So much for sneaking in.
A bunch of people below us shriek and run outside, like the lasers are going to slice them in two, and a lot of the others stop dancing to watch. Nothing is going to stop me from getting what I came for. I continue up the stairs, plowing through the sickly sweet fog and hitting every stripe of red security light on the way. I’m almost to the top of the second flight of stairs when Bain Sincero appears, blocking my way. One of the triplets backs him on either side.
“Well, well, well,” Bain says. “Look who the little grey kitten dragged in.”
The mention of Mercy’s cat makes me want to throw the guy over the balcony to the unforgiving stone floor below, but I keep my cool. I could twist Bain like a pretzel with one hand behind my back, but he has Greyson and Archer for backup. I probably wouldn’t get him halfway over the railing before I was the one plummeting to my death.
“Where is she?” I demand.
“Who?” he asks. “I thought the cat was a boy. Funny name for a girl kitty, don’t you think? Then again, I guess a doctor can be a female as easily as a male.”
“Where is Mercy?” I grit out.
And where the fuck is my backup? This is what I get for charging in like a hothead, too blinded by my worry for my sister to think it through. We should have stuck together, but it’s too late now.
“Oh, did your little mouse slip away?” Bain drawls. “Maybe she wanted a real tomcat to play with her before he gobbled her all up. Or a few of them.”
Greyson and Archer chuckle on cue, and now I’m plotting ways to toss all three of them to their deaths. But below, I hear Angel bellowing for the crowd to let him through, and I know I won’t have to wait long for my vengeance. When I glance down, Bain uses the distraction to make his move, throwing a punch while my head is turned. It lands squarely in my jaw, and I stumble back, losing my footing on the stairs. At the last second, I grab the railing so I won’t go tumbling down them and break my neck on one of the sharp turns.
I curse and lunge upwards, but the position puts me at a disadvantage. Bain lands another blow, a kick to my nose, as I try to gain the landing. Deciding to go abandon all the rules, I tackle his legs and yank them out from under him. He falls to thefloor with a loud crack, and his brothers jump in, pummeling me with fists and feet. For a minute, I don’t know which way is up, which boy is which. I land blow after blow, fend off others, take more than my fair share. One of the triplets is on my back for a minute, and then he’s yanked free, and I know my boys are here.
It only takes us a minute to overpower them, and then we’re stepping over their bodies and into the top floor. The bathroom door opens, and two more Sincero siblings step out, along with four hockey players, all of them clad in dresses and heels and soaked from head to toe. From the smell of them, I don’t even want to know what liquid they’re drenched in.
“What’s going on?” one of them asks, and it takes me a second to recognize Manson Boehner, who’s usually the most chic and well-dressed man on campus, even if his style is questionable.
“Where the fuck is Mercy?” I ask, since they’ve been known to hang out together.
“I—I don’t know,” he says, glancing at Salem and Killian, who seem to be holding them hostage in whatever initiation they’re going through.
“She’s probably with Rafe,” Salem says, sounding bored. “He’s been known to fuck anything with two legs. And probably a few with four.”
“Fucking bitch,” I snarl, lunging for them.
Salem meets me halfway, slamming a fist into my gut. The others jump in, and Knox emerges from somewhere in the hallway. I’m just stepping back from Salem when Rafe and Mercy appear from a bedroom, and I see red.
I charge at him, but the hockey boys have joined the fight now—both the ones from the bathroom and a handful more who must have been in another room. I hear Manson protesting as someone shoves him against a wall, saying he doesn’t fight and if someone messes up his pretty face, they’ll be sued for millions.But the next time I see him, he’s taken off one of the heels they crammed on his feet and is beating Killian over the head with it.
I turn my focus back to Mercy, searching for her in the mêlée. I find her in the last place I expect. Instead of cowering and whimpering in a corner like a helpless little lamb, she’s skillfully trading blows with Archer, who scraped himself up off the floor and came at us again. Not only does she appear to know what she’s doing, but she’s getting the better of him, landing blows at a breakneck pace, her fists a blur, her body a machine. She deftly steps aside to avoid the few punches he throws between fending her off and defending himself. When he finally lands a jab, I charge forward, but she answers with a roundhouse kick that brings him to his knees before I reach them.
I stumble over a pile of writhing bodies and realize one of my friends is under there, so I tear off two hockey players and catch a glimpse of Angel under them, still hammering blows down on anyone he can reach, even when he’s buried in a pileup. I manage to get another guy off, and then he’s up, slamming his head into my nose. I roar with pain, since my nose was already busted. My head swims, and black spots dot my vision, but I use all the pain to fuel my next blow, and the guy goes down like a ton of bricks. Salem launches herself at my back, hissing and spitting and clawing like a wildcat. I throw myself backwards into the wall with all my force, and she thuds against it so hard the house shakes. When I spin away, she howls like a dying animal, but I manage to dislodge her when I do it again, this time spinning at the same time, using the momentum to slam her into the wall while I keep going.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Heath yells, grabbing my shoulder and wrenching me backwards. “More Disciples are on the way!”
“Mercy,” I bellow, and she glances at me for one split second before landing a knockout blow to Knox, sending hisglasses flying down the hall. She daintily steps over Archer’s body, and I notice she’s wearing normal shoes for once in her life—patent leather Mary Janes instead of her ugly brown clogs—and a dress that hugs her curves in a way that can’t be legal.
“I’m ready,” she says.
We duck our way through the fight that’s still going, dragging Angel with us.
“Where’s Manson?” Mercy asks, balking at the top of the stairs. “We can’t leave him!”
“A little help here,” he calls from where he’s backed into the corner next to the railing, banging his shoes against a guy’s shoulders and head, while the guy pounds on a Hellhound. Nice to see that our brothers showed up to help out at the last minute.
Angel grabs the hockey player with both hands and hurls him across the hall, and Mercy ducks in to grab Manson’s hand, dragging him to the stairs with us.
“Holy shit, that was scary,” Manson says. “I’ve never been in a fight before. I thought I was going to die! God, that was awesome!”
“What is that smell?” Mercy asks, her nose wrinkling as we hurry down the stairs.
