Page 20 of Ghost Ribbon

The combat facility was one of the few places at Bloodburn where masks could slip without consequence. The big syndicates had pushed hard for a proper combat program years ago, arguing it would give heirs a controlled outlet for the violence that ran in their blood.

Better to let them break bones on mats than in boardrooms or back alleys where questions might be asked. The result was this state-of-the-art complex, equipped with every weapon and training tool money could buy. Here you could box, spar, or beat someone to a pulp and no one would bat an eye. It was sanctioned catharsis, and it kept the families’ heirs from creating real incidents that could draw outside attention.

Dimitri was already waiting when I stepped into the ring. My cousin. Heir to the Morozov empire stood a few inches shorter than me, built lean and fast like a blade given human form, black hair slicked back with sweat, blue eyes gleaming with that familiar vicious light. Dimitri moved like liquid shadow when he wanted to, vicious and precise, but he carried a superiority complex that ran bone-deep. He viewed most of the world as something beneath his boots, meant to be stepped on or broken for sport.

We circled once. The bell rang.

I exploded forward.

My first combination landed clean, left hook sinking deep into his body, right cross snapping his head back. Dimitri was fast. He slipped the next punch and countered with a sharp jab that grazed my jaw, but speed alone had never been enough against me. I drove him back with power, a low kick sweeping his lead leg.

He recovered beautifully, rolling with the impact, but I was already inside his guard. Uppercut to the chin. Heavy body shot that folded him slightly. Another hook that made his knees buckle for a split second.

I grabbed him in a clinch, drove my knee up into his midsection, then shoved him off balance with a final push that sent him crashing to the mat. I followed him down immediately, gloves pinning his shoulders as I loomed over him.

Ilya’s delighted laugh cut through the air from outside the ropes. Our best friend was shorter than both of us, with a face that could look almost angelic if you ignored the devil living behind it. Blond curls, sharp cheekbones, a smile that could charm or cut depending on his mood. He leaned against the ropes, clapping like a proud little minion who lived to watch us destroy things.

“Fucking beautiful, Lex! Put him in the dirt again!”

Dimitri groaned beneath me and tapped my arm in surrender. I rolled off, offering him a hand up. He took it, grinning through the split lip I had given him earlier in the round.

“One day I will get you,” he said, rolling his shoulder.

“One day,” I replied. We both knew it was a lie. Dimitri was vicious and skilled, but I didn’t fight with emotions. He, however, did, and that was his weakness.

We cleaned up in the locker room afterward. Dimitri was already plotting something flashy involving the idiot who had insulted Ilya in the hallway the other day. I listened without comment. Public displays were beneath me. If I decided someone needed to die, I preferred solitude, the way I had handled Matt Langford on the rooftop a year ago, under stars that had witnessed everything and judged nothing. Dimitri preferred spectacle. It was one of the many ways we differed.

We headed upstairs toward the cafeteria together.

That was when I spotted trouble.

Dimitri’s entire posture shifted the moment we entered. I followed his gaze to a kid standing near the entrance, tray in hand, laughing with a couple of lesser friends. I recognized him immediately. This was the one Dimitri had decided needed a lesson. The one who had insulted Ilya.

And Dimitri was already moving.

He grabbed the kid by the throat and slammed him back against the wall beside the entrance. The kid’s eyes bulged, hands clawing at Dimitri’s wrist as my cousin squeezed, lifting him slightly off his toes for maximum humiliation. The cafeteria went silent. The smart ones looked away, the stupid ones watched with morbid fascination. This was Bloodburn. Violence was currency. Most students knew better than to interfere when one of the Void Kings decided to collect.

Then Dimitri stopped.

His head turned, gaze locking onto someone across the room. I followed it and arched an eyebrow.

Rei Kurosaki.

How did I know his name? Because this was the annoying thing that was always orbiting Marco like a loyal little satellite. Hanging around my little star. Smiling at him. Touching him. I had seen the way he kissed the top of Marco’s head sometimes, gentle, affectionate, everything I was not. The sight had ignited something possessive and ugly in me the first time I witnessed it from the shadows. I already despised Rei for existing so close to Marco. I might have been planning his death too.

The only reason I hadn’t yet was because I noticed Marco was actually smiling around him, not the fake smiles he usually gave to people, but real ones. And I had found out I liked them on his face. He looked cute when he smiled like that. My mission was to make him smile at me next. And then, maybe, I could get rid of that Japanese boy after I replaced his spot.

Which I would.

Dimitri hated being glared at. He hated defiance even more. His superiority complex ran deep. And right now, Rei was staring him down with open disgust.

Dimitri released the kid, who crumpled to the floor gasping. He turned fully toward Rei. I followed a half-step behind, my focus already narrowing to the small figure at the table behind him.

Marco.

He looked utterly terrified.

“Rei, please… drop it. Let’s just go. Please, it isn’t worth it…” He tugged harder at Rei’s hand, body pressed close to his friend’s side as if trying to disappear into him. The sight made something vicious twist in my chest. Marco shouldn’t be pressing against anyone but me. He shouldn’t be seeking safety in anyone’s shadow but mine. I hated it. The possessiveness rose so hard I had to lock my jaw to keep the mask from cracking.