Cruel Academy - A Mafia Romance

Then, two lightning-fast punches to his gut. The wind whistles out of his lungs. He doubles over, giving me that big, ugly face as a perfect target.

Another uppercut. Crunch.

Two crosses, one right and one left, send his head snapping in either direction. Pop! Pop!

Blood flies. Sweat drips.

And then he hits the turf.

He's out cold before he lands. I'm already turning to the crowd, mounting the rope, hands held high in victory.

The crowd was deafening before. Now, they're like a sonic boom. Packed to the rafters, chanting my name.

"Ca-leb! Ca-leb!"

I'm famous here. Undefeated prizefighter. The surefire bet who never loses.

If only they knew what the rest of my life is like.

4

CALEB

After the fight, I'm mopping the sweat off my face with a towel when a girl approaches.

"Do you train every day?" she asks in that faux-curious voice that hides the real question underneath: Do you wanna fuck?

She's a card girl. Not one I've seen before, and I don't know her name.

More to the point, I don't need to know her name. She is just the girl who lets the crowd know which round it is. The only requirement for the job is "extremely fuckable." There isn't a need to go into further detail.

"Most days," I answer. If football practice and beating down any idiots who come for me and my friends counts as training, then definitely.

She drags a finger from my shoulder to my bicep and pokes at my arm. "That's hot."

She is hot.

Her denim shorts are so tight they look painted on, and her tits are bursting out of a low-cut tank top. Barely-there clothes are the mandatory wardrobe for any card girl, which is why I've slept with most of them.

Another perk of the business.

"Wait while I pick up my money, and I'll show you how hot."

She gnaws on her plump lower lip, and I know she will service me just fine. I don't need to connect with her on a spiritual level. I just need a place to dump the adrenaline still pulsing in my veins.

I need a release. There's no reason we can't be that for one another.

She nods, and I hold up a finger as I turn away.

A few people stop me as I make my way to the kitchens, congratulating me on another win, but most people steer clear.

No one from Ravenlake Prep is here. It's not their scene.

Most of the kids are from Public or other towns entirely. The Hell Princes run this joint, which means my Golden Boys don't want shit to do with it.

We've been in a truce with the Hell Princes for almost a year, but tensions are still ... tense. Anything could go to shit at any moment.

Best to stay on guard.

There's another reason I need to remind myself of that fact: no one at Ravenlake Academy knows I fight here.

To a select group of Public kids and Hell Princes, I'm a fighting god.

But to the kids at the richest private school in the state, that part of my life is a complete and total mystery.

I intend to keep it that way.

I push open the swinging kitchen door and step into the stainless-steel shell of what was once an operating kitchen.

Felix, the fight promoter who arranges these underground events, is standing in front of the sink with two brawny guys on either side. The basin of the sink is full of cash.

He looks over his shoulder at the sound of my footsteps.

"I should start paying you in advance," he remarks.

"I wouldn't mind." I cross my arms and lean my hip against the counter. "It would save us both some time."

All three men turn, standing shoulder to shoulder to block the sink from my view.

"I bet against you tonight," he adds with a wild grin.

"Why would you do something stupid like that?"

He frowns. "Because you can't win them all."

"History would disagree," I laugh.

Felix reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a bundle of cash bound with a rubber band.

I take the time to eye the guys on either side of him. They're Hell Princes, which means they're wearing their leather jackets.

"You know," I drawl, "for an outlaw motorcycle club, you guys seem to have a very strict uniform policy."

"The fuck did you say?" the one with the shaved head growls. His buddy, a goon with eyebrows thicker than caterpillars, tightens his fists and takes a half-step towards me.

I chuckle. "I'm just saying, it's Texas. Hot as hell down here, in case you haven't noticed. Have you considered switching to something else? Linen, maybe, or seersucker? Maybe then you morons wouldn't stink like sweaty shit all the time."

I'm still laughing as the pair of Hell Princes flanking Felix look like they're ready to throw down here and now.

Felix rolls his eyes. "Easy, idiots," he snaps at the two bodyguards.

They growl, but relent. Even dumbass Hell Princes know the pecking order around here.

He tosses the money across the counter to me. "Count it if you want. It's all there." He says that every time.

And every time, I unbind the cash and count it anyway.

He sighs. I ignore him.

When I first came to the fights, Felix almost tossed me out on my ass. There are high school kids in the Hell Princes, but Felix is in his mid-twenties, and he was worried the fights were turning into an after-school program.

He especially wanted me gone when he heard I came from Ravenlake Prep.

"Get your pansy, prep school ass out of my face" were his exact words, if I remember correctly.

Before he could even finish the sentence, I'd twisted his arm behind his back and had my fist poised a centimeter from his eye.

From then on, I was allowed to fight.

It's been extremely worth his while. I don't lose-ever. Week after week ends with me on top of the ropes while the crowd screams my name.

He lost money on me this week for being stupid enough to bet against me, but the rest of the Hell Princes no doubt made a pretty sum.

I'm their cash cow.

Which is why, even in the midst of the drama between the Hell Princes and the Golden Boys, Felix wants to keep me around. It's also why none of the Hell Princes ever mention my fights to my best friends.

They respect my wishes because it's good for their bank account.

And also because I'll beat the fuck out of any of them who don't.

When I finish counting the last crumpled bill, I shove the five hundred dollars deep in my pocket and tip an imaginary hat. "Thanks for your time, as always, gentlemen. And keep in mind what I said about the linen. Very breathable material, you know?"

And then I'm gone, leaving behind two very pissed off Hell Princes who couldn't lay a finger on me if they wanted to.

Because if they did, I'd put them in the fucking dirt.