Dukes of Madness: Chapter 10

I pace in my room for an indeterminable amount of time, so wound up that I almost consider bailing and heading to the gym. But if the whores in South Side have heard about what I did, then there’s no chance Mama B and the cutsluts haven’t. My reception at The Hideaway was bad enough, and they aren’t even loyal to the Duchess. What the fuck will the bitches of West End have to say about it?

I’m not in any hurry to find out.

For a moment, I wonder if Lavinia even realizes how many people in this fucking place are on her side. Or, maybe more accurately, just not on mine.

This is why, when Remy walks into my room an hour later, I’m coiled so tight that I almost think of finally giving him that fight he’d been asking for. “I told you,” I seethe. “I fucking told you it was pointless.”

Remy closes the door, only to pull a marker from his pocket and uncap it. “Bro, you barely even made an effort. What did you expect?”

“I can tell you what I didn’t expect; you molesting her the second she walked through the fucking door,” I hiss, pacing in front of him. “What the fuck was that? Even before everything went down, she barely let me touch her. A few days with you and suddenly she’s the model Duchess. Fuck!” I bury my fist into the nearest vertical surface, which unfortunately for me, turns out to be the exterior wall.

Solid fucking stone.

“Goddammit!” I growl, shaking the ache from my fist.

Remy clucks his tongue, turning to press the marker to the door. “You’re such a baby sometimes, Nicky.”

“Fuck you.” He’s right. I know he’s right. It’s just this fucking thing inside of me that makes my organs feel like lava. I can’t push it down. I can’t find a way to hide it. Turning to him, I put voice to the anger that’s been burning inside of me since I saw his mouth descending on hers. “So when you came to see me at the Hideaway, you conveniently left out the part where you’re fucking her.”

“I’m not fucking her.” He’s drawing something on my door, the felt tip of the marker gliding over the surface. He’s had a real bug up his ass about not drawing on the tower, but I guess the doors are too new for him to care. “Do you even know what condition she was in when Sy brought her back?” He glances at me over his shoulder, not giving me a chance to answer. “She didn’t know what was real. She didn’t even know her own body anymore.”

I stare at him. “What does that even mean?”

Of course I remember the way she looked when Sy brought her back. The image of her on that couch, pale and lifeless has been seared into the backs of my eyes for the last week. It’s easier now, since she just walked into the tower looking a million times better. She looks healthy. Rested. Alert and sexy and vicious.

There’s never a day or a time when I don’t think my little bird is the sexiest woman I know.

He makes a bold, sweeping curve with his marker. “It means she was only half a person. You and Sy… you don’t know what that’s like. But I do.” He tilts his head, considering, and then begins roughing out the shape of a face. “We had her on an IV drip. She couldn’t walk by herself, so every few hours, we’d have to help her to the bathroom. She’d sleep all day, but even that was a battle. She’d have all these nightmares. Sleep paralysis, Sy calls it.” His mouth thins to a tense line. “I read to her a lot. I sat with her. I took care of the cat. I kept trying to get her to talk about her sister and Tate, but every time I brought it up, something in her eyes would just shut down, so Sy made me stop.” He makes a wide arc on each side of the door. Hair. “But I didn’t fuck her.”

Some deep part of me unwinds.

Until he adds, “But I will. Probably soon, too. You’re going to have to find a way to deal with that.”

It’s so much fucking harder that it’s Remy. If any other guy put his hands on Lavinia like that, I wouldn’t have to think twice about blowing his brains out. With him, the thought doesn’t even pass the processing phase, because the infuriating thing is, I love him, too.

“Sy?” I ask, voice rough as sandpaper. “Him, too?”

Remy shrugs. “I don’t think they’re fucking, but they’ve gotten… close.”

My teeth clench. “Close to fucking?”

He gives me a wry look. “To each other, you psycho. Man, Sy had you pegged. You really do need a minder when it comes to her. Look at you, so fucking one-track. The Nick I know should be examining this from every vantage, but all you care about is what’s going into her pussy.” He rolls his eyes, blocking in the shadows of the eyes. “Like I was saying, Vinny and I are going to fuck. My balls have been blue for her since day one. So if you’re going to pull another nuclear fucking meltdown, tell me now.”

