Page 5 of Deviant Knight (Knight's Ridge Empire 4)

The whole thing just amused me more.

By the time I turned into the school entrance and looked back, I had a long train of pissed-off rich bastards who wanted to show off by revving their pretentious V8s.

I shake my head as I pull into the space I’ve claimed as mine. How Dad ever thought I’d fit in here is laughable.

I understand what he’s trying to achieve. He’s trying to right a few wrongs of my mother’s making. But still.

I stare up at the building that houses most of the sixth form and let out a long sigh.

“Didn’t want to move out of our way, bitch?” some girl barks in my direction. When I glance over my shoulder, I find an imitation Barbie standing beside her fire-engine red BMW. She really should have just gone all out and got a fucking pink one.

“Bite me,” I hiss, flipping her off.

She blanches at my reaction. Clearly, she hasn’t come across my brand of bitch yet.

Turning my back on her, I lock up my bike—not that it’s really necessary around all this wealth, but it makes me feel better knowing that my girl is protected.

Pulling my hair tie out, I ruffle my fingers through the lengths before dragging it all into a messy bun on the top of my head with not even a mirror in sight, a move that I’m sure the Barbie princess behind me will be horrified with.

I’ve barely taken five steps from my bike when his voice cuts through the air. My entire body tenses as the deep rumble flows through me, and like always, I chastise myself for having any kind of reaction to him.

Spinning around, I continue walking backward as I glare pure hate at him.

Although, I’m pretty sure my expression falters a little when I get to see just how fucking hot he looks.

Dickhead.

His hair has been freshly cut, the sides shaved close to his head and the top longer, flopping over his brow. My fingers twitch to reach up and brush it back from his eyes. But obviously, I lock that little urge down. I have zero desire to touch him in private let alone out in public. The scruff on his face is a little longer than usual, and fuck, it makes him look even more dangerous.

“What’s wrong, Miss Daisy? Didn’t you enjoy riding my arse?”

His jaw tics as he glares back at me.

“What? Cat got your tongue, Cirillo?" Ripping my eyes from his, I glance at his Maserati. The one I accidentally drove into a rather large wall not so long ago. Whoops. Is there really any wonder he hates me? I’ve never driven a car, and the first wheel I get behind is his bazillion pound Maserati.

His fault. He gave me the keys and told me to leave that burning building as fast as I could. What did he expect? Running was hardly the fastest option.

“Your car’s looking better than the last time I saw it,” I comment. It’s been in the garage for weeks.

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” he mutters, closing the space between us now that I’ve slowed to a stop for fear of falling on my arse.

“Did you actually want something? Or did you just want to look at my pretty face?”

“Hardly,” he scoffs, storming straight past me as if he wasn’t the one who called my name across the car park only a minute ago.

“I’ll take that as a no then. I hope you have a great day too.”

He walks off, and just as I think he’s not going to react, he looks back over his shoulder. His dark, deadly eyes hold mine for a beat before they drop to my legs.

Rolling my eyes at him, I hitch my bag up higher on my shoulder and take off in the same direction, not staring at his arse in his fitted trousers as he marches toward the entrance.