Ruthless Noble by Alley Ciz
CHAPTER 26
BAM!
“Oof.” My torso falls forward, but I manage to eat most of the punch to my gut. Shaking it off, I shuffle back, cursing and kicking out a foot when I stumble over one of the mouse traps littering the field.
When Midas and Brad came by with their plan to prank BP by covering their football field with a few thousand mouse traps, it seemed simple enough. Fuck were we wrong.
I throw up an arm to block the latest punch of this asshat in a BP football hoodie and get him with my own to his jaw. He stumbles back before righting himself and returning the favor, the familiar coppery taste of blood trickling into my mouth from the hit.
With a shove and a solid right hook, I finally manage to cause enough separation for there to be a break in the fighting.
I drag a hand across my mouth, a streak of crimson staining the skin of my knuckles, thanks to my busted lip. This shit is getting old.
Lacing my fingers together, I press forward and crack my knuckles. Shaking out my hands, I bring them up, ready for the next round. This fucker thinks he can make me bleed? Yeah, I don’t think so. I was taking it easy on him. Not anymore. Time to bring the pain.
“Enough!” A voice booms when I’m about to lunge, but the person stepping into the middle of the fray does nothing to lower the simmering fury pumping through my bloodstream. This is the motherfucker who put his hands on Savvy.
“Gunny,” the guy fighting with Midas complains.
“Don’t start.” Douche numero uno cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “These assholes are connected to Savvy. Do you really wanna piss off the Royals?”
My first instinct is to tell this asshole to keep my girl’s name out of his mouth, but hearing it is enough to give me pause. Why would he bring her up?
“It’ll be fine, Gunny,” another one of his teammates chimes in, hooking a thumb back at Duke standing at the edge of our makeshift circle. “We didn’t touch the fiancé.” The eye roll he tacks on makes me suspect a teenage engagement isn’t as believable outside the land of the rich and entitled.
“Your friend is right.” Duke seizes the opportunity to step in front of me, slipping into the slick politician persona his dad exudes. “I think we need to take a beat before things escalate to a point none of us can come back from.”
Duke maintains eye contact with those he’s speaking to while I check those moving around us. The clenched jaws and flexing hands project how reluctant everyone is about the idea, but it’s not enough to stop them from heeding my friend’s advice.
The atmosphere remains volatile as a dozen guys choose their sides in battle. Chests heave, nostrils flare, and except for Duke, not one person relaxes their stance.
The temperature isn’t quite chilly enough to see one’s breath, but it’s low enough for there to be that noticeable tingle as it fills your lungs.
There are side glances on both sides of the divide, neither grouping wanting to admit that Duke may have a point. Through all the years of pranks, both schools may have skirted the line of legality, but there’s never been direct student-on-student violence.
“You come into our house”—one of the BP jocks steps forward, pointing an aggressive finger our way—“fuck with our eligibility to play on this”—he directs his finger down—“field, and you think we’re supposed to just let this shit go?”
Duke’s body is angled so he’s standing partially in front of me, but I’m still able to see the way his cheeks rise and his jaw stretches. The slightly dazed glaze overtaking those in front of us confirms my suspicion that he’s employing his playboy smile. Most think it only works on the ladies, but the way the facial expression oozes charm can disarm anybody it’s directed at.
“Puh-lease.” Duke pushes his hands into the front pouch of his hoodie and shrugs. “You assholes seem to have conveniently forgotten how you Grand Theft Auto-ed my car for your little parking prank.” He nods his chin toward where his G Wagon is parked near the entrance to the field.
“Hey, don’t blame us for that one,” comes from someone else. “This awesomeness was the brainchild of your girl.” He holds out his phone, the aerial shot of the cars set as his screen’s wallpaper.
Duke dips his chin to look at me from over the curve of his shoulder, smirking at the incorrect reference to who Savvy belongs to and the hint of amusement at her being the mastermind.
The throaty purr of a finely tuned engine revs as it approaches, cutting off whatever the next argument would have been, and we collectively turn to face the matte black Camaro driving right onto the football field.
“Well…damn.”
“Oh shit.”
“She had Wes bring her.”
“Fuck, he’s the more unpredictable of the two.”
The comments continue to roll out of the BP players, the last one I assume referring to Prince and King.
The bright headlights cut through the dark of the night, blinding us enough in their intensity that most of us have to throw an arm up to block the worst of the glare.
Dust mites and such dance inside the beams of light with the gentle breeze as the car continues to idle. The low thrum of bass bumping from its speakers can be heard, the music muted with both doors remaining closed.
A hum builds at the base of my spine, and my feet shift a few steps closer of their own accord, drawn to the vehicle like a magnet.
I have no clue what Savvy could or would have said to Prince to get him to bring her here, but the way my blood buzzes beneath my skin leaves zero doubt that she is in the car with him. My body has always felt attuned to Savvy’s, but the forced distance between us has only seemed to heighten the sensation.
The click of locks disengaging and the door unlatching sounds deafening as the group of us collectively hold our breath while the door is pushed open, the dark tint of the window preventing any of us from seeing the driver before they step out.
Beneath the door, I can make out the shadow of a foot. Other than that, there are no distinguishable features until the driver stands.
A driver a lot shorter than Wesley Prince.
A driver with hair not inky black but shiny silver.
A driver I know for a fact lacks a penis between her legs but who still might have bigger balls than any of us standing here.
Because who steps out of the Camaro?
Well, none other than Savvy King.