Page 9 of Royal
Who the fuck?Oh, wait. We were told there was some new guy—a transfer—who’d be showing up. I bet that’s him.Great.Another damaged asshole to contend with. As if we don’t already have our fair share here. With a sigh, I stand and turn around as our new frat brother approaches.
Royal moves so quickly I don’t know what to make of it, but he blasts past me, a strangled roar ripping from his throat. In no time, he’s tackled the dark-haired guy, sending the luggage toppling. It crashes into the back of a chair as the two of them grapple on the ground.
My mind clamors to understand what the fuck is happening. Fists are flying furiously, some punches landing, others missing. Both of them gasp and groan with the effort of it. Spit and blood fly everywhere, spattering furniture and the floor.
Way too fucking early in the morning for this bullshit.
Beckham, as well as Dan and Wyatt, approach, staring at the pair as they roll across the floor, muscles straining, both seeking dominance.
“Who thefucklet you out of your cage, Royal?” the guy grunts out.
“Shut the fuck up, you douche.” Royal rears back and slugs whoever the fuck this idiot is square in the jaw.
No one brings up his time in prison if they want to keep their head attached to their neck. When Royal first showed up on our doorstep last year, that idiot Jenkins had the nerve to say something. After the three nights he spent in the hospital, I’d say for certain he regretted going there with Royal. No one has been brave—or stupid—enough to say a word to him about it since.
Until now.
The moron growls in pain, breath heaving. “Gonna wreck another of my cars? Fucking asshole!” From his back, he takes a swing at Royal, but it’s blocked.
Royal stares at him, the fury in his eyes not ebbing even a little.Fucking hell.
My eyes flick up to meet Beckham’s.His blue gaze shifts from me, down to Royal, and back. He shrugs as if to say,Who the hell is this, and do we let them keep at it?Good fucking questions, both of them. If I knew the identity of this unfortunate soul, perhaps I’d have a better answer.
While we’ve been busy pondering the identity of the new guy, Royal has swiveled his position to the guy’s side and has him pinned to the floor. I can tell by the crazed look in his eye that he means to inflict as much damage as he can, and he doesn’t particularly care that he’s taking some hits in the process. He might regret that later, but it’s not my place to point that out. Besides, I’m rather enthralled by his tenacity at the moment.
Ramming his knee into the dude’s rib cage, Royal makes his mystery opponent gasp for breath, and he grunts in pain with each vicious strike. There’s a flurry of movement a moment later, and somehow Royal takes an elbow to the side of his head and a punch to his gut.
It amuses me to watch how riled up it makes Royal every time the guy actually lands a hit. With a deep sigh, I gesture to Beckham that he should help me pull Royal off before there is more blood spilled on the ceramic tile floor than we care to clean up.
Beckham purses his lips as he skirts around the flailing limbs of the fighters. I get on the other side, mouthing, “One, two, three” before we lunge in. We each grab Royal by an armpit and the waistband of his pants and haul him upward and back until he’s on his knees between us, a good three feet from where the other jackass is scrambling away, blood streaming from his nose and a cut just under his right eyebrow.
“Let me go.” Royal wrestles himself free of our grasp, resting his palms on his jean-covered thighs as his chest rises and falls rapidly. His jaw is locked up tight as he glares.
Enough is enough. I don’t care to be in the dark another damn minute. “Who the fuck are you?” I bark, my eyes narrowing.And how the hell does Royal know you?That’s what I really want to ask, but I hold back, instead choosing to cock my head to the side and intensifying my glare.
I guess my expression must be pretty fucking intimidating because he doesn’t respond. That, and he’s too busy trying to stem the flow of blood from his nose. His eyes dart around as the brothers of SIN slowly fill the room. They remain silent, as if sensing the gravity of the situation.
“This is Davis, everyone.” A rough chuckle tears from Royal’s chest as his eyes shoot daggers. “We have…history.” He gives a shake of his head and staggers to his feet, firmly planting his hands on his hips and looking down at Davis. “Keep your cunt of a sister away from me. And you can do the fucking same.”
My eyes go wide as my brain scrambles. With sudden, blinding clarity, I know exactly who this prick is, but I don’t have a chance to confirm my suspicions, as the TV on the far wall flips on to a static-filled screen before it blinks black. My chest squeezes my lungs so tightly it restricts my airflow.
The Sin Keeper.
Shit.There’s an odd flicker, then a dark, hooded figure appears, backlit by the light so we can’t make out any distinguishing features, just like every other time we’ve gotten a surprise “visit” from the person who brought all of us together at Sigma Iota Nu. We can see the occasional glint of an eye, but that’s it. And as is always the case, the Sin Keeper speaks through some sort of speech-changing device so that his voice comes out chilling and robotic. “Attention, please, brothers of SIN.”
I finally take a breath, sucking in oxygen like a fiend. Crossing my arms over my chest, I peer at the screen. I don’t know what to make of our… benefactor? I’m not fucking scared of him, rather I have a high degree of respect. But he’s mysterious as hell, having offered each of us a chance at a life we wouldn’t have on our own. He’s helped us all in one way or another, I’m sure of it. But the Sin Keeper doesn’t seem to be offended by our wrongdoings or our mental state or any number of other things.
Not so long as we’re willing to comply.And obey.
SIX
BECKHAM
Apprehension cloaksthe room in silence. We never know what to expect when the Sin Keeper appears. He does generally show up at the beginning of each year with a message for us, so this is likely that now that the final member of our brotherhood has arrived. Though, the way he’s paused and seems to be staring right through us is fucking creeping me out.
The reality is our cloaked savior—whoever the fuck he is—is a tiny bit twisted at times. I haven’t received one of his fancy black cards of doom in a long time, though, so I know I’m probably due. I’ll be on edge until I get the next one. And the hell of it is, it’s not likely that I’ll feel any relief until I’ve completed the task doled out.
We’re not allowed to discuss the tasks with other brothers, so there’s no way of knowing if we’re doing the same sort of stuff or not. Talking about our personalized instructions is forbidden. No matter, I haven’t ever wanted to tell anyone the perverse, deranged things he assigns me to do… or how much I enjoy doing them.
