Enrage (Eagle Elite #8)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Sergio glared. “I said no detention.”

  “To win a bet?” I argued. “You warned me no detention so you wouldn’t lose a bet? Are you kidding me right now?”

  He shrugged and slapped twenty bucks into Tex’s waiting hand.

  Mil smirked from her spot on the couch. As the only female boss she seemed almost out of place amongst all the testosterone. Then again, I knew her heels had the poison of blowfish on the tips, so she was a nightmare in and of herself, even if she looked sweet.

  I turned my attention back to the dean, who seemed to be taking in the entire scene well since he hadn’t yet jumped out his window nor had a stroke.

  “Is there a specific reason for this… visit?” He gulped, as he ran a hand over his white hair and paced in front of his large plain brown desk, which was littered with folders and candy wrappers.

  Nixon was the first to speak; his cold blue eyes assessed the room and then the dean. “This is Luca’s son. I need you to make sure that he has access to everything he needs, and if he gets into trouble — naturally…” He waved a hand into the air. “Make it go away.”

  The dean stopped walking and nodded his head. “Understood.”

  Phoenix slammed a black folder against the dean’s chest, which in our world was basically a reminder that we had not only him but also his entire family, finances — life — by the balls, and offered a cruel smile. “Record nothing, report nothing to the board, and at the end of the school year, you’ll be compensated… handsomely.”

  “How handsome?” the dean asked.

  Phoenix licked his lips and leaned in. “You mean despite allowing you to live? Was that the question?”

  The dean sputtered, “No, yes, I mean, yes, thank you for my life.”

  “You know? I don’t think anyone’s thanked me in…” He looked over his shoulder. “Damn Chase how long has it been since anyone’s thanked me?”

  “That guy last night thanked you.” Chase stood.

  “No, no.” Tex chuckled. “He was on his hands and knees begging, big difference, though it was hard to tell exactly what he was saying since I cut out his tongue.”

  “I hope you froze it so you can re-attach it later.” Mil said, inspecting her nails. “Wait, you can only do that with fingers. Carry on, boys.” She looked down at her phone again.

  I almost rolled my eyes when Tex pulled out his knife and started tossing it in the air.

  “So,” Phoenix turned his attention back to the dean. “We have an… understanding, yes?”

  “Y-yes.” The dean’s lips trembled. “Thank you… sirs…”

  Mil cleared her throat.

  “And ma’am…”

  “Lady.” Chase stood and held a knife to the dean’s neck while Phoenix took a step back and smirked. “Say thank you to the lady.”

  “Th-thank you…” Sweat poured down his temples; the guy was a spineless idiot.

  I couldn’t keep my snort in.

  “As for you,” Phoenix turned that death like glare on me.

  I winced, my body remembering the kind of torture he liked to deliver.

  “Detention.” He smirked. “Both of you.”

  The guys all started toward the door with Mil on their tail.

  “Oh.” Chase turned around and gave me a knowing look. “You did good.”

  “Huh?” I waited for one of them to say something.

  Nixon finally shrugged and offered an apologetic look. “You think we like torturing you? It’s for your own good, and it paid off today. Chase just gave you a compliment instead of trying to stab you in the heart, maybe next time just say thank you.”

  “I think I’d rather get stabbed, thanks.” I raised my middle finger and made a sweeping gesture around the room, encompassing them all in a collective flip off.

  Chase flipped me off right back.

  And the guys laughed the entire way out but not before Mil gave the dean a chilling last look that had me wondering what the hell Chase saw in her.

  Because when I looked at Mil.

  I strangely saw parts of myself.

  A shit ton of hate.

  And a whole lot of… something else I rarely acknowledged.

  Fear.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dante

  “DETENTION.” I ROLLED the word around in my mouth and tried to keep myself from making it worse by lashing out. The dean nodded for us to get a move on.

  El’s shoulders slumped like she was disappointed in herself. I rolled my eyes and chased down the rest of the guys as they left the building.

  “Wait.”

  Chase was the only one who turned; the rest of the guys seemed more preoccupied with the fact that the few students that weren’t in class and were still scattered around the quad were staring them down like they were about ready to bomb the school.

  “What?” He put on his sunglasses and checked his phone as if he had more important things to do.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Who are those guys?”

  Nixon finally glanced in my direction, his face stern, his eyes cold. Tex gave me a fleeting smirk while Phoenix closed his eyes and looked up — like God actually cared what we did, how we lived, like He was watching.

  Mil cast her stare downward, like she was more worried about Hell than Heaven.

  Chase nodded his head then locked eyes with Nixon.

  Nixon did a small semi-circle, breathed in through his nose and closed his eyes. “It would seem, they’re the new us.”

  “Us.” I repeated. “Who is us?”

  “Two years,” was all Chase said. “All it took was two years of our partial absence for those little shits to rise up and start whatever the hell they’re starting.” His eyes turned murderous. “Just don’t fail.”

  “At what?” I clenched my teeth.