I can only hope he doesn’t hear the desperation in my voice when I ask, “Would it stop you?”

“Nah.” He says it plainly, coloring in the hollows of the cheeks. “But it’d give me time to play it smart.” When I turn to start pacing again, he lets out a sigh. “Look, it’s not about you. I’m not trying to fuck you up here. I gave you first dibs, and then I gave you second dibs, but me and Vinny… we have some chemistry. I don’t exactly know what it is yet, but I suspect it involves some of the best orgasms of our lives.”

I whirl on him. “Could you shut the fuck up?”

The marker pauses below the nose of the drawing. “Too much? Yeah, sorry. I just want to make sure you’re okay with—”

“I’m not,” I snap, dropping onto the bed. I force myself to take a breath. To imagine it. To think of Remy and her in his bed, moving together. To wonder what she’d sound like. I take it in with my inhale, the blinding hot instinct to rush back out there and steal her away before he can.

And then I blow it out with my exhale.

“But I’ll deal.” Because Remy is right. I need to see this from every angle, and all the other options end in catastrophe. I always knew what the Duchess’ role would be. I asked him to wait until I got mine, and he did. That’s more than any other guy in this town would give me.

He stands back, and even though the design on my door is barely a face, nowhere near finished, he caps the marker and nods. “Just… give it time, man. Sy was right. You need to earn it.”

I don’t tell him that I already have. Sy might have broken into the mansion and gotten her back, but I was the first one to save her. I was the one who spent months setting up all the dominoes. I gave her everything I could. I gave her my brother. I gave her my best friend.

When he moves to leave, I look at my split knuckles and say, “Not here.” Looking up at him, my voice feels too rusty to hide the plea. “Don’t fuck her where I can see or hear. I can’t—I won’t be able to—” My muscles lock in protest of everything I want to say.

Remy hears it anyway, bringing a palm down on my shoulder. “I won’t.”

For a good couple of hours, I let myself hate him. It never sticks, though. That’s just how we work. If it has to be someone, then I’m lucky it’s him, because Remy knows how to appreciate the special things.

Doesn’t make me feel good about it, though.

And then there’s my brother.

I know she and Remy have a little bond going on, apparently deeper than I’d realized, considering all that shit about her talking him down from the belfry and being some sort of mania touchstone. But Sy? I sensed it the minute they walked in the tower. I know how to read people—it’s what kept me alive for two years in South Side—and there’s unmistakably a new ease about them. It’s a familiarity I wasn’t expecting, watching them move in sync without even having to look at one another. That’s the result of some serious fucking proximity. He spent her first two weeks here hating her fucking guts, and now my sexually repressed, rage-fueled brother is protective of her all of a sudden?

Well, saving the fucked-up spawn of the rich and powerful is sort of his thing.

But even that wasn’t as bad as what I’ve seen these past three days. I’ve been poking around, and it’s become obvious that she’s living out of Sy’s room. Everything of hers is in there. Her clothes. Her shoes. Her books. Her cat. It’s not just some emergency situation, either. Her fucking underwear is in Sy’s top dresser drawer. His pillows smell like her goddamn shampoo.

I spend a long time seething at the unfairness of it all. I saved her first. She never moved into my room. She never touched my back like she touched his. She never slept in my bed long enough for her scent to seep into the pillows. The more I think about it, the more I need to know. It’s stupid. All it’ll do is rub salt into the wound, stinging at the rawness of losing her, but now that she’s finally here, I need a piece of her.

Any piece.

I wait until the house settles, listening to the creaks and groans. Remy’s music turns off around two. I know when Sy goes to bed because his door is uneven, growling against the floor every time it closes. I haven’t heard anything from him or Lavinia in hours.

When I can’t take it anymore, I drag my desk beneath the ancient ladder that stops halfway down my wall. I climb on top and pull myself up the rungs, ducking out into the rafters. Most people can’t really tell, but this chamber in the tower is too tall to have finished walls to the ceiling. From up here, everything is open to me. It’s why I chose my room to begin with. It’s the same room my Pops had when he was a Duke. It was the same room the Bruins who came before us used.

And this is why.

