Page 9 of Phantom Flower

Inside, every piece of my gear had been fucked with. The black training shirts were slashed with cuts that looked like claw marks. My hand wraps were cut into useless ribbons and scattered across the bottom like black confetti. The leather jacket I wore after sessions was painted over in thick black strokes, and right across the back someone had written PSYCHO. But the worst part was the robe hanging from the hook in the middle. That was the part that made me fucking boil. My name was crossed out with the same black paint. Above the number that marked it as mine, in bold mocking letters, it said:

THE ONE WITH A BROKEN DICK

Below it, smaller: Next time I will make sure to hit you harder.

Ilya let out a low whistle, spinning his knife faster between his fingers. “Whoever did this has a death wish. Or a very specific sense of humor. I’m leaning toward death wish.”

Alexei studied me. “It’s him. The Japanese boy. No one else would dare.”

Most people in this academy would have cried if they had my attention. They would have transferred. They would have begged.

Rei Kurosaki had painted my gear black and written that he broke my dick.

I reached out and touched the edge of the ruined robe. The paint was still wet. He had done this recently. Maybe while we were training. Maybe he had slipped in here with that scared little friend of his, or maybe he had come alone because he decided he wasn’t going to bow after all.

Good.

I had wanted him to fight. I just hadn’t expected him to fight like this.

Rei Kurosaki had wanted a war.

He was going to get one.

And when it was over, the only thing left standing would be me, with him on his knees.

***

The second Rei Kurosaki stepped out of the main doors, he didn’t even make it ten steps before I was on him. My hand shot out, fingers twisting hard into his dark hair, yanking him backward so fast his feet stumbled.

He gasped, his body jerking against mine.

Up close, I could see that delicate little flower clip tucked into his hair better.

It looked completely out of place on someone who had the balls to kick me.

He tilted his head, eyes widening when he realized it was me. “Let me go!”

I smiled and tightened my grip. “That didn’t work the last time you said it. What makes you think it’ll work now, little fairy?”

His eyes narrowed.

I could see the shift in his stance, the way his leg tensed. He was already thinking about kicking me between the legs again.

I leaned in closer, my lips right next to his ear. “Try it. Kick me again and I’ll break your leg. I’m not in the mood to be gentle.”

Fear flashed across his pretty face.

As it should.

He swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

I let go of his hair but kept one hand firm on the back of his neck, steering him. I nodded toward my black car parked at the curb. “Get in.”

“Absolutely not!” he snapped.

I glanced around. A few students had already stopped to stare, pulling out their phones.

“Get in the car,” I said calmly, “or I’ll drag you by your hair in front of all these people. Is that what you want?”