“This is insane,” I shout to Rylie.
There are people everywhere, and the room is crawling with testosterone. Well, room isn’t accurate. It’s more like a giant warehouse with a ring at the center. Two guys are beating the shit out of each other. No surprise there as it’s been that way since we arrived. Just a revolving door of fighters trying to win in the makeshift ring. However, something about these new guys seems to have upped the excitement in the air.
I don’t know much about fighting, but I can tell he’s popular.
Or maybe hated.
Regardless, he’s big and intimidating and he has an evil smirk as he eyes his opponent.
I shiver.
This is definitely not my scene. And it’s not Rylie’s either, but she seems enthralled by the crowd. “You’re doing that psych thing again, aren’t you?” I ask against her ear. Her parents are both psychologists, and shocker, she’s a psych major, too. And now she’s studying the people with a rapt expression, her hazel irises analyzing their every move.
I groan. “I should have known that was why you wanted to do this.” She is obsessed with psychoanalyzing everyone and everything.
When I confided in her about the death of my parents—and the fact that it happened when I was twelve—she wanted to know every detail. And it wasn’t the sincere curiosity of an innocent asking about how they died. No, she inquired about my feelings, my reactions, and then she’d ascertained that I would do.
Like I passed some sort of test.
I decided at that moment that she wasn’t like most girls. And well, I suppose she passed my test as well because now we were close friends. Time didn’t seem to matter. We just got each other.
“This is fascinating,” she tells me. Her chestnut hair is piled into a messy bun on top of her head. The relaxed style pairs well with her attire of muck boots, jeans, and a hoodie. She once mentioned something about being from Maine, like that explained her clothing preferences.
Mine have nothing to do with my home state. Southern Georgia is all about sunshine, not rain. And we certainly don’t need a lot of sweaters. But up here in New York? Yeah, that’s a whole new world for me. Hence, my sweater, jeans, thick socks, and heeled boots. I almost brought a coat as well, but Rylie thought it would be a little hot in here.
She’s right.
It burns like a hot summer day in here with all the people crowding around to watch a bunch of sweaty men fight.
“Certainly not in Savannah anymore,” I mutter to myself.
“I heard that,” Rylie replies.
“Of course you did. Selective hearing and all.” I grin at her, but the people yelling around us draw her attention back to the stage. I flinch as the big dude takes a harsh hit to the jaw, blood spewing from his lips as he falls to the side.
The realistic vision puts my daydream of punching Colton to shame. Mostly because my version lacked blood.
Shouts of triumph go through the crowd, followed by groans and curses.
A shiver trickles up my spine at the mounting aggression in the air. A few of the guys nearby shove at each other for messing up a bet. Or I think that might be the case. Their words are slurred with booze, the alcohol heavy in the atmosphere.
“Uh, Ry?” I say, using my preferred nickname for her. “Maybe we should…?” I trail off as a group of people start chanting at the stage.
Big Guy is back on his feet and looks hella pissed about taking one to the jaw.
I instinctively take a step back, but Rylie is under some sort of trance. Her fascination is written in her elven features, her petite frame thrumming with curiosity.
My stomach churns with discomfort. I’m not a naïve little bluebell, but I’m not all that experienced either. Especially not with this.
Swimmers don’t fight. We’re competitive to an extent, but we come together for relays and understand the value of working as a team.
These two guys on the stage are not teammates.
They look ready to kill each other, and suddenly I’m afraid we’re all about to bear witness to a crime. Big Guy has murder written into his expression, his bald head glistening in the dull lights above.
I take another step back, directly into a hard chest. With my heart in my throat, I jump forward while mouthing an apology, only to be secured with a hand on my hip.
“Well, this isn’t where I wanted to have this conversation,” a deep voice says against my ear. “But it’ll do.”
“C-Colton?” I stammer, glancing over my shoulder.
“It’s rude not to watch,” he tells me as his opposite hand goes to my chin to force my eyes back to the stage. “Who do you want to win?”
“I…” I swallow. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you,” he says.
“Wh-what? Why?” It comes out hoarse, his nearness paired with our surroundings leaving me off kilter. He’s here for me?
The palm on my hip shifts to my abdomen to hold me more firmly against the muscular god behind me while his other hand remains on my chin, forcing me to watch the fight.
“We have a lot to discuss, little pledge.” His lips graze my ear. “Starting with ground rules. So I suggest you enjoy what you’re about to witness as it’ll be the last fight you’ll be allowed to see for the next five months.”
“Excuse me?” I try to move, but his arm locks around my abdomen, his strength bleeding into me through the thick layers of our clothes. “Colton—”
“Watch,” he demands.
