Page 29 of The Deceptions
Even though the Coliseum is basically run by the three idiots we hate, anyone can create a fight night to their liking, with or without their approval.
Like we just did.
“That was quick.” I raise a brow, taking out my phone and peering at the small announcement on our university’s slam page.
A place for students to write their dirty little secrets and unburden themselves anonymously. Like fuckingGossip Girl.Not that I've watched it or anything.
No one knows who runs it. I mean, I have my ways. I could find out in a heartbeat. But I won't. It's the quickest and easiest way possible to spread the word about parties, fights, and events.
In our case. A welcome back punch fest. Blood for blood. Broken bones for broken bones. All on neutral grounds. Animosity be damned.
It's music to my ears.
Fight. First Friday after students return. Coliseum. Midnight.
If there's one thing I can say about Wilder, he’s efficient. But I know he needs this as much as I do.
The blood, crunching bones, and the thrill of whooping some ass.
I'm getting hard thinking about it. I blink several times, staring at my dick rising in my jeans. Well, this is quite the new adventure for me. Thanks for awakening, Big guy.
And it’s all thanks to her.
But you can deflate now. We’ll save all that for another time.
Wilder grins at his phone, putting the cigarette behind his ear. Relief seems to spill over his features, and he loosens up. Obviously, he got what he wanted.
“Hux says he'll fight you. Gladly, if I'm quoting him.” Wilder rolls his eyes. “I'll beat Malic’s ass any day of the week.” He mocks Huxley fucking Crewe’s voice.
Cocky douche.
My teeth grit at the thought of him. It's his fault. All of it. And I can't wait to beat his face in. Just like last time.
Hux doesn't stand a fucking chance against me. I'm undefeated, underestimated, and his ass-beating has been in the works for years now. He may have done something heroic a few years ago, but that doesn’t excuse who he is now.
“And for you?” I ask, leaning back on my queen-sized bed with my hand tucked behind my head.
Wilder shoves his phone away, knowing what I'm asking. It's the question I ask every time we line up fights, which happens at least twice a month. It's for our sanity. And the campus. They pick an opponent, and we facilitate the ring. It's a win-win. Plus, it draws a crowd and money.
“The day that asshole gets into the ring with me, is the day Hell freezes over.” He flings a hand recklessly. “Mack's a pussy. Always has been,” he practically spits his brother's name out like a curse.
“So who then?”
Blood soars through my veins the more I think about the upcoming school year at Greenwood U and the fights that will ensue in our Coliseum overlooking the ocean. A piece of Greenwood living in the infamy of the pirate who landed here on his last leg.
“Whoever shows up,” he grunts, shrugging.
“You hear about the grand party they’re throwing?” I ask, yawning.
Wilder puts the cigarette between his lips again. “Who hasn't heard about it? No one is even on campus yet and it's the talk of the fucking town.” Not to mention, they throw it every year. It’sa tradition of sorts. Only, the masses don’t realize the meaning behind the charade.
“How about we have our own?” I grin.
“One of our own, huh? New recruits?” Wilder raises a brow with interest. Parties aren’t usually his scene. He’d rather hide in the shadows with an unlit cigarette between his lips, watching people.
I nod.
“See who is interested. Boss said it would be good for us to branch out. Maybe ruffle some feathers,” I chuckle. “New blood and all that.”
