Ruthless Noble by Alley Ciz

CHAPTER 10

I slamthe door to my locker with more force than necessary.

Two weeks. It has been two weeks since the night none of us talk about, and they have been spent blissfully living in denial.

Well…blissful might be a stretch. I’ve more been living on a sliding scale of extreme emotions that seem to have been triggered by Savvy returning to school eight days ago.

After spending a week waffling between trying not to think about her and worrying about if she was truly okay after being in the hospital, seeing her get out of Duke’s Mercedes had me raging.

I took most of my frustrations out on Savvy. We fought—no surprise there—and we fucked—that was kind of a surprise—but it’s been the moments where she lets her guard down and opens herself up to me that have shocked me the most.

The…friendship we started to establish before the night that took years off my life when I thought she might lose hers has picked right back up, with us carrying on like nothing changed. I don’t see how that is going to be possible now.

It’s official—the whole world knows Duke Delacourte is set to marry Samantha St. James.

They also know Samantha St. James was Samantha King prior to her mother’s marriage to Mitchell. It didn’t take much for the guys—and I’m sure the rest of the school—to make the connection to Savvy King.

None of that, however, is what has me damn near ripping the locker door from its hinges.

No, that honor goes to dear old Dad. Thank Christ I had hockey practice before his surprise visit. If it weren’t for those hours out on the ice to exhaust me, I don’t know what I would have been liable to do, though I know enough to be sure it wouldn’t have been good.

For the last twelve hours, I’ve gone back and forth between wanting to hunt down the motherfucker who thought they could take pictures of Savvy and me and being pissed at my father for issuing an ultimatum because of them.

How fucking dare he threaten to cut me off and renege on our agreement about hockey if I so much as hold Savvy’s hand, let alone do anything else with her. Even now, all it makes me want to do is find her and reassert my claim on her, which in and of itself is a problem.

The fact that the pictures were sent to my parents, not the press, or even the Delacourtes, makes me suspect whoever was dumb enough to think they’ll get away with taking pictures is someone with a vindictive agenda. But who? The only person brave enough to stand up to the kings at BA is Savvy, but…she was in the pictures.

Unless…

Could she have arranged for Tinsley to take the pictures? She was waiting for Savvy at the front of the school that day. Could it maybe be an attempt to break off the engagement?

Except…

Duke seemed utterly clueless about the images when I practically tore our dorm apart after Dad left. If it was Savvy and they were sent in an attempt to end the engagement, wouldn’t the pictures have been sent to his parents?

It’s a complete mind-fuck.

Here is what I do know: the person responsible for putting my hockey career in jeopardy by playing paparazzo better fucking run, because if I get my hands on them…I’m going to destroy them—whoever they are.

A buzz fills the halls, and there’s a crowd gathered near the school’s entrance. More than one person nods toward Duke beside me as they all whisper amongst themselves.

Arabella and her posse hover on the outskirts, a smug entitlement twisting the Queen B’s lips as her gaze takes in the commotion.

The whispers grow louder, and there’s a surge toward the door, with a few brave enough to actually open them and step outside while the others settle for trying to see out the windows bracketing them.

The thrum in my bloodstream is all I need to know; Savvy has arrived, that cluster of students parting like the Red Sea as she strides inside.

Her typical I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude radiates off of her in full force as she basically ignores everything and everybody.

I don’t know if it’s the forbidden stamp on her or what, but she looks extra fine this morning. She has on those same boots and thigh-highs as when I fucked her in Duke’s car, but instead of the blazer, she’s rocking the girls’ long-sleeved button-up and black vest cinched tight over it. The combo shows off her figure perfectly. The only thing that would have made it better is if the hickey I marked her with hadn’t faded, because the way she has half her hair tied back in a high ponytail would have shown it off perfectly.

“We need to talk, Princess.” I snag her wrist before she can pass by.

Pressure builds in my groin at the challenge she issues with a simple flick of her eyes to where my fingers overlap around the fragile joint. I’m shifting on my heels when that defiant gaze rises to me. Yes, I can hear people whispering about her being related to the Carter King, but she’s never needed that connection. Chick has balls bigger than most guys on the hockey team, and we have some big-balled motherpuckers. I would know; I’ve seen them in the locker room.

“Careful, Noble…” Midas shoulder-checks me as he strides past, flipping around to walk backward. “Isn’t she supposed to be engaged to Delacourte now?”

“Fuck you, Abbot,” I toss out, not releasing my hold on Savvy when she jerks her arm.

Brad and a few others from the football team are close behind, the former stretching out a fist for us to bump, adding, “Eh, you know our boys are used to tag-teaming bitches. Duke’s people are French.” He stretches his arms up at a forty-five-degree angle and thrusts his hips in the air. “Eiffel Tower those sluts.”

Savvy kicks out a foot, tripping Brad as he passes, which has Duke dishing out the knuckle bump he denied the jockhole moments ago.

“Check yourself, Manning,” I warn Brad.

He scoffs. The idiot. “Shouldn’t it be Delacourte warning me away? Bitch is his fiancée.”

“I love that you call me a bitch like it’s an insult,” Savvy says dryly. “I’ll have you know I’m an expert at bitchcraft.”

Some of the students who formed a small circle around us start to snicker at Brad’s blatant confusion and lack of comeback.

“Is that a course I can take?” Duke slings an arm over Savvy’s shoulder. “Where do I sign up, and what do they teach?”

“You’re too happy-go-lucky to pass it, playboy.” Savvy pats Duke’s chest sympathetically. “You need to be serious to excel at the art of pissing people off by telling them the truth.”

This girl. How am I supposed to quit her?