30. Victoria

The sun isa weak glow on the horizon as we walk across campus, Cian’s hand gripping mine, a silent claim against the conversation from the kitchen that we haven’t mentioned in the last couple of hours while we got ready for classes.

Bonnie is in my other hand, a necessity to show these fuckers who not to mess with. Also, if my stalker happens to get a bit more daring, I want to be able to smash his fucking face in for forcing Gianluca under my fucking roof.

Fuck!

He is so fucking hot, I want to climb him like a tree and ride him.

“It’s bloody freezing,” Cian murmurs.

“Yeah,” I reply, but something feels off.

“What?” he asks, immediately sensing my shift in mood.

I don’t have to reply. The bedlam does it for me.

Shouts rip through the air, a warning as much as an alarm. We turn as mayhem erupts at the Student Union, our fucking place. Black masked assholes swarm the building like a dark wave breaking against rocks. A rival gang is making a move on what’s ours.

“Looks like they couldn’t wait for it to warm up a bit,” Cian spits out, stance ready, Clyde already drawn.

I grip Bonnie tighter, the nails catching the sunlight, ready to leave their mark.

“Victoria!” Luke’s call cuts through, sharp and urgent. He and Gianluca barrel towards us. Luke’s cold eyes taking in the scene, never betray a thing. But today, they’re hard with purpose.

“Nothing like a bit of bloodshed in the morning.” Gianluca grins, rolling his shoulders like he’s stepping into a prize fight.

The masked gang members don’t pause as we surge forward with no more words, coming at us from every angle. Fists fly, boots connect, and the sound of flesh meeting metal echoes off the stone walls.

I swing Bonnie, connecting with some fucker with a sickening crunch. They thought they’d catch us off guard this early; instead, they find our fury, our will to hold ground.

Luke throws someone over his shoulder, a swift kick to another sending an attacker sprawling.

“Watch it!” Cian warns, a split second before I duck a wild punch aimed for my temple.

“Cheers,” I grunt, swinging again. Pain blossoms where I’m not quick enough, but it’s nothing compared to the rush, the thrill of the fight.

I can feel the tide turning already, our advantage growing as we press forward. Each hit I land with Bonnie feels like another step towards defending what’s ours.

They’ve got numbers, but I’ve got Bonnie and three madmen who won’t budge an inch. I grip my nail-studded bat tighter, its familiar weight a silent promise of pain to come.

No time for bullshit. Every second counts. We move as one, a unit tuned to survival, to victory.

Gianluca moves like a panther, muscles coiling as he pivots to guard our side.

It’s brutal, efficient. Gianluca is a force, repelling attacks with raw power. Luke slips in like a shadow, his moves precise, calculated—every hit disabling, every move creating openings for Cian and me to exploit.

“Left, two o’clock!” It’s Luke alerting us to a new threat. His Scottish lilt is sharp even in the bedlam. We pivot, adjust, and counter.

“Fuck, yeah!” I shout, feeling that thrill in my blood, the dance of battle that we know too well as Bonnie smashes into a masked face, nails biting deep into fabric and flesh. There’s no room for hesitation, no space for mercy. Not here, not now.

A fist flies past my cheek, close enough to feel the whoosh of air against my skin. I duck into a roll, a hair’s breadth from being laid out cold, and swing Bonnie up in an arc that connects with a sickening crunch. Blood splatters, hot and metallic. It’s a grim reminder—this is no game.

“Victoria!” Cian shouts as he sees me down, a blur as he tackles a rival charging at me from the side. His body slams into the attacker, the two of them hitting the ground with a thud that tells me the other guy won’t be getting up soon. Especially when Cian drives his knife into the guy’s Adam’s apple.

I nod, not wasting breath on thanks. We’re beyond that; this is survival, pure and simple.

Rising, I surge forward again. With every ounce of strength, we keep going, shedding blood and gore as more people join the fight on our side. This is our turf, no matter what the rivalries are between factions on campus; BlackBriar is ours, and cowardly masked creeps aren’t getting their hooks in it—not today, not ever.

Cian grunts as someone lands a lucky hit, but he’s already spinning, retaliating with a ferocity that speaks of darkened streets and harsher lessons learned too young.

This isn’t just a fight—it’s a statement. You come at us; you better not miss.

“Victoria, duck!” Gianluca’s warning is a sharp knife thrown over the din, slicing through the chaos. I drop, feeling the whoosh of a bat where my head was seconds ago. Close. Too close.

“Hey!” I roar, waving Bonnie wildly. “No one takes my moves, you utter cunt.” I slam my bat into their midsection, and with a grunt that comes from a female, no doubt, she doubles over. “Yeah, that’s it, Pollyanna. Stay down.”

“Behind you!” It’s Luke this time, and I pivot, Bonnie rising and falling. There’s no room for error, not here, not now.

“Cheers,” I acknowledge, breathless from exertion and adrenaline.

“Anytime.” The smirk in his voice doesn’t need to be seen to be felt.

Adrenaline courses through me, a live wire sparking against my veins, fuelling every strike, every step.

“They’re running,” Cian grunts, close enough that his voice cuts through the frenzy.

We watch them go, and I laugh. It’s a maniacal sound that rips through the air as I wave Bonnie in the air. “That’s right fuckers, run from BlackBriar, you fucking pussies!”

Cian snorts and grabs my hand, kissing my knuckles with a reverent gaze I will never get tired of.

The four of us stand there, surrounded by our compatriots, breathing hard. Our bodies are alight with the rush of battle, and our minds are already turning to what comes next.

We look around at the bodies surrounding us, a reminder of the fierce battle we just survived. We struggle to catch our breaths, surrounded by the fresh morning air that seems out of place in this gruesome scene.

“Run, you bastards,” Cian sneers loudly, and they do, scattering like leaves in a gale.

“Pathetic,” Luke spits out, scanning the perimeter with eagle-eyed vigilance.

As the last of the rival gang disappears into the distance, I allow myself a single moment to savour the win. There’s no glory in this life, just survival, and today, we’ve secured another day to breathe.

“Good job,” I nod to each of them in turn, their faces grimy, streaked with the evidence of battle.

We stand there, a circle of beaten and battered warriors in the middle of the quad. The early sun casts long shadows that mix with the dark stains on the ground—blood, dirt, defiance. Cian wipes his face, smearing grime across his cheek. Luke leans on his knees, chest heaving, eyes sharp as shattered glass. Gianluca’s knuckles are raw, his breathing heavy but controlled.

“Kellerman,” Gianluca says, spitting out the name like it’s poison.

“You think?” I ask.

“Has to be,” Cian adds. “It’s why they were masked. This is their turf as well and fighting a civil war is a massive no-go. Little fucker.”

“Little shit’s got guts,” Gianluca agrees.

“Or no brains,” Luke adds, straightening up. His gaze doesn’t waver, and I know he’s already running scenarios, ways we’ll have to adapt, defend, attack.

“Or both,” I reply, my mind racing ahead. We’ve won, sure. But winning’s just surviving. And surviving’s a game that never bloody ends.

“Let’s clean up this mess. Then we plan.” I turn away from them, gazing across the campus.

“We hit back twice as hard,” Cian growls.

“Guess we’re not going to class today,” I mutter.

“No, we are,” he says. “Tonight, we hit back. I know just the place.”

The sinister grin tells me all I need to know. Tonight is going to be way more fun than this.