It’s not my first time kicking around in the rafters for fun. It’s just my first time up here for necessity. Slowly, I make my way around the edge of the tower, passing Remy’s room first. He’s already in bed, stark-ass naked. He’s got one hand behind his head, shoved beneath his pillow, while the other is laying across his cock. I’m easily thirty feet up, but I can still tell he’s not completely asleep. Probably just got done jerking off, if the flush over his chest is any indication.

I continue past in a silent crouch, using a drainage pipe for stability as I crawl over the partition between Remy and Sy’s rooms.

That’s where I find her.

The room is almost completely dark, except for the screen of Sy’s laptop, casting a faint glow. It’s just bright enough to see the shape of her on the far side of the bed, though.

They aren’t even touching.

Some of the stiffness in my spines melts away.

“… because you didn’t do it, did you?” The words are spoken so quietly that I can barely make them out.

Sy’s are more defined, gritted through a tense jaw. “I told you, it makes it worse.”

She’s turned toward him, her thigh exposed. “You have to do it every day. It’s called conditioning, idiot.”

My big brother’s gaze is trained on the other side of the room. There’s an irritability to the crease in his forehead. “I don’t want to. Drop it.”

She lets out a sigh so soft, I see it more than I hear it. “What’s the big deal? You come so fast, it’ll only take a minute or two.” He turns his head slowly, swinging a hard glare on her, and she pivots to her back. “I’m not picking on you. I guess I just don’t see the inconvenience.”

My hand tightens around the pipe and I crouch lower to make out his hissed reply.

“Because it’s impossible to walk around all day with a hard-on the size of a fucking bus!”

Any hope I have that they’re talking about something else goes right out of the window, and I feel it. The lava sensation. The urge to climb down there, rip those blankets off of them, and show my brother who she belongs to.

“But you’re hard right now,” she argues, and a growl builds in the back of my throat at all the possibilities to explain why she even knows this. “You’ll sleep better. And after so long, it’ll start to realize it has an outlet, so it won’t be constantly—”

“You don’t know that!” he snaps, lifting his neck to glare at her.

She props up on her elbows to glare back. “Yes, I do! And we’re not going to be able to move forward if you don’t get it under control, so—”

It doesn’t matter that the blankets are covering him. I can perfectly see the line of her arm moving beneath them, right to his crotch. Sy emits a rough, shocked sound, but then he’s so silent that I’m sure he’s not even breathing.

She’s touching his dick.

The fact rages around in my brain like a hurricane, flinging every other thought aside until there’s nothing left but the way it feels to watch that blanket shift, up and down, up and down.

Sy releases a long, strained noise, and then Lavinia leans close to whisper something, and I can’t hear it, and it makes me want to stab someone. Fuck, what is she saying? What is she doing under there? Is she getting wet? Is she going to—

I know instantly that I can’t watch her fuck him.

It’s just like I told Remy. I won’t be able to stop myself. I’ll go fucking crazy. This is bad enough, isn’t it? Isn’t it enough that she has his cock in her hand? Isn’t it enough that I can hear her sweet voice asking, “Let it go, Sy?” Isn’t it enough to watch my Little Bird rest her cheek on my brother’s shoulder as she strokes him off?

But no. She can’t fuck Sy. Even if he could get that monster of a dick into a girl, he’d never last long enough. I know I’m right when he digs his head back into the pillow and seizes, releasing a string of bitten off grunts as he comes. She barely got a dozen strokes in before he popped his top, and she instantly moves away, dipping down beside the bed to clean her hand on a towel.

Afterward, they’re silent. They don’t touch. They don’t kiss. They don’t whisper goodnight to one another. They turn in opposite directions and close their eyes, and that’s the only reason I’m able to go back to my room.

I don’t get much sleep, but then I haven’t since…

Nick…

Don’t make me go with them…

I’ll be good for you…

I’ll give you what you want…

I’ll let you love me…

I spend most of the night on my laptop, going over the notes I’ve been keeping. It came as no surprise to me that the box with all of Leticia’s shit in it is gone. It wasn’t hard for me to work that out—that it wasn’t Lavinia’s box, but instead, her sister’s. Going from there, it was easy to see the photo inside was of Tate and some other girl—most likely Leticia herself, and judging by the foliage, the cast of the sunlight, and the terrain, probably taken at the cliffs sometime in the fall.