I want to argue, but the cheering grows as Big Guy slams his fist into his opponent with a victorious roar.
Except he celebrates too soon because in the next second, the smaller fighter sends an uppercut to Big Guy’s chin followed by a chop to his throat.
Silence falls as everyone holds their breath.
And the smaller opponent adds a final blow to Big Guy’s head.
It all happens in a few blinks but plays out in slow motion.
Then Big Guy tips over and down he goes, his hefty form crashing into the floor with a resounding thud.
Colton snorts as the crowd goes wild.
I search for Rylie, my heart in my throat. Everyone is losing their damn minds, stirring an unruly atmosphere that screams danger to my senses.
“Rylie!” I yell.
But she’s lost to the crowd, observing as the chaos unfolds.
“Let go,” I tell Colton, desperate to reach Rylie.
“No.”
“No?” Is he joking right now? I look sharply over my shoulder, managing to release my chin from his grip. “Do you manhandle all women or am I just an unlucky victim?”
His dark eyes smolder. “If I don’t manhandle you, someone else will.”
“Excuse me?” Pretty sure that’s the second time I’ve used that phrase with him today.
“You’re an innocent little southern belle in the middle of an illegal fight club,” he says. “You’re fight bait.”
“Fight bait?” I repeat with a humorless laugh. “I don’t—”
A shriek pierces the air nearby, sending a chill down my spine. My attention shifts sideways just in time to see Rylie go barreling through a crowd of men and women. She walks right up to Big Guy—who is no longer on the stage—and kicks him square in the balls.
I gasp as he falls to his knees.
And my eyes widen as she slams the heel of her muck boot against his throat.
“Oh, hell,” I breathe, now even more desperate to get to her. But Colton refuses to budge. “Let go of me!” I demand.
A few people cast curious looks our way, but say nothing. Like it’s entirely normal to be held against my will.
What is wrong with these people?
No, better question: What is wrong with Colton Kinsley?
Sure, he’s a swimming god and son of one of the most power attorneys in the world. But this is next level arrogance.
I’m about to tell him off as a dark-haired male with ice blue eyes joins the scene with Rylie. His irises flash as he glances my way, then his focus shifts to the male behind me. Something seems to pass through the air because the dark-haired one gives a subtle nod.
“Your friend will be fine,” Colton says against my ear. “Well, unless the Scorpio Society taps her, too. Then I can’t guarantee anything.”
“The what?”
“Come on, little pledge.” He starts walking me backward with both his arms locked around my waist. “Time for that chat.”
I dig in my heels, refusing to move. “I’m not going anywhere with you. And I’m definitely not leaving Rylie with that guy.” He’s over six feet of solid muscle and he’s looking at my friend with a calculating gleam that leaves me uneasy.
Then Colton shifts me back another step, and I lose sight of her.
“She’ll be okay,” he says against my ear. “Trust me.”
“Trust you?” I laugh. “Right. I don’t know you, Colton. And what little I did know about you is clearly incorrect. You can swim, I’ll give you that. But you’re not a nice guy. Nor do you seem to be all that shy.” A fact I’ve learned with all his manhandling.
If I don’t manhandle you, someone else will.
What kind of lame excuse is that, anyway?
He called me fight bait. An innocent southern belle.
I’ll show him innocent.
He begins to speak, but I’m done listening to him.
I stomp back on his toe with my heel and introduce my elbow to his ribs. His responding growl has me repeating both actions as I try to fight my way out of his hold.
A few people start to watch. Not help. Just watch. Like they’re amused by my show of strength. That only pisses me off more.
At least until I notice some of the hungry gleams coming from the men in the crowd. Their eyes are roaming over me with clear interest, their tongues snaking out to dampen their bottom lips.
Uh…
A few others elbow each other with chuckles, their gazes tracking over my movements before evaluating the male behind me.
I stop struggling.
These guys are big. Not as tall as Colton, but definitely bulkier. His arms clamp around me like cement and I allow it because I prefer his manhandling over their intrigue.
Except they don’t seem to care that he’s the one holding me. Two of them step forward, cruel smiles on their lips. “Well, what do we have here? A fresh dove?”
“Fuck off, Jimmy,” Colton says.
The bulky bald guy only grins more. “Your girl doesn’t seem to want me to fuck off, Kinsley. I think she wants you to fuck off.”
“She’s off limits,” another voice says, his tone deep and underlined with authority. “And you should know better than to challenge a Kinsley, especially in my club.”
“Not yours yet, Hawthorne,” one of the men mutters.
