The Wedding Debt (Underworld Kings)

“You two don’t even fucking belong here,” the one boy I hit says.

I spit in his face. His face turns red with rage.

He slaps me in the face so hard my head turns.

And my eyes connect with the only boy I hoped wouldn’t see me in this position.

Luca De Vos.

But his eyes don’t show that familiar spark or that devilish smirk on his upturned lips.

Instead, all they show is the craving for violence.

Luca

* * *

The second my eyes find hers as she stands in the middle of a crowd, throwing fisticuffs with a bunch of guys, I stop and drop everything I was holding. I rush to the scene, ignoring people around me shouting at me, pushing past them to land straight into the fight.

And before the guy can punch her again for daring to spit on him, I throw him an uppercut to the chest. He heaves and bends over from the pain, saliva dribbling onto the floor.

“What the fuck, man!?” the guy splutters.

He quickly rises and throws me a punch. I can’t dodge in time, taking it to the face, but I don’t flinch.

Suddenly, some arms fling around my neck and pull me into a headlock. The other guy takes the opportunity to give me back the same uppercut, and I groan with pain.

“Luca!” Jill screams, and she tries to punch the guy’s back.

He merely swipes at her with one hand, throwing her to the hard stone floor.

Rage bursts through my veins, and I roar as I tear away from the arms behind me. I swiftly kick the guy in front of me and punch him in the face. I spin on my heels to jam my knee into the other guy’s balls.

He yowls in pain and falls down, clutching his junk. “Why the fuck are you butting in?”

The second I pull out my knife, all of them back away.

“Don’t you dare fucking lay another hand on her,” I say through gritted teeth, and I throw a snarl at the one guy left standing, but he quickly backs away with his hands raised like a dog with his tail between his legs.

“What? Scared of a little knife?” I say, flicking it around to make their eyes follow the blade.

Jill is beside her sister, helping her get up, while I stare at the crowd surrounding us to make sure none of them gets any ideas.

“What is going on here?”

Everyone suddenly starts to scramble as Dean Hans barges into the hallway. I quickly tuck my knife back into my pocket and pretend nothing happened.

Hans stops in his tracks the second he spots us, his eyes taking in the bruises on Jill’s face, the mess of Jasmine’s backpack scattered all over the floor, and my thick lip and bloody gashes. Dean Hans’s face darkens as he marches toward us and grabs me by the collar.

“De Vos, alweer?!” Again. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop fighting with other students?”

“He wasn’t.” Jill suddenly speaks up, taking a step forward. Her hand briefly touches my arm, and a jolt of lightning shoots up my veins I can only describe as powerful. Addictive.

“He was protecting us.”

The dean looks at both of us to try to discern the truth from our eyes, but I don’t have any lies to give him. Not today.

He sucks in a breath and barks, “Into my office. All of you.” When he marches away, he throws us all a glance over his shoulder. “Now.”

When the dean’s done berating us, I head straight back through that same hallway and keep my head low. I’m already glad I wasn’t expelled for fighting. At least those assholes will get punished too, but Dad will be pissed if I keep drawing attention to myself like that.

Suddenly, someone tugs at my arm, so I turn. It’s none other than Jill, staring at me with this sickly sweet smile on her face, which makes me want to scream.

“Hey,” she says as Jasmine walks past us and waves. “I just wanted to thank you.” Jill’s cheeks turn faintly red, almost the same color as that red top of hers, and for some reason, my eyes are immediately drawn down toward those tits hiding underneath and—

Fuck, don’t go there.

So I look back up at her face, but I don’t know whether to walk away or to stay and stare at her and those pink cheeks, those blue eyes, those luscious red lips that make me want to—

This isn’t any better. At all.

Fuck.

She brings a tissue up to my face, gently blotting at my busted lip. “Sorry about that. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

She … didn’t want me to get hurt?

Without thinking, I grab her wrist. “Don’t.”

“What? I’m just trying to help,” she replies.

I drag her closer by her wrist. “I didn’t ask for your help.” I shove her hand away. “And I don’t need your thanks either.”