There’s been murky water between me and Lan ever since he abused my trust. I deleted the folder I have of his pictures and stopped having stupid feelings for him. As for Jeremy and me, we’re…fuck buddies who share the same kink but don’t have anything else in common.
No clue why that thought fills me with a sense of depression.
As if on cue, Landon strolls to the middle of the ring in a roar of cheers from REU students.
He’s wearing only blue satin shorts and wraps that cover his hands and wrists. The crowd goes nuts and starts cheering and screaming and chanting his name.
A wolfish grin lifts his lips as he flings his arms wide and throws his head back, looking to be in complete euphoria.
“King! King! King!”
Lan was made for showmanship and doesn’t miss a chance to flaunt his superior looks, defined physique, and genius skills.
While most art students are allergic to violence and even sports to protect their hands, Landon punches with the same hands that create masterpieces.
He’s been part of the underground fighting scene since we were in secondary school and didn’t quit at uni.
Not only that, but he’s also the leader of the Elites, and the number one student grades-wise in the whole of REU and TKU combined. He’s been getting some competition from a girl in the American university, but she’s yet to push him off from his first spot.
Lan always makes sure to come out on top, demanding to be worshipped like the god he thinks himself to be.
And while I ignored those narcissistic traits in the past, they make me uncomfortable now. Especially as I watch him bite his lip, enjoying every chant, every admiration.
It hits me then.
Lan never belonged to anyone but himself.
“Woohoo! Go, Lan! King! King! King!” Ava shouts at the top of her lungs and I shake my head.
She’s too enthusiastic about this.
The commotion from our students partially dies down when TKU’s crowd roars to life.
Jeremy strides to the ring accompanied by Nikolai and a blond man—the guard who told me about his state that day I went to the Heathens’ mansion.
I’ve been fucked continuously by Jeremy for the past two weeks and a few times before that, but this is the first time I’ve see him half naked.
Considering the way his muscles bulge through his shirts and leather jackets and whenever I’m flattened against him, I figured he had a developed physique, but nothing I could’ve imagined would rival the scene in front of me.
Jeremy is a big man with wide shoulders and an impressive build, even compared to others from his entourage. He has slick abs and a defined V-line that disappears beneath the black shorts that hang low on his hips.
I knew he was tatted by the small glimpse I saw on his arms, but now, I get the whole picture. Artistic skulls pierced with knives and guns stretch from his full sleeves to portions of his chest and abs, creating a striking, intimidating image. At the top of his chest, he has a cursive scrip tattoo that reads,Veni, Vidi, Vici.
I came. I saw. I conquered.
That’s what a mafia heir looks like. A beast in the making. An animal since he was born.
Even if his father wasn’t part of the Bratva, I have no doubt that Jeremy would’ve followed a similar path. He’s certainly not built to be an ordinary citizen.
With each of his powerful strides, the spectators go wild. He doesn’t have to flaunt himself or change his expression to capture everyone’s attention.
It happens naturally and effortlessly.
Like the way he trapped me.
I internally shake that idea out of my head.
Nikolai hits him on the shoulder and remains behind as Jeremy slides into the ring. His attention zeroes in on Lan, who’s smirking in his usual provocative way.