CHAPTER 11

ETHAN

Someone was gazing at him.

No.

Glares.

The cruel eyes caressed the nape of Ethan's head like the wind—or better said, wind.

Tempestuous, gale-force breeze. Ethan ripped his focus away from the PowerPoint and turned to the class, then he thrust a hand into his pocket as he met that glare.

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It was a genuine effort not to let his lips fall into a grin.

A true struggle.

```.

WENTZ occupied the back row, unconsciously rocking his pen between his fingers but not even taking the trouble to look at his notebook. He was losing control of his usual unruffled facade, slowly disintegrating with Ethan's wreckage.

See, he was that mastermind when it came to masking his true feelings. Ethan had seen how he had such a calm nature with his friends, acting so perfectly as an innocent kitten when, in truth, he possessed a demon within him.

Hell, the night he first set eyes on him, he wore a poker face even when Ethan shot him. And Ethan had supposed that was all a show, but Ethan couldn't help but think that's just his normal—appearing so horrifyingly unconcerned with the entire world.

This week, however, in class two with them, he seemed to have lost the ability to keep his patent hatred concealed.

It made it hard not to dismiss the entire class and back him into a corner, trap him in the palms of Ethan's hands, or crush him under Ethan's feet.

Break him to pieces once and for all.

Ethan's eyes met with his for a moment, and Ethan admitted green looked far preferable to the fake brown in his irises. His eyes were loaded, an angry glow of rash hate and willing vengeance, each wince a threat of something evil.

It wasn't quite consistent with the rest of his calm demeanor, though.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, his physique attired in restrained luxury wear that could itself pay for the education fees of a student. Blond hair lay tidily rumpled on his brow in a sloppy fashion, and he sported a clean-shaven, high, chiseled jawline, chiseled cheekbones that lent him the near-spiritual, medieval prince-like quality, as though he were from a world where power was total and everyone around was just waiting for his instruction.

This one prince, however, was broken. No goodness or charm in him, at least not one that isn't made up.

He was so innocent-looking and nice, yet so were the most notorious serial killers.

Jax WENTZ was as gorgeous as a prince and had a devil's heart.

A man who'll paint the world in bright colors for his victims and then splatter it all red.

Which was a reason he was Ethan's red now. Ethan was the devil who'd reduce another devil to his fucking knees.

Literally.

Figuratively.

A thrill of expectation slipped down Ethan's spine, and Ethan forced himself to stop dreaming in class about ruining his student.

It all took place within the correct time frame.

Pulling his gaze away from his, Ethan stood behind the desk, his eyes scanning the students. Over the coming weeks, we will have a mock trial. From this exercise, you will have practice with the weighing of evidence, the burden of reasonable doubt, and the actual lives that will be in the balance of our verdicts. And because I don't sugarcoat things, we will be dealing with a case that is difficult as well as sensitive: a rape case.

The weight of Ethan's words lingered in the air like a lash. WENTZ's fingers locked up, and Ethan waited for him to snap the pen like he did last week, but that didn't happen.

Hmm. Ethan hadn't driven him that far yet.

Continue…

"Now, on to the case." Ethan pushed the button on the remote, and a rundown appeared on the screen. "The defendant is James Rutherford, a wealthy businessman, charged with drugging and raping a young woman named Rebecca Blake. The victim is a twenty-three-year-old woman who was found unconscious by an employee in a hotel room after a night out with friends. The police suspect that she was raped and drugged."

Everyone was focused on the slides.

Everyone but WENTZ.

Because all his freaky, intense attention was on Ethan.