kill him.

This was a bitch move to save his own neck.

A smile tilted up my lips, and I deliberately swung my blade around, letting his blood fly off it in a pretty arc. “I don’t need an organized fight to finish you,” I said, low enough that only he would hear over the noise of the crowd. “There’s nowhere you can hide.” I leaned in really close, and he flinched. “I’m really going to enjoy this. Good luck, Brandon.”