Page 72 of Deviant Reign (Knight's Ridge Empire 6)

THEO

“This is fucking bullshit,” I bark, slamming my hand down on the steering wheel of the replacement Maserati Dad managed to sort me out with while I decide what to do about the wreck I left on the side of the road at the beginning of the week.

How the fuck that was only four days ago, fuck only knows.

The pain might have mostly subsided, even after sparring with Emmie yesterday, but the bruises linger.

The car is fine. Nice even. But it’s not mine. And that makes it all kinds of wrong.

The seat isn’t right despite playing with its positioning for days. The mirror doesn’t sit right. The speakers don’t quite cut it.

“Chill the fuck out, man. We’re almost there,” Seb says lightly from the passenger seat while Alex mumbles around a mouthful of fucking crisps in the back.

My grip on the wheel tightens as I think about all the fucking crumbs he’s currently pushing into the fabric around him.

It might not be my car, but that doesn’t mean I want it to be covered in his shit.

“Is that really fucking necessary?” I snap, glaring at him in the mirror.

“What?” he mumbles. “I’m hungry.”

We’re still thirty minutes out from All Hallows, the school we’re playing tonight’s match at.

The school bus, and Nico and Toby, left almost forty-five minutes before us at the beginning of lunch, but someone, the one currently giving me the stink eye in the mirror, was busy banging some fucking slut in the humanities bathrooms and made us fucking late. Now, we’re stuck in Oxford traffic and risking missing kick-off.

“I swear to fuck, if we miss this I’m going to beat your arse into next week,” I warn.

“Pfft,” Alex scoffs, waving me off with his greasy fingers. “I’ve seen you fighting this week. There’s only one of us who’ll be on their arse.” He lifts a brow at me in amusement as Seb grunts, making me look forward to realise the traffic has moved and I haven’t.

Thanks to the fucking Reapers, that video went around Knight’s Ridge like wildfire, and when I turned up at school this morning, anyone who was brave enough had something to say about the fact that I almost had my arse handed to me by my wife.

The thought of them all watching her lay into me with that skintight outfit she was wearing and the angry, sexy look in her eyes made me damn right murderous, and it’s amazing that I managed to make it through to lunchtime only giving some stupid motherfucker in my economics class a black eye.

“Enough,” Seb snaps. “Just focus on the game. You can bicker like a couple of old women later. We want to beat these motherfuckers.”

“And we will. If we ever fucking get there,” I hiss.

“You need to get laid,” Alex helpfully adds from the back, having swallowed his mouthful of food.

“Bro, shut the fuck up,” Seb barks, also shooting him a death glare.

“What? It’s true. He’s a miserable motherfucker when he’s not seeing any action. You need to go and grovel your arse off to your wife and see if she’ll suck your—”

I slam my foot down on the brake so hard, I’m amazed the car behind doesn’t plough straight into the back of us.

“Don’t fucking talk about her like that,” I boom, my voice bouncing around the confines of the car, making it sound even more brutal. “She’s my fucking wife, not some whore you fuck in the bathroom.”

“Jeez, man. Sorry,” Alex mutters insincerely. “Didn’t realise it was such a touchy subject.”

“Then I suggest you get your fucking head out of your fucking arse and pay attention.” I glare at him, about two seconds from kicking him the fuck out of the car when the person behind slams their hand down on the horn.

“Watch your fucking mouth about my girl,” I hiss, turning back around to move forward again.

“I’m hardly going to disrespect her seriously. She’s my fucking friend, dickwad,” Alex mutters.

I’m about to turn back around to finally kick him out when Seb’s hand lands on my shoulder.

“She’ll come around, man. Just fucking breathe, yeah?”