“You want to say that to my face?” The icy-blue eyed guy from earlier steps up beside us. “No? I didn’t think so.” He looks directly at Colton. “Get her out of here.”
“Trying to,” Colton says. “But she’s freaking out over her friend.”
“Her friend is fine.” Icy Eyes, who I’m guessing goes by Hawthorne, pulls Rylie into view with his hand clamped down around her upper arm.
“Ry,” I breathe, trying futilely to reach for her.
Her hazel irises hold a hardness to them, her irritation evident. Not with me, but with whatever the hell just happened back there. “I’m okay, Em.”
“We need to go,” I say.
“No.” Hawthorne’s tone leaves no room for argument. “Ry and I are going to have a word.”
Rylie glances up at him, her expression filled with a notoriously wondrous look. Even caught in the death grip of what appears to be a devilish creature, she’s still enthralled by mental motivations.
“Ry—”
“I’ll meet you back at the dorm,” she interjects, her resolve palpable.
I groan. There’s no talking sense into her when she’s in this sort of mood. She’s on a mission—one I’ll never understand—and trying to fight her on it will just end in her doing it anyway.
“Good choice,” Icy Eyes says darkly. He glances at the guys who haven’t backed off yet and arches a single dark brow. “Didn’t I tell you to fuck off?”
Colton grunts. “No, but I did.”
“And they should fucking listen.” Icy Eyes stares the others down until they take a few steps back.
And Rylie observes with severe interest.
Great.
“Those wolves would eat you alive,” Colton says against my ear. “Now let’s go.”
Icy Eyes steers Rylie away from me while Colton speaks, leaving me without much of an option. Either stay and face the wolves, as he called them, or obey his command.
My jaw ticks.
I don’t like demands.
But I also don’t want to be “eaten alive.”
So I opt to let him guide me outside instead. Mostly because I’m hoping he’ll let me go the second we step into the night. But he doesn’t. He guides me to an expensive looking coupe instead. “Get in,” he tells me.
“I’d rather walk.”
“You need to save your legs for practice in the morning,” he replies, opening the door to his black sporty car. “And I wasn’t asking, I was telling.”
I spin around to face him. “I’m all for a gentleman who opens doors, but I don’t do the commanding alpha thing.” Well, not that I know of anyway. I’ve not dated much. Swimming is my first and only love. I refuse to accept distractions, and boyfriends certainly qualify as one.
He clenches his teeth, his cheekbones seeming to become more pronounced in the process. Colton really is a handsome man with those dark brows, stubbled jaw line, and perfect facial structure. However, behind the sexy mask is an alpha asshole who manhandles women and issues demands instead of requests.
If I had a type, it wouldn’t be this.
I fold my arms and stare up at him.
He stares back, his dark eyes narrowing.
After a beat he sighs and shakes his head. “Please get in the car.”
My eyebrows wing upward. “So you do know kind words? Fascinating. But the answer is still no.”
He releases a low growl, his palm coming up to rest on the top of his car while his other hand remains on the door, effectively caging me in against the coupe. “All right. This hasn’t started the way it should have, and for that, I’m sorry. But I really need you to get in the car, Emma. We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Something I can’t comment on out here,” he says, glancing around the parking lot. There are several people lingering around. No one appears to be actively listening to us, but that doesn’t mean they can’t hear us. “Please, Emma. I know I haven’t given you the best first impression, but I’m not a complete ass. I thought you knew… and I’ve since realized you don’t.” He removes his hand from the car to pinch the bridge of his nose, his expression taking on one of regret mingled with exhaustion. “Just… get in the car. Please.”
All right, that’s two instances of a please and an apology.
His facial features also appear adequately contrite.
If it was anyone else, I’d walk.
But Colton Kinsley isn’t anyone else. And while he’s been a complete ass, it’s not like he’s a complete stranger.
I’m also a bit intrigued by what he has to say. “Where are you gonna take me?”
“My place,” he says.
I blanch.
He rolls his eyes. “Not for sex, but to eat and talk.”
Okay, sex isn’t what I thought at all. It was just instinctual to react to Colton Kinsley saying he’s taking me back to his place.
However, now I’m thinking about the alternatives to that phrase—thanks to his comment—and I’m not sure how I feel about them.
“Emma,” he prompts. “Please.”
“Three times?” I’m almost impressed. “Well, you know what they say about it being the charm and all that.” I shrug and slide into the leather bucket seat.
He says something under his breath that I don’t catch and shuts the door behind me.
I’m totally going to regret this.
However, seeing one of his medals may make it worth it.
I take a mental note to ask. Then I buckle myself in for the ride.