  “That’s just it, kiddo.” Tex shrugged. It was physically painful to keep my fist from his face, to keep my expression neutral when I wanted to charge him with both fists and pull the knife from my backpack, to make his smile hurt just as much as it hurt for me not to. “We have no idea why the Petrovs are here, or what they’re doing.”

  “Shit.” I exhaled. “So you’re sending me… to Hell… and I don’t even know what I’m looking for?”

  “Sure you do.” Chase frowned. “You’re looking for a fight.”

  “I am,” I said in a bored voice. “I’m pretty sure I already did that and earned a shiny seat in detention.”

  “So…” He turned on his heel. “Keep fighting. You’ll know what you’re looking for when it finds you, trust me.”

  “Could you guys be any less helpful?” I called after their disappearing forms.

  My only answer was laughter from all of the bosses, Mil included.

  “Shit.” I ran my bloodied hands through my hair and turned back toward the admin building just in time to see El walk out, and a fresh wave of anger set in.

  She looked afraid.

  I just wasn’t sure if it was fear of me or something else entirely.

  “Get to class.” I barked.

  Her only answer was to stare me down with a lifeless expression before clutching her backpack in her hand and walking off.

  Leaving me wondering what the fuck the guys had gotten me into.

  And why I suddenly felt less safe on a college campus.

  Than at the fists of five of the most ruthless mafia bosses in history.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  El

  I WAS GOING to be late.

  I hated being late.

  People stared when you showed up to class with a note.

  I had no note.

  I had nothing.

  Mouth dry, I tried to hold my head high as I turned the knob to the door leading to my business marketing class.

  It creaked open.

  I sucked in a breath when every head in the room turned in my direction. The professor’s face was a mask of complete boredom as he looked up from his book and finally scowled.

&nb
sp; “Hi, I’m—”

  “Late,” he finished with an irritated edge. He couldn’t be more than forty, with dark brown hair and dead blue eyes. “Find a seat. Now.”

  I gulped and quickly weaved my way around desks, finally locating an empty seat toward the back.

  He continued droning on in this bored tone that already had me inwardly yawning.

  I set my bag on the floor, pulled out my book, and froze.

  The guy sitting to my left was the one who had picked a fight with Dante.

  He leaned toward me, so close I had to keep myself from flinching or just running away. So close I could make out the strands of his wavy black hair that fell over a cut on the side of his eyebrow. Blood had dried to the corner of his mouth, a mouth that lifted up at the corner in a mocking smile.

  “So.” His voice was husky. “Do they at least pay you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Mainly because I had no idea what the hell he was talking about.

  “Open your books to Chapter One, you’ll find the assignment in your syllabus. I’ll just be five minutes.” The professor gave the guy next to me a knowing look before he quickly left the classroom, coffee cup in hand.

  “That’s pretty cheap if you ask me… they won’t even pay you and they force you to go to school on top of it?” He grunted, then stood, his chair scraping across the floor making my ears ring. He swaggered toward the front of the class and stood.

  Everyone seemed to lean in.

  I held my breath and watched.

  Slowly, he rolled up the white sleeves of his shirt, leaning back against the teacher’s desk as if he owned it.

  His muscled forearms flexed as he gripped the edge of the wood then hopped backward into a sitting position, all casual, like this was normal, like students always took control of college classrooms.

  My anxious gaze darted around the room.

  Nobody moved.

  So I didn’t either.

  “Try outs.” He said the two words slowly like he was waiting for them to sink in as a ripple of excitement filled the room. “Will be tonight at midnight, at The Spot… remember, if you fight and lose you’re out, if you fight and win…” As his voice trailed off, he spread his hands, palms up and gave a casual shrug.

  One of the guys in front of me rubbed his hands together. “Been training all summer.”

  His friend made a face. “Training doesn’t do shit if they kill you.”

  “That was one time, and it was a freak accident. Plus the kid was asking for it and didn’t know when to shut his mouth.”

  “Kind of like that guy this morning.” He shuddered. “It’s like he wants to die.”

  I glanced back to the front of the classroom my eyes slammed into his cold depths. Soulless. They were soulless, and locked onto me in a way that said he’d bargained with the devil a long time ago.

  And lost.

  “Midnight,” he repeated with finality. “Oh, and welcome back everyone, summer was so… incredibly, dull without you.”

  The class broke into cheers as he made his way back to his seat next me, sauntered was more like it.

  The professor walked in the minute the crazy guy’s ass touched the seat next to mine and then he was leaning in again. “So, if they don’t pay you… does that mean you’re free?”

  I gritted my teeth and flashed him a glare. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  A cocky grin spread across his face. I’d probably find him attractive if I wasn’t so worried that he was going to pull a knife on me at any given moment, or worse, just embarrass me, make me cry. I had a long list of things that I wanted to accomplish that school year.

  Survival was at the top, right along with a nice heavy cloak of invisibility.

  “Nobody takes what’s ours and lives to talk about it.” His hand jerked out, strong fingers dug into my forearm.

  Directly onto the tattoo that had been etched there despite my screams of pain.

  Despite the kicking.

  Clawing.

  Fighting.

  Drawn with such burning slowness that I’d almost passed out a number of times.

  I inwardly flinched, clenched my teeth, and met his stare.