The box is gone, but I didn’t spend two years under Daniel’s mentorship and not learn a thing or two about backups. I have photos of everything.

It’d be a lie to say it isn’t gnawing at me. I’d gone to South Side to find her killer when I should have been looking North. Dead girls just seemed more Daniel’s speed than anyone else’s. That doesn’t mean my time on the Avenue was pointless, and I keep trying to remind myself of that. I might not have found Tate’s killer, but I still found a lot. Intel can get a person pretty far in Forsyth.

I flip past the photo of the rock, the dried wildflower, and the photograph, stopping on the receipt. This one has been bugging me. There’s something here. The box was full of shit that seemed random, but Leticia put it all in there for a reason. The photo, the dried wildflower, the rock, the ribbon with the bloodstain, the bullet; these are tokens of emotional significance.

So what’s with the receipt?

It’s from an ancient pharmacy—East End’s oldest still-standing business. On the front is a purchase list for a twelve-dollar phone case, a charger, and a pack of sour candy, but the back has numbers scrawled on it.

4009.

Not a phone number. Too short to be a zip code. A combination? Entry code? I ruminate over this for a long time, doing searches online, but it’s not enough to go on.

When morning comes, my eyes feel gritty and sore, and the sound of Sy’s door opening shatters the peace in the tower, slamming me back to reality. I wait until I hear him leave, because if I know my brother, then being a little concussed and a lot injured isn’t going to disrupt him from a morning jog. My brother is a creature of habit. I think it’s how he keeps the monsters at bay. The slightest bit of chaos sends him into a tailspin.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, I hear the sound of the door to the stairwell opening and closing.

I shut the laptop and venture out, going straight to his room to peek in on her. At least when she’s asleep, she isn’t able to fix me with that fucking look in her eyes.

But she’s not there.

I check the loft, the bathroom, the kitchen, but Lavinia is gone and so are the shiny new trainers Sy had bought for her weeks ago.

Motherfucker.

They’re gone for over an hour.

I spend it pacing and huffing, checking my phone for any messages. That’s how Remy finds me when he slumps out of his bedroom in nothing but a pair of loose, designer boxer shorts.

“Would you fucking stop?” he growls, scrubbing a palm over his face. “You’re pacing way too loud for seven in the goddamn morning.” I pointedly pace over another squeaky floorboard and he flips me off, disappearing into the bathroom.

Sy and Lavinia come waltzing in moments later.

Both of them are flushed and dressed in sweat-soaked athletic wear. She freezes at the sight of me, her eyes hardening over, but Sy only pauses for a moment, giving a jerk of his chin in greeting.

“You’re up early,” he mutters, sauntering to the kitchen. Lavinia quickly follows, sticking closely behind him, and I lean against the archway to watch him pass her a cold bottle of water. He seems to be continuing an earlier conversation when he tells her, “Verity’s in there, too. If you can’t reach any of us, she’s your next best bet. She can contact Mama B or one of the senior DKS if—”

That’s when I notice what Lavinia is holding in her hand.

I straighten. “You gave her a phone?” The line of Lavinia’s back goes rigid and she clutches it closer, as if I’m going to take it away. “What if she—”

“Has a way to call when shit goes sideways?” Sy snaps, shooting me a glare. “The Duchess is a target. She needs a way to keep in contact.”

Not if someone’s always with her.

She could use it to get away. She could call Cash, the Counts, the Lords, anyone. She could call for help from us. But saying all of that would just make her swing that hateful, furious gaze on me, so instead I just shake my head. “That’s risky.”

Sy shrugs, twisting the cap on his bottle of water. “Your Duchess might have been a prisoner, but ours isn’t.” Remy chooses that moment to amble in, and he gives Sy a nod at the words. “We don’t have the time or resources to keep anyone locked up. If she wants to run away and get snatched up by her dad or Perez, then she can be my guest.”

Remy offers a less crazy rationalization. Imagine that. “Come on, Nicky. Sy was barely conscious in that motel room. She had his loaded gun, his phone, and his car keys, and she’s still here.” He punctuates this by sliding onto the counter and pulling her between his legs. She goes easily, and from the quick, sideways look she gives me, I’m guessing Sy’s not the only one she feels protected by. He frames her face, forcing her gaze to his. “Not much of a bird if she can’t fly a little.”

