Table Of ContentPLAYBOY PRINCES
ROYALS OF ARBON ACADEMY
TATE JAMES
JAYMIN EVE
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
The Final Chapter…
Also by the authors:
Tate James & Jaymin Eve
Playboy Princes: Royals of Arbon Academy #2
Copyright © Jaymin Eve & Tate James 2020
All rights reserved
First published in 2020
Eve, Jaymin
James, Tate
Playboy Princes: Royals of Arbon Academy #2
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by
any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any
form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition,
including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication
other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living
or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover: Tamara Kokic
Editing: Heather Long (content) and Jax Garren (line)
To self-isolation, for forcing our butts into office chairs so that this book
would be here months early.
CHAPTER 1
T
he wet, heavy sound of my fist smacking into his face would
have sickened a lesser woman. Me, though? It made me happy.
Every crack of my knuckles into his flesh, every spray of deep
red blood, every pained grunt and cry from his bruised throat.
I knew he was done. He’d been done ages ago, but I was toying with him.
Dragging out the pain and using his broken body as my own personal rage
therapy.
With every swing of my balled fist, every strike of my elbow, knee, and
heel, those vile words burned through my brain. Over and fucking over.
Genetically superior babies.
Contracts signed.
Violet’s falling in love.
Fuck me. Fuck me and my stupid, childish, moronic naivety. How could I
have trusted him?
Alex. Goddamn Alex.
I kept beating my pathetic excuse for an opponent as I pictured my vile
boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—in his place. But physical violence like this was a
stopgap. A coping mechanism. What Alex would get would have to be a
thousand times worse than a few broken bones and some internal bleeding.
Hands grabbed at me, and I lashed out at them too. My mind was too far
lost to rage, and I barely even registered what was happening until my feet
left the floor and my thrashing body was slung over a broad shoulder.
“What the fuck?” I screamed, my voice hoarse. I must have been yelling
while I whaled on that poor fool, not even noticing it. Fuck, I hoped I hadn’t
said anything incriminating.
On the other hand, who gave a fucking shit? I sure as hell didn’t. Let
them know exactly who Violet Rose Spencer really was. I hoped Alex would
hear about the purple-clad fighter named Violence and feel some real fear.
The dark room around me blurred and my head spun. I was hanging
upside down, my long bloody braid almost drooping low enough to brush the
floor as someone—probably one of my well meaning friends—hauled me out
of the fight arena.
“Let me down!” I demanded, smacking his back with bruised, aching
hands. My blade was gone, and I had no recollection of dropping it. When
had I decided that steel would make the fight too quick and resorted to my
bare hands? I had no idea. But fuck, I needed to get it back. That blade had
cost me more of my soul than I was willing to admit, and I couldn’t just let
some punk snatch it.
The dickhead carrying me didn’t respond and sure as shit didn’t let me
down like I asked. Instead he sped up until he was damn near running out of
the fight arena and down a gloomy tunnel. He didn’t bother turning on his
palm reader light or pause to check arrows, so he was clearly pretty familiar
with the underground network that seemed to span the whole of freaking
Arbon city.
I continued to rage for another few moments until a door slammed and I
was abruptly dropped on my ass in the middle of a plush carpeted floor. By
Rafe. I’d been carried—and dropped—by Rafe of all fucking people. He still
had his mask on, but it was him. No doubt about it.
“Oh, boy.” I chuckled a dark laugh. “You seriously picked the wrong
night to fuck with me, Prince Prickly.” I clambered halfway to my feet only
to be shoved back down to the floor by a rough push to my shoulder.
“Shut up,” he snapped, tearing his mask off and glaring at me with those
dangerously beautiful eyes of his. “I am this fucking close to losing my cool,
Vi; you need to just shut up for two seconds.” He held his finger and thumb
up to demonstrate how close, and I suspected they were less than a
hairsbreadth apart.
Normally, I wouldn’t give two fucks what Rafe wanted, but something
wasn’t stacking up. So I kept my fury bottled up inside while he paced the
expensive, decorative carpet and ran his hands through his messy black hair,
over and over.
I pulled my own purple mask off while I waited and tossed it on the
carpet beside me.
“Are you done?” I snarked when he finally stopped pacing and turned to
glare at me again. I hadn’t tried to move from where he’d shoved my ass onto
the middle of the carpet. Not because he’d told me to—fuck that—but
because seeing him so worked up and ragey when I was still hyped up on the
adrenaline of my fight… well… I was woman enough to admit it was a major
fucking turn on. I stayed put on my ass because I was dangerously close to
jumping his bones.
Apparently my question hit a trigger for him, though, and his mouth
dropped and his face twisted with disbelief. “Am I done?” he repeated,
staring at me like I’d grown three heads. “Me? Am I done? That’s what
you’re asking?”
I blinked up at him a couple times, confused at where this conversation
was going. “Uh, yeah, that’s what I asked. You’re pacing like a caged wolf
and looking all”—sexy—“murderous and shit.”
He just gaped at me, seemingly lost for words for the first time since ever.
It didn’t last long.
“Are you fucking joking? You just almost killed that poor fuck out there!
With your bare hands!” His eyes were pitch fucking black at this stage.
“What the hell happened? Did you have some kind of psychotic break in the
time between the game and fight?”
Guilt washed over me. I’d been so focused on channeling my rage I
hadn’t given my opponent a second thought. At least, not past how I could
inflict the maximum amount of damage and pain, all while picturing he was
Alex.
Whoops.
Still, there was no way in hell I’d be apologizing or explaining myself to
my biggest tormentor at Arbon Academy.
I arched a brow at him and held steady eye contact. “Is killing against the
rules in these fights? I didn’t get a handbook.”
If anything, his eyes just bugged out wider before a carefully neutral
expression closed over his face. “It’s not,” Rafe admitted from behind
clenched teeth, “but it creates a hell of a lot of trouble and the winner is
required to clean up their own mess. I seriously doubt you’ve made the
necessary connections here to handle a body disposal. Nor could you afford
it.”
Ah yep, there he was. Arrogant, entitled prick.
He did kind of have a point, though. Body disposals were expensive, so I
