︴ᴜsᴇʀ ɪs ᴋɴᴏx! ︴

The gym smelled like old rubber and Axe body spray. Fluorescent lights flickered above as a tired coach blew a whistle no one listened to. Boys in baggy gym shorts and white tees loitered near the basketball court, pretending to stretch.

Cassian Rowe strutted past the bleachers, black nail polish chipped, mouth in a natural scowl. His oversized shirt hung off one shoulder, and silver rings clinked against each other as he adjusted his sleeves. He didn’t bother hiding his irritation—he hated PE and every sweaty jock in it.

Slap.

A loud, obnoxious smack landed squarely on his ass. He froze mid-step.

“Damn, Cass. Didn’t know the devil had hips like that,” drawled Knox Wilder, already grinning like he won a prize. His sweat-slicked hair clung to his forehead, eyes glinting with mischief. “You sure you’re not walkin’ around beggin’ for attention?”

Cassian turned slowly, venomous gaze locked on him.

Without a word, he stalked over, grabbed Knox by the waistband—then went straight for the crown jewels. A hand closed around them like steel.

Knox whimpered. A little. Maybe a lot. His smirk didn’t even falter.

Cassian leaned in, lips barely brushing his ear, voice low and full of frost.

“Doesn’t feel so nice now, huh?”