“Speaking of…” Crossing his arms, Sy pins me with a glance that’s probably supposed to look authoritative. I can see the cracks, though. The wariness. “Remy and I had a talk a few days ago. The Princess is kicking up dust about the Duchess not meeting Royal criteria.”

“Royal criteria?” she asks, turning to settle her back into the cradle of Remy’s legs. “I’m a blood legacy. What more criteria could they possibly need?”

Remy links his arms around her shoulders, humming. “Institutional.”

Comprehension dawns. “You’re enrolling her.”

Sy nods.

“Wait.” Lavinia whips a wide-eyed stare to me, and then Sy. “Seriously? I get to go to school?”

Remy’s mouth ticks up. “Get to? You make it sound like a fun thing.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, teeth grinding. Here they are stressing how dangerous it is to be a Duchess, and they’re just going to throw her into the fucking fray. “How would you even do that?”

“Pops,” Sy answers, swiping his wrist over the sweat on his brow. “He called in a favor with admissions.”

My smile is brittle. “He’s pulling out his Bruin weight for our Duchess?”

“He’s pulling out his Bruin weight for me,” Sy corrects, eyes tight. “Even if he’d help me, and he won’t, Saul already used his to get you in. Pops owed me one, so I called it in.”

Lavinia looks like she’s about to vibrate out of her skin. “When do I start? Today?”

Sy pauses, looking caught off guard. “Well… no. Sometime next week, maybe.” She deflates a bit, and if he’d thought to fucking ask my opinion, I would have told him that Lavinia’s been locked up for over two years. That any chance of freedom or normalcy would excite her. That he shouldn’t offer her something that isn’t in his power to give freely and immediately, because otherwise, she won’t trust it. Sy explains, “We have to take you in to set everything up, but Mama B is pissed we went MIA for a week. We’ve got scheduling to do over at the gym—and brackets to set up for Friday Night Fury. She’ll have my ass if I don’t show.”

Remy tugs her back into his body. “And my life drawing class is doing studio work off-campus this week.”

“But,” Sy offers, “on Monday, one of us can—”

I step in. “I can take her.” The room is silent, Lavinia tensing, but I’ve never had a problem filling up space. “I have class, anyway.”

Sy and Remy exchange a look and there’s a long beat, the kind designed to make me feel like an outsider. It’s been this way since we were kids—two against one—until Tate came along and finally gave me a fighting chance.

Lavinia doesn’t even look like she’s breathing.

The tension in the room grows to a crackle, and I reach up to rub my eyes. “Look, you said I had to earn it, so you have to give me a chance. No one would protect her on campus more than I would. You know it’s true. Plus,” I add, pretending I don’t see her jaw go rigid, “if the goal is to project a united front, then the other houses should see that we’re a unit again.”

“It’d be an act,” she grinds out, but I just shrug.

“They don’t have to know that.”

Sy lifts his chin at Lavinia. “This is up to you. If he makes you feel uncomfortable, then you can wait until Monday, or maybe one of the pledges can take—”

“Like fucking hell!” Over my dead body will a goddamn pledge escort the Duchess to campus. “The pledges don’t even pack any heat!”

But something sparks in Lavinia’s eyes and she steps forward, breaking out of Remy’s loose hold. All of us watch her walk up to Sy and strain up to whisper something in his ear. His hand comes down her hip casually, holding her steady as he takes in whatever she’s saying. Unbidden, I get a flash of the two of them from last night, the way she whispered to him, too low for me to hear, right before he came.

I stare daggers at them, teeth gnashing.

When she pulls back, it’s to give him an expectant look.

His eyes narrow. “I seriously doubt that’s a good idea.”

“It’ll make me feel safer.” There’s a stretch of silence where Sy just stares at her. And then she says, “You promised,” and Remy and I share a quick look.

My brother never makes promises.

Whatever she’s talking about, it makes him inhale, long and deep, nostrils flaring wide. We all watch him break, but only Lavinia knows what he’s caving to. “You have to leave it in the car,” he says, opening the cabinet behind him.

She nods. “Totally.”

