Page 4 of Duchess

I didn’t flinch. I never had, and I wasn’t about to start now. I tilted my head back slowly, meeting his eyes with a look that dared him to tighten that grip. "What do I know? You mean aside from the fact that you're a spoiled watchdog in a silk suit playing mobster?"

His jaw locked, the muscles along his throat working overtime as he stepped in even closer, narrowing the space between us until all I could smell was his cologne. "This isn’t a game."

"That’s the problem, Killic. It’salwaysa game with you. Always a strategy. Always a move. You show up, play hero, and expect people to bow. But not me. I don’t kneel unless I want to."

He grabbed my chin, hard enough to tilt my head but not enough to leave a mark. "You think you’re clever. That you’ve got it all figured out."

I smirked, voice low. "No, Caleb. I know I'm clever. You’re just pissed Alan trusted me more than he ever trusted you."

He didn’t answer right away, and that told me everything. His silence screamed betrayal.

"Who was he working with? Who was he selling to?" he asked through gritted teeth.

“I know what you did,” my voice broke slightly, and I swallowed that pain down.

He gave me a slow, sexy evil smile. “And what did I do?”

"You were supposed to protect him," I said. My voice didn’t rise, but it carried weight. "Instead you set him up for that last meeting, like a lamb going to slaughter. And now you’re mad you’re not the one holding the knife."

His grip faltered for a second, then returned. "Watch your mouth."

"Or what? You’ll slap me around until I say something you want to hear? Grow up, Caleb. You're not the boogeyman. You're just another rich prick in tailored pants who got his feelings hurt."

He grabbed me by the lapels of my jacket and slammed me harder against the tree. I made a mental note not to flinch. "Who was he working with, Stephanie? Who was he fucking with?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Apparently every slut in California."

He looked over his shoulder at the sobbing harem still clinging to the edge of the grave like they’d ever meant a thing to Alan. Caleb exhaled slowly through his nose, nostrils flaring.

"I didn’t mean pussy," he muttered.

"I don’t give a shit what you meant," I spat. "I don’t know a damn thing. So unless you're planning to kill me, let me the fuck go."

He didn’t move.

"If you're hiding something, Duchess..." My alias in his mouth made me want to scream. It was the name I used when making dealings on the black market for the Turks. It was aname I didn’t want Caleb Killic knowing. So I pulled out the card I held in my back pocket.

"What? You gonna bury me next to him? Let me remind you who I am. My last name still means something, even if you pretend it doesn’t."

The muscles in his face went rigid as he realized exactly who I was referring to. The name alone was enough to make men pause. The Royal Bastards MC. To some, they were ghosts with guns. To others, they were a force of reckoning. For me, they were my lineage, my curse, and on days like today, my only lifeline.

Rancid, the current president, had taken something raw and sacred and bled it dry from the inside out. Word on the street was that he was a killer in every sense of the word. Cold, calculated, and had no remorse. He was the kind of man who didn't just murder his enemies but made examples out of them. I’d seen images of what he’d done to some of the patches. Good men I’d grown up with. How he left their bodies in public alleys or nailed to warehouse doors as a warning. He ruled with paranoia and violence, trusted no one, and turned what was the brotherhood into a syndicate of fear and bloodshed. Whether the rumors were true or not didn’t matter, Rancid cultivated fear like it was currency. He had single-handedly destroyed what the Royal Bastards once stood for.

My father, Leo Winters, one of the founding brothers, had built the club on loyalty and never let that die. But after my brother's betrayal, when he turned his back on Bulldog's son and walked straight into enemy arms, everything changed. The club splintered, fractured under the weight of all that death. It saddened me to think that the people I loved were still there…putting their lives on the line to fight for something they’d already lost.

Caleb didn’t know the details, but he didn’t need to. He knew my last name carried weight, and that it was kept safe by men who’d kill for me without question. That was enough to keep him and his Turkish goons at a distance…for now.

"If anything happens to me," I whispered, stepping into his space, "they'll come for you first."

We stood there, inches apart, hatred pulsing between us. His body radiating heat, his cologne invading my senses. My fists clenched at my sides, aching to punch him, or maybe do something a lot worse.

“One of these days you’re gonna press the wrong button, Duchess.”

“Stop calling me that.” I gritted out.

“What, you don’t like that I know your secrets?” He leaned into me, grazing the backs of his fingers over my cheek.

“I know everything that you do, Duchess.” He whispered against my lips and I dug my fingernails into my palms, trying to keep myself from shuddering.

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