Ruthless Noble by Alley Ciz

CHAPTER 20

BANG!

I shake out my hand, looking at the fist-shaped hole I punched into the locker.

What the fuck?

Did I all of a sudden turn invisible this morning?

Savvy looked right at me, but it was like she was looking through me.

Not one word was spoken to me. There was barely even an acknowledgment that she noticed I exist.

Every crack I’ve been able to make in her walls was sealed up tight, leaving behind an ice princess. Now she’s locked in a room, away from me, with my best fucking friend.

He’s her fiancé.

I punch the locker again, the divot in the metal deepening at the taunt from my internal voice. I don’t care.

I.

DON’T.

FUCKING.

CARE.

Dad can threaten me all he likes; I’m done letting him keep me from claiming what I want. I’ve never been one to run scared. Why the hell am I starting now?

Acid boils in my gut and burns me from the inside out seeing the way Savvy defeatedly drops her head to Duke’s chest. Watching my friend’s hands comfort my girl—my fucking girl—feels like a betrayal of the highest order.

The warning bell for class rang a minute ago, but that hasn’t stopped the handful or so of students from loitering in the hall. I get it; they aren’t used to seeing one of their kings lose it, but that’s precisely what I’m doing—losing it.

The door opens, and I spring across the hall, grabbing Savvy’s wrist the second she steps out of the classroom. “We need to talk, Princess.”

She glances first to where my fingers overlap around the fragile joint then slowly slides her eyes to mine. Ice fills my veins at the vacant glaze coating her gaze. “We have nothing to talk about.”

“The fuck we don’t.” I yank her to me, her small body falling onto mine as I anchor her to me with an arm wrapped behind her back.

“Bro.” Duke steps in close, jerking a chin at the crowd gathering around us. I don’t give a shit about them or the phones I see pointed in our direction.

“Don’t call me bro when you’re nothing but a fucking traitor.” I uncoil my arm from around Savvy to shove him away from us.

“That’s rich.” Duke barks out a laugh that grates on my nerves and has my already bruised knuckles screaming to meet his jaw.

“Tell me, brother…” He spits the word at me like an insult. “How is it I’m the traitor when you’re”—he pokes my shoulder—“the one”—another poke—“with his”—one more poke—“hands on my fiancée?”

Red tinges my vision, and I grab his finger before it can poke me again, twisting it until he has to bend forward to avoid me breaking his hand.

“Kind of hypocritical calling me the traitor, don’t you think?” he taunts.

I wrench his arm higher, but he spins out of my hold and comes at me swinging. I turn my head, but his fist still manages to connect with my jaw, setting me off with renewed fury.

“Motherfucker.” I lunge for him, but he sidesteps out of the way, forcing me to pivot in order to land a blow to the side of his ribs.

I expect him to come at me again, but instead, he drops down into a crouch with an “Oh shit!”

I brace for him to tackle me, but when I see him stretching out a hand to somebody on the ground, all the rage leaves me, and my heart drops to my toes when I realize it’s Savvy.

Goddammit, I shouldn’t have gone after Duke with her so close by. It’s my fault she got caught in the crossfire.

I’m down by her other side, offering my hand to help her up only to have her smack it away with a glare so full of venom my balls shrivel up. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

My teeth grind, and it takes everything in me not to lunge at Duke again as he takes her hand to help her stand. She murmurs a soft thanks and steps out of reach from both of us.

“Can you two assholes keep your dick-measuring contests confined to the locker room and leave me out of it?” Her breathing is slightly rushed, and a prickly panic takes root when I recall her using her inhaler when she was with Duke.

She continues to glare, her cheeks flushed, the right one darker than the other, evidence of a cut in the center of the mark. Fuck! One of us did clip her; that’s why she was on the ground. The need to reaffirm that she is okay and we didn’t do any permanent damage surges inside me. She slaps me away again when I try to cup her cheek to inspect the mark.

All thoughts of why Duke and I were fighting in the first place mean nothing if the end result was Savvy being hurt.

Shit!I’m spiraling worse than I thought. First, I’m fighting with my best friend, my ride or die. Then I potentially accidentally hurt the one person who is coming to mean as much to me as him, if not more.

“I’m so over playing everybody’s games.” She sighs and runs a hand through her disheveled hair, tugging on the long ends. Her eyes bounce between mine before she shifts her attention to Duke, my spine lengthening as she sends a pleading, almost remorseful look his way.

None of us say a word as we stand in this weird three-way stare down. The silence is heavy with everything not being said.

“Move along,” Savvy snaps at an overly ballsy underclassman who makes the mistake of trying to move in closer to our cluster.

Duke and I share our first smirk since Savvy arrived at school today as the kid partially wets himself, tucks tail, and runs away. Watching the way people react to and around Savvy is fascinating. Where people do what we say out of fear, it’s easy to see they follow her orders out of a strange respect.

“I don’t want to fight…with either of you,” she admits, inhaling another deep, measured breath. “But if you push me into it, I won’t hesitate in doing so.”

Again she shares a look with Duke, and it’s annoying as fuck that I can’t decipher it.

“This isn’t what I meant when I asked for your help, but remember this…” She moves in front of Duke, stepping in close and rising onto her toes to kiss his cheek while he watches me with guilt swimming in his gaze. “You’re either on my side”—she lowers herself down and steps back—“by my side”—she takes the few steps needed until she’s standing toe to toe with me—“or in my fucking way.”