He points a finger at her. “And no murder!” I don’t need his words to confirm my suspicion. We keep all our spare guns in the safe hidden behind the cabinet.

She sends me a fiery glare before batting her eyelashes at him. “Kneecaps aren’t murder.”

Remy raises his cup of coffee. “Atta girl.”

Sy pauses from punching in the code to bark, “Do not kneecap my brother!”

“I won’t.” She links her hands behind her back, looking as innocent as a doe. “So long as he keeps his hands to himself.”

“Great,” I mutter, going to get my own gun. “Be ready in ten.”

“Everything straight?” I ask when she finally emerges from the registrar’s office. She’s wearing this short little skirt that’s been driving me wild all day. I suspect she’s wearing it on purpose, just to get a rise out of me. Probably hoping I make a pass so she can use that gun Sy gave her. Well, good job, Little Bird. My cock’s been a rock-hard throb in my pants all morning. Mission halfway accomplished.

Her eyes cut over to me and she grunts. We haven’t been exactly on speaking terms during this little excursion to campus. The drive here had been nothing more than a complicated silence. She ignored me, but she was also so fucking stiff, that gun held tightly in her fist, that every twitch of my hand had her muscles locking up.

“Ready for the dog and pony show?” I ask, reaching out to brush a lock of her pale blue hair from her neck. The campus was nearly dead when we arrived, but she was in the office for two hours. Students are filling the campus now, their loud voices carrying under the eaves of the administration building.

She goes rigid, pointing a scowl at my hand, but she doesn’t slap it away. She just grinds out, “Watch yourself,” and spins on her heel, sashaying away.

Fuck, the way that skirt hits her thighs is doing things to me. For a moment, I stand there, struck stupid, wondering why I’d been dressing her up in all those tight pants. Lavinia in a pleated skirt and ass-kicking boots is practically a weapon of mass erection.

I catch up to her a couple of seconds later, deciding to take advantage of the fact she can’t shoot me right now. Sliding my arm around her waist, my hand rests casually on her ass, feeling the shift of it as she walks toward the crowded courtyard. She stiffens, but I don’t relent. This is the whole point of the outing—to show everyone she’s still my Duchess. We may be falling apart behind closed doors, but the rest of Forsyth doesn’t need to know that. If that means I finally get to touch her the way I want, then that’s just a happy coincidence.

“If you put those fingers under my skirt,” she hisses, voice dripping with venom, “I’m going to cut them off one by one.” Her expression remains perfectly blank and I’m reluctantly impressed.

“Taking a page out of my book, eh?” It doesn’t keep me from skimming the smooth skin of her upper thigh. I fight back a shudder at the softness there. “Relax, Little Bird. I’m not going to overstep. People would believe this more if you’d kiss me, though.”

“Maybe they would,” she agrees, “but like your fingers, if you want to keep your tongue, I’d reconsider that.”

Quietly, I ask, “Are you going to be a bitch about this forever?”

Her shoulders tense, and I know it was the wrong thing to say, even though it’s a valid question. We’d had something before I fucked it all up. An understanding. Give and take. It wasn’t enough—I’m not sure anything could ever be enough—but it kept me moving forward.

Until it didn’t.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket and I fish it out of my pocket with my left hand, unwilling to release my hold on her. Thumbing the screen, I see a new text from Killian: We need to talk.

That single sentence is followed by a link to an address that I know on sight is Daniel Payne’s home. Or was. I guess now, like everything else of Daniel’s, it belongs to Killian. It burns sour in my stomach, being summoned like this. Just like Daniel used to do. I get a flash of dark alleys, the sharp tang of blood, pleas and tears, and girls.

So many crying girls.

My skin feels itchy with it, like just one sentence is able to call back a sense memory of every fetid thing South Side has to offer. This is my fault. I should have known going to the Hideaway the other night would open that door. Once again, the Lords own a piece of me.

“We gotta go,” I say, glancing up to see Lavinia bent over, adjusting her boot. I didn’t even feel her slipping out of my hold. Suddenly, every rotten memory dissipates, leaving only the sight of her creamy skin. My eyes drag along her bare legs and I tilt my head, trying to catch sight of her panties.

“Fuck, that girl’s got a tight ass.”

“Right? I’d like to see her bent over the end of my bed.”

