Page 59 of Dukes of Peril

Personally, I don’t bother trying to hide what she’s doing to me, so when I climb up, I rest my elbows on the rope and try, “North Side bitches are fierce, but West End bitches are dirty. She won’t fight fair.”

“Good.” She tightens her ponytail, and even though she’s avoiding my gaze, I still feel her next words like a slap across my cheek. “Since when have any of us?”

Haley walks in, some of the cubs letting out loud whistles at her outfit, and this is what I’m talking about. Metallic gold sports bra with criss-cross straps across the back and matching skin-tight shorts get the boys in the stands all riled up. Haley will use that energy. Feed off the colors it gives her. She’s a cutslut through and through. All style, little substance.

But Bruce is waiting in her corner, pulling her close to whisper in her ear.

It prompts Nick to grab Vinny by the neck, yanking her in for a hard kiss. “To the victor, baby.”

I don’t miss her and Sy, giving me a lightning-fast glance.

Fuck.

I’m the spoils.

When Vinny pushes off the corner, hips swaying, arms loose, Sy sidles up to whisper, “I know having two girls fight over you is some bullshit drama that’s probably got you all twisted up inside.” He cuts me a haggard look. “But is this turning you on?”

I pluck the rope, voice mournful. “Painfully.”

He gives me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “To the spoils go the victor?”

Vinny reaches the center with a steel spine. Ballsack volunteered to referee, and he stands between the two girls, looking between them dubiously. “First one to cry mercy loses.”

The bell rings and he jumps back, which is a good thing because Vinny takes the first swing, fist flying in a blurry right hook. She connects, knuckles slamming into Haley’s chin with a loud smack.

Haley yelps, face turning red, and I know what’s going to happen before she even lifts a foot. Mouth pulled back in outrage, she lunges forward. It’s fueled by anger and hot humiliation, which is made all the more obvious when Vinny smoothly sidesteps the tackle, snatching a fist of Haley’s hair instead. She wrenches her head back, jabbing her knee into Haley’s side.

The crowd makes a sharp, sympathetic sound.

Sy and I share a look.

“Get up.” Vinny circles Haley on the mat, waiting for her to find her feet again. When Haley does, she strikes out wildly, grabbing at the strap of Vinny’s tank top. Vinny answers by slamming her palm around Haley’s wrist andtwisting. Even from across the mat, I can see the indents of her fingernails, Haley growling as she punches her palm into Vinny’s jaw.

But not before Vinny jams her elbow into Haley’s chin.

Thecrackis a sickening sound, Haley stumbling back, and when she recovers, there are tears in her eyes, hot and bitter. My blood rushes at the contrast of it. The way Vinny moves on the mat is as precise as Nick, and as business-like as Sy. I know he trained that out of her. Striking out in anger. Letting the emotion rule you.

But I still see it glowing bright in her eyes when she lunges back, catching Haley in the throat.

Purple.

It blows me back like a gust from a freight train, settling over my skin like static electricity. My lungs stop working, wrung free of air as Vinny bends down, grabbing Haley by the shoulders and dragging her back to the center of the ring.

She wants everyone to see this.

“Get the fuck up,” she commands, planting the toe of her shoe into Haley’s ribs.

Haley struggles to her feet, expression murderous as she barrels into Vinny’s torso, taking her down to the mat. All around us, the cubs and cutsluts are reacting to each hit, each takedown, but uncertain. For some of them, this started as a joke. Two girls fighting, tits flying, bare legs locked. But now they’re seeing that it isn’t a joke at all.

Haley is West End, but Vinny is their Duchess.

They don’t know if it’s okay to cheer.

It only takes one more glance–one more bask–in Vinny’s purple to spur me into motion.

I climb up on the ropes, yelling, “Are you watching a fight, or jacking off? Come on, fuckers!”

One of the DKS in the back springs up, shouting, “I’ve got thirty on the Duchess!”

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