  I’d seen eyes like that before.

  Eyes of a monster.

  Eyes of the one who’d tried to wreck me.

  And I knew what the monster wanted, what it fed on.

  Weakness.

  So I stared back, without blinking, tilting my head in that bored amusement I knew would piss him off.

  His fingers let up just enough for me to jerk my arm back.

  “You belong to us,” he hissed under his breath. “And we don’t share.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Dante

  I SKIPPED CLASS.

  Something told me that what I needed to learn about the school sure as hell wasn’t going to just magically appear during chemistry.

  So far, I was a half a day in.

  And found I actually preferred getting tortured by all five of the guys.

  I was ready to beg for starvation by the end of the day.

  Nobody would look at me.

  Girls would stare only to glance down and whisper in those fucking giggles that set my blood boiling.

  I waited for El outside her class.

  I was her ride.

  And even though most days I wanted to ignore her existence, I at least still had one shred of human decency, enough to recognize that if she walked in the shitty boots she was wearing she’d most likely sprain her ankle.

  The door to the business building surged open.

  Kids.

  Because that was what they were, piled out, laughing, raising their phones, tweeting whatever the hell they tweeted when they assumed the world was their oyster.

  It made me sick.

  Pissed.

  Agitated.

  I’d never fit into that life — even back in New York everything had been a ruse to keep my sister in the dark. Hell, I’d even gone as far as to practice my smile in the mirror, relaxing the muscles around my mouth.

  The perfect liar.

  That’s what I was.

  Because ever since my sixth birthday when I found out my family was shit deep in the mafia that was what I’d been living.

  A fucking lie.

  El finally appeared, her dark hair a curtain across her face as she hurried past the crowds.

  A guy chased after her.

  I rolled my eyes. Wow, and on the first day.

  Her scars were gone.

  Any idiot with two eyes could see she was gorgeous and she knew it, that was why she always met my stare with a challenging one of her own. She knew she had power — and that the only way to wield it was her body.

  Once a Petrov, always a Petrov.

  I hated the Russians for having a hand in killing my father.

  Almost as much as I hated El for sleeping with one of their bosses before Frank ripped his throat out.

  The guy stalked after her.

  She picked up her pace, her eyes darting from left to right, finally landing on me.

  It was a plea, the look she had on her face.

  And while I wanted to turn around and head in the opposite direction, I knew that if I didn’t come back with her it would probably cause more issues than I was ready to deal with.

  Plus, I reminded myself that I cared enough not to make her walk five miles.

  I pushed off the tree and slowly approached.

  The guy chasing her was one of the ones who’d tried to kick my ass only to discover that he wasn’t the only one with training.

  Who were those guys?

  “They’re the new us,” Nixon had said.

  Bosses? Russians? Murderers?

  I had no time to process anything before El was launching herself into my arms, her body pressed against mine so hard that I stumbled backward, and then her lips grazed my mouth.

  I was too stunned to push her away.

>   Too confused and immediately hard up to do anything but kiss her back, and when the guy stopped walking, when his face turned from passive to murderous, I gave him the finger behind her back and twirled her in my arms, pressing her up against the tree so hard she let out a yelp.

  My hands dove into her hair.

  Her mouth met me kiss for kiss, possession for possession.

  And I kept track.

  Of the favors I gave her while he watched.

  She was shaking.

  Her frail body weak and cold.

  He cursed.

  I turned. “Any questions?”

  He tilted his head, a cruel smile plastered across his face. “She’s not yours for long… Nicolasi.”

  I felt my entire body stiffen.

  As far as anyone knew, I was Nixon’s long-lost cousin, an Abandonato.

  The name Nicolasi hadn’t been whispered out loud to me in years.

  So. Many. Damn. Years.

  Even my own sister shied away from it.

  She knew I was quick to punch my way through walls.

  Because it triggered something deep inside, something that made me want to kill, something dark that scared me, that made me see nothing but rage.

  So when I saw his back.

  I acted.

  Quickly grabbing my knife from the shitty backpack Sergio had given me, I threw it at his Russian ass.

  He stumbled forward and collapsed.

  I took a few steps toward him as he cried out in pain.

  Red blood made a small mark where the knife had entered. I smiled, bent over and shoved it in further, much to the horrified cries around me. “Turn your back on me again, and this—” I pushed further. “—is going to be your fucking throat, got me?”

  He winced, cursing in Russian, just as someone started to clap, one, two, three times.

  The four guys stood over me as I shoved the knife deeper into their dickhead friend’s back.

  “We did not think you had it in you,” one of them said in a practiced American accent. “And here you are, ready to kill — for her.”

  “Not for her,” I spat. “For me.”

  His eyes lit up. “Even better. I’m Vas.”

  I didn’t take his outstretched hand. Instead, I jerked the knife from his friend’s back and stood. “Don’t care.”

  “You like a good fight,” he said once I’d taken a step away from him and the guys surrounding him. A crowd started to form. I hung my head as the need to punch something or someone pulsed in my veins. “Ah, I can smell it on you… tell me, do you like… to bleed?”