I whip my head around and see two scrawny twerps ogling Lavinia.

“What did you say?” I bark, taking a step toward them. They both startle, jumping back when they see me, my size, and the tattoo on my face. It’s obvious that neither of these pimply shits have had their dicks inside a woman before.

“Nothing,” one says, voice barely a squeak.

The other one, clearly prepared to lose his life, adds, “Dude, chill.”

My eyebrows rise at the same speed as the adrenaline coursing through my veins. “Did you just tell me to chill?”

His eyes dart down to my balled fist. “No… uh, sir?”

My hand shoots out and I grab him by the collar of his shirt. His buddy looks like he may have just pissed himself. “Do you know who that is?” I ask, twisting his head so he’s facing Lavinia, who’s frozen as she watches the scene go down. He shakes his head and I sneer into his face. “That’s the Duchess, asswipe, and no one looks at, breathes on, or even fucking thinks about disrespecting her. Understand?” He nods even more furiously, a fat tear building in the corner of his eye. What a pussy. Must be an East Ender. “Apologize.”

“I-I’m sorry.” The other kid mumbles his apology, too.

I hate them more for being able to say the words so easily.

Lavinia rolls her eyes. “Let them go.”

I really, really, really, want to smash his face in, but the expression on her face is hard and irritated. I release the kid and then shove a hand into his chest, propelling him into his friend. “Since this is your first day having testosterone, I’ll give you a pass. Don’t you ever look at the Duchess again. Got it?”

“Y-yes.”

“Get the fuck out of here.” They scurry off, and I take a deep breath, noticing that a crowd has been forming, watching the scene with bated breath. I straighten my shirt and stretch my arm around Lavinia’s shoulders, pulling her into my side.

She doesn’t fight me, all too aware that we’re being watched. That was exactly the ruckus we needed to draw the right kind of attention to ourselves. I spot at least one Count near the fountain. He’ll run back and let Lionel know his girl is back under our protection.

DKS notices, too.

“Duchess!” One of our pledges stops in his tracks, eyes wide as he takes us in. “You’re back.” He looks way too happy about seeing her, a dopey smile forming on his face, and I think about giving him the same treatment as the other kid. But then recognition sparks in Lavinia’s eyes and the worst thing that could possibly happen does.

“Hey!” She smiles. For him. “Ballsack, right? How’ve you been?”

A few more DKS pledges hover behind him with stunned expressions. The Duchess doesn’t talk to pledges. This kid looks like his soul just left his goddamn body. “Good! Great! Look.” He reaches up to shuck up his sleeve, revealing his cub tattoo. “Pretty cool, yeah?”

Her eyes flash excitedly at the sight, and it kicks up the memory of her tattooing it there, cradled between Remy’s legs as he gently coached her. “Yeah, it healed up nice!”

He beams back, opening his mouth to add something, but then his eyes land on me.

Ballsack straightens, dropping his gaze. “It’s nice to see you on campus, Duchess.” The deference to me doesn’t last long, because he raises his eyes—insolently—to tell her, “We just want you to know, if you ever need anything, we’ve got your back.” He jerks his head at the group behind him and they all give solemn nods. His eyes flick to me, lighting quick, and I almost break.

They know what I did.

They’re offering to protect the Duchess from her own motherfucking Duke.

Lavinia is blushing.

My fists curl and I breathe, long and deep, to remind myself that gutting pledges isn’t the Duke way. Obviously, we’re going to have to make a different kind of show later.

We walk the rest of the way to the lot, linked but silent, my fingers grazing her shoulder. The only reason I don’t chase after the DKS hopefuls to put them in their place is because I suspect the interaction has chilled her out a bit. It doesn’t last long. The instant we reach the SUV, she ducks away from my touch, diving into the seat to reach for her gun.

I allow myself the walk to the driver’s side to fume about it.

“Where are we going?” she asks as I slam my door.

“Dukes’ business,” I say, cranking the engine. “Killian texted.”

“You mean Lords’ business,” she says, propping a foot up on the dash. My eyes go straight to her inner thigh. I doubt the move is on purpose. Lavinia is a lot of things, but seductress has never been one of them. She comes by it naturally, not even intending to make my dick spring instantly to life.

