Chapter 167. Weakness
Maisie
Ryder’s tongue pried my mouth open, forcing himself into me, into the space where I could still taste Mercer from yesterday. I pushed hard at his chest with everything I had, but he held firm, using his weight to keep me in place as his tongue swept over the roof of my mouth, against my teeth, claiming my mouth—
Then he was gone, flying across the ring and slamming into the post. The ring shuddered from the impact, and Ryder slid down before finding his feet again.
The training hall went completely silent.
Jericho stood in the ring.
He had his Combat uniform pants, a black muscle tank on, and that lethal calm that I now knew was an indicator that someone was about to die.
Ryder spat blood onto the ring floor, wiped his lip, and smiled through it. "There you are. I was beginning to think I would have to dip my hands into her golden honeypot before I got your attention," Ryder said pleasantly. "I wonder, does her pussy taste as good as—"
"Jericho, stop," I yelled, because it was clear Ryder was spoiling for a fight.
Neither of them looked at me as they clashed.
Ryder was faster than he had been with me, significantly faster, and I gasped when he slipped under Jericho’s opening swing, drove his elbow up into his ribs, and they came together in the middle of the ring with a force that vibrated through the floor and sent the students nearest the ropes stumbling back.
"Stop," Instructor Warren ordered, like it made any difference. I thought I heard him call for security when it became clear as day that they were both going for the kill.
The violence in the air grew and I smelled blood.
Juliette’s and Regina’s faces appeared in front of me and she held my shoulder, the latter touching my face gently.
"You okay?" Juliette asked softly.
I nodded, staring at the scene before me, watching it grow progressively worse as Ryder fought fast and dirty against a stronger Jericho.
He got a knee into Jericho’s thigh. Got a hand in his collar. Got under his centre of gravity for one half-second before Jericho corrected, and in that half-second he drove Jericho into the ropes hard enough to make them sing.
Jericho came off the ropes with a hiss. Got a hand on Ryder’s arm, and screams echoed in the hall when the sound of a popped shoulder leaving its socket echoed through the hall.
Ryder howled.
He went to one knee, arm hanging at the angle it was not supposed to hang, face gone white. Jericho stood over him, chest heaving. And then, he clasped his hands around Ryder’s head.
Oh god. He was going to rip his head off.
Meanwhile, Bastian and Kisten did nothing to separate them. In fact, they seemed more than content with watching from the sidelines.
I didn’t remember moving past Juliette and Regina, but I was instantly by Jericho’s side, gripping his arm, shaking him hard to snap him out of it. "Jericho, please."
Nothing.
"Jericho, stop."
His eyes were still on Ryder. His fingers were glued so tightly to Ryder’s face, bruises were forming under his fingertips.
I walked around him, cupping his cheeks and turning his face towards me.His eyes were two black shiny soulless holes, regarding me coldly. Dark veins decorated the surface of his skin, spreading from his eye sockets down across his cheeks, snaking down to his neck. I could feel the crackle of that dark, dangerous thing close to the surface. "He’s doing this to get under your skin. And it’s working. Let him go, Jer."
He blinked slowly, still held tightly with that predatory stillness, but he began to release Ryder slowly, on exhale at the time.
Ryder, who didn’t seem to realize he was at death’s door, kept chuckling, blood rolling down from his temple. "So, she is your weakness, after all."
I didn’t like the way he said that. Jericho didn’t either, because his fist drew back and slammed into Ryder’s left eye three times, before he dumped him on the floor.
When I tugged gently on Jericho’s wrist again, he followed me, though I could sense every part of him strung tight with tension. The crowd parted as I pulled him away. I didn’t know where I was leading him to. I just knew I had to get him away from there.
The sentries who had arrived at some point during the fight flinched away from us, fear turning into hostility on their faces like Jericho was some kind of monster, and it was all I could do not to bare my teeth in an expression that said, "Piss off."
I vaguely heard Head Mistress Atlas’s voice presiding over the hallways through the speakers, "Ryder Hunt. In my office. Now," when Jericho took my wrist in his instead, leading us out of the building.
His voice was scratchy and rough as he spat something at me in Russian.
"Care to repeat that in English?" I asked faintly as he pulled us over to the parking lot. "And why are we headed for the car?"
"I believe you’ve had enough of school today," he snapped, nearly wrenching the car door off as he pulled it open.
My heels screeched to a halt, but he yanked me halfway through and shoved me into the back seat. I smacked into the black leather and exhaled furiously. "You can’t do this! I’ve missed so many classes already—"
"You should’ve thought about that before you let him fuck you up on the floor and put his mouth on you," he snarled.
I gasped in outrage. "Fuck me up—we were sparring! How was I supposed to know he’d try to shove his tongue down my throat?!"
His answer was slamming the door shut.
"Good morning, ma’am," Richie said cheerfully from the front seat, but I was too pissed off to respond.
"Raise the divider, Richie," Jericho growled as he slipped in through the other door. "And drive."
I reached for the door handle, only to have my hand wrenched back and clamped down on my thigh as the partitioned glass rolled up and the engine purred. "Sit the fuck down."