Playboy Princes by Eve Jaymin & James Tate

Author:Eve, Jaymin & James, Tate [Eve, Jaymin & James, Tate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Fantasy, Contemporary, Young Adult
Amazon: B0834Y1RF7
Goodreads: 49991875
Published: 2020-04-16T07:00:00+00:00

The next round of fights was announced just minutes later, and my name wasn’t called. But that was actually a blessing because when the commentator announced the names for ring two, I grinned.

“Subtlety isn’t his forte,” Jordan murmured in my ear, having appeared from the depths of the crowd with some impressive stealth.

I snorted a laugh. “No. I never would have guessed that Brandon Morgan—son of Dean Morgan—would call himself The Dean. Arrogant fuck.”

“Arrogant, rash, sloppy… you’ll see.” He rested his hand on the small of my back, and I resisted the urge to lean into him.

He steered me closer to the ring I’d recently vacated, and we positioned ourselves in the shadows to watch the fight. It was like a preview of what I was about to face… if my guys had managed to come through and match us up.

Fuck, I hoped they had; I was basically drooling at the idea of drawing that prick’s blood.

The fight started, and I had a worrying thought. “What happens if he loses this round?” I asked Jordan, shooting him a quick look before returning my attention to the ring. Brandon had just taken a hard hit to the jaw, which made me equal parts satisfied to see him beaten and concerned this would cheat me of my own chance.

Jordan paused before responding, long enough that I knew what he was going to say. “If he loses, you won’t fight him next round. Losers don’t fight again in the same event; it’s just bad business.” He sighed, his sharp gaze traveling across the excited, cheering crowd in the underground arena. “And there’s a whole lot of money changing hands on these fights.”

Huh. That hadn’t even occurred to me. Back home, people only placed bets on the main-event fighters, and even then it wasn’t major money. No one had enough to spare.

“Did people bet on my fight?” I asked, curious. Brandon’s opponent slashed at him with a set of Bagh Nakh—also known as Tiger Claws—and my nemesis narrowly escaped being gutted.

Jordan’s fingertips skated down my spine, and I shivered. “Of course they did, gorgeous,” he replied with a small laugh. “Even with the display you put on at the last fight, I still tripled my money tonight.”

My jaw dropped, and I tore my attention from Brandon’s fight long enough to gape at Jordan. “You bet on me?”

His lips curved up in a smug smile. “Vi, I’ll always bet on you.”

He held my gaze for a long moment, broken only when the crowd erupted and someone bumped into us.

“Cut it out, you two,” Rafe snarled. “Practice a little bit of tact while we’re all supposed to be incognito.”

I rolled my eyes, but he melted back into the crowd before I could snap back at him. Much as I hated it, he was right. I shot Jordan a regretful look, then created a bit of distance between us.

“And the winner is…” the commentator started, and my breath caught in my throat. I’d stopped watching Brandon’s fight, and now my view was obscured by a group of huge-ass men.

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