Darkly, I agree, “Lately, the two seem to be intertwined. Whatever this is, I’ll make it quick. Get you back to the tower.”

She looks away, eyes focusing out the window as she fists the gun, and I find myself unable to hold back the words that have been building in my chest since I saw her on the couch, battered and unconscious.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

I watch the side of her face, but I don’t know why. She doesn’t react at all, her face carefully void of any emotion. “Lavinia,” I try, but she doesn’t answer. It’s strange, the push-pull that’s been warring between us for two long years feels so out of reach. I almost wish she’d spit in my face.

It isn’t until I reach out to hook my finger around a lock of hair, tucking it behind her ear, that she reacts at all.

Her thumb cocks the hammer on the pistol.

I only let my touch linger for a second, thinking that being shot wouldn’t be so terrible if she were the one pulling the trigger.

Hatred is better than nothing.

“Where are we?” she asks, looking up at the house.

It’s located on a quiet street on the edge of South Side. It’s not a mansion like the Lucia sisters grew up in, but it’s not a modest bungalow like my parents’ house, either. It’s a large brick home, a McMansion, clean and tidy on the outside. The perfect cover for a crime lord. No one suspected he had a former hooker as a wife and a stepdaughter he was grooming for the sex trade tucked away inside.

“This is Daniel Payne’s old house.” I kill the engine and scan the street for anything out of place. I trust Killian, sort of, but after Sy got jumped, I can’t be sure of any of these bastards. “I guess it’s Killian and his Lady’s now, with his dad dead and her mother in prison.”

“Hm.” Her mouth slants unhappily, taking it all in. It’s probably surreal seeing how the other Royalty lives. “Smaller than I expected.”

“Not every King has a castle, Little Bird.” She shoots me a dark look. “I’d tell you to stay in the car, but I know that’s a waste of breath,” I say, pulling out my gun and checking the magazine. “Stick close. This should only take a second.”

We get out of the SUV and start down the walk. The neighborhood is quiet, the lawn neat and trimmed. At the door, I raise my fist to knock, but find it already slightly ajar. I check our six, but see nothing. Pushing the door the rest of the way open with my elbow, I touch the butt of my gun and feel Lavinia do the same.

“Yo!” I call out. “Payne, you in here?”

The house is quiet, nothing but the sound of Lavinia’s boots on the hardwoods as we enter. “Maybe you got the time wrong,” she suggests.

My phone buzzes again, and I check it.

K: In the garage. Door off the kitchen.

“Goddamn it,” I mutter. I’m a fucking Duke now, not one of the Lords’ foot soldiers. Not anymore. I’m going to have to make that clear.

To Lavinia, who’s only a few feet away, I order, “Wait in the kitchen.” I don’t want her to be part of this.

“Whatever,” she says, leaning against the island.

I approach the door leading to the garage, a discomfort settling over my skin like static. Something isn’t right. Part of it is the sharp whine of something electronic. Part of it is that the sound comes from behind me, not from the garage.

I spin, fingers already on my gun, but the shock comes fast and furious, zapping into the skin on my neck. I lurch back, but a second shock comes as fast as the first and I fall, collapsing on the tile floor. My body seizes uncontrollably, teeth clenching on my tongue, and I grind out a scream as the taste of blood fills my mouth.

“Run!” The words are forced through my teeth, spoken to the blurry visage of Lavinia’s boots.

Instead, she saunters closer.

Go, I want to say, but I’m too busy struggling to make my limbs react, heart jumping wildly. When she bends, I think she’s helping me up and I want to lay into her. This is stupid. Fucking run!

She doesn’t help me up.

She pulls my gun from my waistband.

That’s when I see movement to my left. Another person. Slim, dark-haired, undeniably feminine in her flowy sundress. I narrow my eyes, trying to see past the pain. In the woman’s hand crackles another jolt of electricity.

Is that a fucking taser?

What the hell?

“Lavinia,” I grunt, trying to get up, but I feel the weight of a body on top of me, see the sparks igniting the taser in her hand.

“Settle down, Pretty Nick,” a voice says, calm and soothing as I feel the smooth barrel of the gun—Lavinia’s gun—pressed against my temple. “It’s time for you to get a taste of what it feels like to live in a cage.”