“Everything that happens on this campus has to do with me. You’re manhandling a Zeta Nu pledge without any witnesses present, which is in direct violation of the rules of pledge season.”
Michael drops his hands and takes a step back. I don’t remember reading any rules prohibiting interactions between other frats and pledges, but what Finn’s saying must be true, because Michael starts backpedaling.
“It wasn’t like that. I just needed to talk to her about something, and was trying to keep her from walking off.”
“Was thesomethingan apology for what happened before?”
“No.”
Finn’s knife makes an appearance. He twirls the blade, digging the tip into his finger. “Then you have nothing to say to her. Even if itwasan apology, you don’t say it with your hands on her in a dark corner of campus alone. You don’t speak to her or look at her without my permission. Are we clear?” Finn turns his back on Mike and walks over to me. “You’re dismissed.”
Mike scurries off, but the look in his eyes tells me this isn’t over. I’ve just been the catalyst for Finn embarrassing him and disrupting his plans for the second time. Not sure how it’s my fault, but I need to be prepared for anything.
Finn uses the flat of his blade to tip my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “You okay, Pet?”
I slap his hands away. “Don’t paw at me.”
“I’m checking for injuries.”
I shove him away, pulling Clint out of my back pocket, pressing it against his carotid. “I don’t need you jumping in like some knight in shining armor. I can fight my own battles.”
“It’s not about you fighting your battles, it’s about putting him in his place. Mikey thinks because he runs his own team for his frat and they’re halfway decent, that they can just challenge us for power. I had to remind him he’s beneath us, and will always be looking up at us from his place on the ground. If I have to threaten to spill a little blood, so be it.”
I’m not about to let Finn pull me into his little turf war or whatever, so I give him one final warning. “Stay away from me, and stay the hell out of my business, Number Three, or the next person’s whose blood will be spilled is yours.”
He grabs the blade of my knife. This isn’t a butter knife. Clint’s blade is sharp enough to slice through an aluminum can with ease. Blood rolls down the knife edge. It’ll cut deeper if I try to pull it away. Finn’s got his own love affair with sharp weapons, so he knows this.
I guess we’ve entered into another game of chicken. How long can he stand there holding onto the blade and how long will I let him until I get queasy at the sight of his blood. Jokes on him, it’s not queasiness I feel. It’s satisfaction that it’s my knife making him bleed. Even if I didn’t actually do the slicing.
He releases his grip but doesn’t back up, and flips his palm over, showing me his hand. “First blood’s been spilled, Pet. Now your business is my business. I’ll be watching you so closely, you won’t be able to sneeze without me knowing about it.”
He swipes a bloody finger across my lips before turning and walking away. “Be good, Pet.”
Chapter35
Thea
I’m wound up tighter than I’ve ever been in my life. It’s a combination of things. The incident with Michael in the alley, the bullshit with the pledge invitation, and being left stranded on the side of the road, Finn making me look weak with his odd savior complex, and the uphill climb I have in Physical Enhancement class, since Coach Wolfe still has me doing basic blocks with the other girls.
I’ve had enough of misogynistic men. We won’t even discuss the drought I’m going through with no new dick to play with. I need to burn off this excess energy before I seriously hurt someone.
I bounce on my feet, waiting to enter the warehouse. I hope the vibe in this place is enough to ground me. The bouncer checks me for weapons (they never think to check inside my boot), then tells me the cover charge is thirty bucks. That’s pretty steep. This place better be worth it.
Once inside, I travel a long hallway, which empties into a room that definitely tells me the cost is worth it.Club Dreddisn’t a club at all. Not the kind you dance at, anyway. It’s an underground fighting arena. If I were a squealer, I’d squeal. I’ve found my happy place.
I scan the room, taking in everything. I see people placing bets, folks huddled in corners with fighters, and couples making out. They’ve even got a bar and concession stand. I don’t care about any of those things. I’m looking for one guy. The promoter, because he’ll know how I can get my name on a ticket.
I ask a few people and of course they don’t want to answer thinking I might be a narc. Finally, I make my way towards the locker room and spot someone who can give me answers. “Hey. I was wondering if you can point me towards whoever can put me on a ticket.”
I give the guy with a towel draped over his neck and clipboard in his hand time to look me over. I’m not exactly dressed like a potential fighter but, his shirt says he’s a trainer. If he’s any good, he’ll be able to tell I’m not bullshitting him.
He calls out, “Syl!”
A woman with flaming red hair and leather everything saunters over to us on five-inch heels. “What’s up?”
“Little girl here wants to know how she can get on a ticket.”
Syl sizes me up, just like he did. “You ever thrown a punch before?”