Page 5 of Cruel Academy (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 2)

I’m fucked. I’m fucked. I’m fucked.

Suddenly, the door next to us swings open. A sharp triangle of light shines out, momentarily blinding me.

We both look towards the door. Levi curses.

“Fuck, sorry,” the intruder says. It’s a Hell Prince I recognize but don’t know well. “I didn’t know anyone was out here.”

He starts to close the door. Just before it shuts, I gasp, “Help! Please.”

“So dramatic,” Levi sighs, cutting me off. “We’re fine.”

The Hell Princes aren’t good guys, but they are still human beings. I expect the guy to step in and see if I’m okay, to check and make sure I want to be here.

Instead, he just chuckles to himself. “Have fun, you two.”

Then he pulls the door closed, plunging us into darkness once more.

3

Caleb

This kid never stood a chance.

He came into this match thinking that being a few pounds heavier and a few inches taller gave him the upper hand.

Big fucking mistake.

It took him a while to realize it, too.

It wasn’t until the third or fourth time I cracked him straight in the jaw that he started to understand he was in very, very deep shit.

I dance around the corner of the ring as he lumbers towards me.

The spotlights are bright. The crowd is roaring. It’s a good night for fighting. A good night for winning.

The big idiot takes a huge, loping swing that misses by a country mile.

I swerve around it, then deliver a crunching uppercut right under his chin.

He hits the deck immediately, square on his ass. The crowd goes apeshit.

“Stay down, moron,” I hiss at him.

It’s for his own good. He oughta just stay down there and take his loss. That way, he’ll go home intact. I can’t promise what will happen if he tries to keep this going.

But he’s not the type to take friendly advice, it seems.

Growling like a wounded ape, he plants his knuckles on the canvas and lumbers up slowly. I sigh, wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of one glove, and get ready to do this again.

He brings his hands up in front of his face. Takes one step towards me. Feints high with the jab, then tries to bring that big old roundhouse through again. Trying to take my head off.

If I were anyone else, the feint might’ve fooled me. I might’ve eaten the roundhouse right to the chops.

But I’m not anyone else.

I’m Caleb Wilson. I own this fucking ring.

It’s time to remind him of that simple fact.

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