Kiss The Villain: Chapter 11

Two days later, I’m early for criminal law class.

Not because I want to test Niko’s theory about trial and error, but it’s more because I’m actually a good student. And I’m not allowing some immoral professor to tarnish my track record.

My eyes zero in on him as he walks into class. Everyone grows silent, almost reverent.

Professor Lockwood has built an impenetrable reputation in the couple of weeks he’s been teaching at TKU. Sort of a cult, really.

Girls visibly fan themselves when they see or pass him by—they love how he’s so mysterious and strict and just so hot—and even the guys respect him.

He’s annoying competition.

Though they’re right about the mystery factor. I’ve been thinking, and I believe maybe the reason he’s messing with my head—and, subsequently, my body—is because I can’t figure him out.

His actions don’t match his profile, so maybe when they do, I’ll lose interest. I always do.

His gaze flits in my direction as if he knows I’ve been thinking about him, and a small smile grazes his lips before it disappears.

Asshole loves getting on my last fucking nerve.

He also definitely knows he’s attractive and carries it well. Not attractive to me, but in general. From the girls’ point of view.

He always wears his black hair styled to perfection, a sleek, controlled look that highlights the strength of his forehead and draws attention to his thick, dark brows, framing his gray almond-shaped eyes with a predatory intensity.

The dark stubble along his jaw only serves to make it appear even sharper, adding an edge to his already striking features.

Navy slacks cling to his long, muscular legs, each step emphasizing their strength, while the light-blue shirt stretches across his chest and arms, taut over the solid muscle beneath in a perfect blend of elegance and raw power.

But I guess the most attractive thing about him, aside from his physique and face, is the confident way he carries himself.

The way he also hides his true nature.

No one would look at him and think he loves to fuck his students.

Wait.

Is he doing this to others?

That thought is disturbing, but I don’t focus on it as he addresses the class and says we’ll start with the opening statement for the trial case.

We shift into position, my classmates taking their notes and reading them one final time.

I carry my empty notebook just for show, then decide against it. I’m not going to hold back today at all.

Throughout the entire preparation, Kayden sits on the edge of his desk, his arms crossed. He has his sleeves rolled to his elbows now, exposing his muscular, veiny forearms, and I catch a glimpse of the girls filming him discreetly.

What an attention whore.

Seriously, is he trying to seduce the others?

Zara steps up on behalf of the prosecution. She’s black, tall, and possibly the best public speaker in class. Her posture is upright as she looks at her notes and speaks in a loud, clear voice. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, today you will hear the harrowing story of Rebecca Blake, a young woman whose life was violently interrupted by the actions of James Rutherford. On the night in question, Rebecca Blake was alone in a hotel room, far from the safety of her home, where she was drugged, sexually assaulted, and left in a state of unconsciousness. The defendant, James Rutherford, entered her room with the clear intent to harm, and that’s exactly what he did.

“You will hear from the attending doctor, who will confirm that Rebecca Blake’s injuries are consistent with sexual assault. Her body bore the physical evidence of violence, and the toxicology report will show that she was drugged, unable to defend herself or consent to any actions that night. Witnesses who were at the hotel that evening will testify to seeing Rutherford near Rebecca’s room, and we will present DNA evidence that links him directly to the crime. The victim’s confusion and memory gaps are not a defense for the accused’s actions, nor does it absolve him of responsibility for what he did to Rebecca that night. We will prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that James Rutherford is guilty of the assault on Rebecca Blake. The evidence is clear. The crime is undeniable. And we ask that you find him guilty.”

The other two prosecutors high-five each other under the table.

“Solid statement and perfect delivery, Jones. No notes,” Kayden says with a look of pride. Why the fuck is he giving Zara that look?

Is she one of the students he’s also messing with?

I’ll fucking ruin him if that’s the case.

I’ll ruin him either way, but if he truly sees me as a toy of many toys, I’ll end him in the goriest way ever.

You know, to rid society of predators.

Just kidding. It’s only for pure personal gain.

“Thank you, Professor.” Zara smiles with utter arrogance as she resumes her place.

“Defense,” Kayden says without even looking at me, seeming busy checking his laptop. “It’d be hard to beat that, but the floor is yours.”

He’s belittling me again. The motherfucker.

I bottle down those emotions as I stand right before the jury, speaking in a tone lower than Zara’s but more confident. Unlike her, I have no notes, and I’m making eye contact with all of them. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you’ve heard the prosecution’s version of events, but what they won’t tell you is the other side of the story—the part they conveniently left out to make their case seem cut and dried. Yes, something happened to Rebecca Blake that night, but that doesn’t mean that what the prosecution is trying to force you to believe is accurate. They’ll tell you that she was assaulted, that she was drugged and unable to consent. But what they won’t tell you is that Rebecca Blake went with him to that hotel room willingly. She wasn’t dragged there, she wasn’t coerced—she chose to go. And there are witnesses who will testify to this fact, people who saw them together before they entered the hotel.”

I let my eyes stay on the ones who are held captive by my words.

“The evidence will show that the two of them were flirting with each other before even stepping into that room. They left the bar together, and Rebecca Blake didn’t appear to be under duress. She was laughing, she was engaged, and she was in control of her actions. There was no indication of force, no signs of a woman desperately trying to escape an attacker. Now, the prosecution wants to focus on the aftermath, the fact that Rebecca couldn’t remember all the details and that she felt unwell the next morning. But I ask you to consider this. When someone drinks alcohol, their memories can become foggy, they can become clouded, and that’s what happened here. Rebecca’s inability to recall everything from that night doesn’t mean that consent wasn’t given. According to witnesses, she never seemed out of control or intoxicated. The fact that she changed her mind or regretted her actions later does not negate the consent she previously gave.

“We’re not here to deny what happened to Rebecca—what we’re here to prove is that the sexual encounter between her and Mr. Rutherford was consensual. She went to that room willingly, she was an active participant, not a victim. She didn’t say ‘no,’ she didn’t resist, and that’s why this case hinges on one simple question: did the prosecution provide sufficient evidence to prove that what happened was anything other than a consensual encounter? We will show you that the answer is no. There is reasonable doubt, and we will prove that Mr. Rutherford is not guilty.”

I don’t pay attention to the rest of my team, who are celebrating in the corner. Or the members of the jury who are already in my pocket.

Instead, I let myself wear a smug smile as I turn to face Kayden.

How is that for perfect statement and delivery, dick⁠—

My smile falters the moment our gazes lock. His eyes are dark, several shades darker than gray, filled with a dangerous, threatening edge. His fingers tighten on the desk, and I think that if he were to touch me right now, he might strangle me to death or something.

What the fuck?

The threatening edge disappears as he stands to his full height and says in a monotone voice, “Too theatrical. Could be shorter. We’ll resume next week. Moving on to today’s lesson.”

Everyone shuffles back to their seat, and I do, too, but that expression is etched deep in my mind.

Kayden doesn’t acknowledge me for the rest of the class. No taunting smirks. No backhanded insults.

Nothing.

And all I can think about is that he looked like he wanted to kill me.