Page 118 of Dukes of Peril

When he strides into the fray, it’s with an energy I’m unfamiliar with. His posture and expression… it doesn’t repel in the way I’m used to. It attracts. Three business men are drawn to him instantly, taking his tattooed hand in firm grips.

I realize this isn’t the soldier I’m seeing.

It’s the Bruin.

It’s aKing.

20

Lavinia

“Bea sweetheart and grab me another bourbon,” comes a grating voice from the table I pass. The guy is old. Balding. Drunk. Also, his hand is on my arm.

I smile down at him, trying not to bare my teeth. “Let me find you a server,” I say. “I can have one of the girls get—”

“I’d rather you do it,” he says, tone laced with a hint of warning. “That’s not a problem, is it, Duchess?”

I’m already fed up with hearing that tone.Duchess.They say it like it’s a joke they’re on the butt end of. It’s said spitefully. Hatefully. But I’m Lavinia Lucia, and I grew used to being in the presence of a man’s hatred long ago.

“Of course not, Mr. Richmond.” I take the glass from him and pry my arm away from him. “I’ll be right back.”

I turn my back to him and feel the sharp sting of his hand coming down on my ass. My spine goes rigid as the table erupts into boisterous laughter, and it takes everything in me not to turn around and smash the glass on his forehead. But, in the split second I’m trying to make my decision, my eyes land on Nick across the room, and I think better of it.

He’s leaning against the end of the bar, a casual smile plastered across his pretty mouth. I don’t miss that he’s speaking with Carmine Ledbetter, distributor of military grade AK-47s. He’s networking, doing his job, andfuck it, I can do mine too.

It’s been two hours since the tent flaps pulled apart and the space filled with loud voices, cigar smoke, and unrepentant testosterone. Poker chips clink as the gamblers toss them on ever-growing piles. The dealers–people Saul hired–do a good job of upping the ante, reminding everyone the proceeds go back to the frat.

With a smile plastered on my face, I keep an eye on everything, although things seem to be running smoothly. The cutsluts work the room like pros, serving drinks and flirting with the alumni who seem pleased with their skimpy outfits and attention.

The entire time I feel awkward and out of place. I don’t know how to be a hostess. I wasn’t raised for this role. Leticia had that honor. Standing by my father’s side during his business dinners and the occasional cocktail party was something she excelled at.

I didn’t realize it was a skill I’d need in my wheelhouse.

Approaching the bar, I sidle up next to Laura. She’s in the red bodysuit I’d tried on with Mama B–the one she said made my tits look flat. Laura’s tits are at least two cup sizes bigger than mine, though. They look fucking amazing. She’s turning to leave with a tray full of liquor, the red diamond on her cheekbone shimmering in the light, when I catch her eye.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

She pauses mid-stride, the liquor shifting in the glasses. “The dumbass at table four just offered me a hundred dollars to sit next to him. He said I was his ‘good luck charm’.”

My nose wrinkles. “You know you don’t have to.”

Scoffing, she says, “Please. I’ve done so much worse than sit around and look pretty for cash.” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, one summer I worked at a Taco Bell for minimum wage.”

Well, that puts things in perspective. “Okay, just let one of the Dukes know if he gets too handsy.”

“You got it, girl.” She blows me a kiss and strides across the room in six-inch heels without the slightest wobble.

Embracing these little trips to the bar has been the only thing that’s made the night bearable, my eyes fixing on Remy as he pours a row of shot glasses for a group of younger alumni. I push the empty glass over to him when he’s done. “Bourbon for the perverted geezer at table three.”

His green eyes instantly zing toward table three, jaw shifting irritably. “If he left a handprint on your ass, I swear to fucking god, I’m going to cut his goddamn hand off.” So I guess he saw everything.Great. Grabbing a bottle off the top shelf, he unscrews the top, asking, “You’re up soon, or what? Sick of watching this shit.”

Knowing his frustration isn’t directed at me, I take a deep breath. I’ve been trying not to think about it, even though my eyes are constantly drawn to the stage in the middle of the room, that silver pole sparkling in the lights. “I’m sure they’ll tell me when.” I peek over my shoulder and find Sy manning the bank, exchanging money for chips as the men get drunk and looser with their wallets. He feels my eyes on him and glances up, looking me over like he’s assessing me for damage. “How about you? Doing okay back here?”

“Well, the prospect of this being my future is depressing as fuck,” he says, filling the glass. He tilts his head, eyes sharp. “Do you think if Nicky becomes King we can abolish this fuckery?”

Now that’s an idea. “I don’t know. Thisisthe Royalty. It’s probably written in blood somewhere that this shitshow has to keep going, no matter what.”

We share a dark, mirthless laugh, because what else can you do? None of us were cut out for this kind of charade.

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