Page 121 of Dukes of Peril

My stomach roils, and I swallow down the taste of bile. “I’ll undress,” I offer, voice wobbly and thick.

“Like fucking hell you will,” Nick spits, surging forward. Neon grabs him, yanking him back. Nick could easily break out of his grip, but he goes stock still instead, jaw hardening.

I can’t see it, but I’m willing to bet there’s a gun in his back.

The last person I’m expecting to speak is Bruce’s father. “I wouldn’t write the night off just yet, Saul. We were already having ourselves a nice little show. I say we finish it.” His beady eyes lock on me, mouth twisting into a demented smile. “The Lucia bitch should get on her knees for my boy.”

“Fuck that!” Nick’s eyes meet mine, full of an anger that I’m not used to seeing on him, always so composed and cool. But there’s also a shrewd sort of panic in them, and I know he’s thinking fast, sizing up our options. I see the moment something sticks, his eyes sliding to the side to meet Sy and Remy’s. Whatever passes between them, it makes Nick’s expression firm out, his voice rising to address the room.

“Who would you rather see Lionel Lucia’s daughter on her knees for, boys? Some random DKS?” He raises his chin, peering out over the men. “Or a true, full-blooded Bruin.”

There’s a hush of silence, and then the room erupts into disgusting, excited murmurs. A man by the roulette table cups his hands around his mouth to shout, “Show us what it’s really like up in that belfry, Bruin!”

But Bruce shoves forward toward Nick, his face sticky with smears of blood. “Why? So she can manipulate you even more? Face it, Bruin, you’ve been playing all sides for a long time now. One day you’re a soldier for South Side, the next you’re worshiping Count cunt. You’re no better than a goddamn whore, looking for a warm place to land.” He spits a glob of blood at Nick’s feet. “Prove to us that you’re really a Duke.”

“You’re questioning my loyalty?” Nick says, holding Bruce’s glare. There’s murder in his blue eyes, but Nick just nods, breaking away from Neon to march up to me.

I gasp when he grabs me by the throat, shoving, guiding me to the stage like his palm is a collar. I grab onto his arm and struggle to keep my footing, the alumni we pass smirking at us the whole way.

They don’t know that Nick’s fingers are loose.

If that wasn’t enough to signal what this is–a show–then the look on Nick’s face when we dip behind the curtain seals it. He releases my neck, breathing hard as he turns my face, assessing the damage from Brice’s hand. A lock of hair has fallen into his eyes, enhancing the unhinged look I see there.

“I have seventeen rounds in my mag,” he says, glancing toward the room. “Remy has twelve. Sy probably carried lighter, but he’s a good shot and he’s better with his hands–”

“What are you talking about?” I struggle to keep my horrified voice to an urgent whisper. “Nick, if someone shoots, this place will turn into a bloodbath.”

He fixes me with a bright, belligerent glare. “What are we going to do, sneak out? I’m not going to make you their whore!” He wrenches me closer, his face twisted with fury. “They don’t want to watch you suck a dick. They want to watch someone fucking ruin you!”

My stomach sinks at the realization he’d rather we shoot our way out of here than put me on my knees.

The bloody hair pin clatters when I drop it. Reaching up to cup his face in my hands, I say, “I know.” Staring into his eyes, I make sure he sees the honesty in mine. “Baby, I don’t care.”

He tries to turn away, eyes shuttering. “Lavinia–”

I pull him back to me, adding, “I’m sorry.” My eyes swim, but I don’t make an effort to blink back the tears. “I’m sorry I doubted you, and I’m sorry that I’m asking you to do this.” I search his dark eyes, feeling a pang in my chest. “I know what Daniel used to make you do in the pit.”

He grabs my wrist but doesn’t try to pry me away. He just touches it–holds it–his answer gruff. “This isn’t about that.” His thumb presses into the letters Remy inked there hours ago.LB. The same letters Nick asked me to tattoo on his own flesh. Suddenly, Remy’s question flutters back to me.

“You know what that stands for, don’t you?”

At the time, I didn’t understand the way he looked at me, as if he was waiting for me to understand something. And now it’s finally dawning on me.

LBdoesn’t just stand for Little Bird.

They’re initials.

Lavinia Bruin.

“Then listen to me,” I say, chest aching with this new knowledge. “If I’m the reason you don’t want to go through with it, then you’re an idiot. Because I trust you, Nick Bruin. And because…” My breath hitches, the words vibrating through me just as surely as my own pulse. “And because I love you.”

His chest goes still, and even though the harsh lines on his face remain, his eyelids fall closed. There are three hard breaths, and then a mangled demand.

“Say it again.” He soundsgutted.

This time, it’s easier. “I love you,” I say, straining up on my toes to brush a soft, tentative kiss against the tense line of his mouth. “I love you, Nick.”

He snaps into motion like a loaded spring, grabbing my head and crashing our lips together. It hurts–the clash of teeth, the bruising pressure of his fingertips, the cartilage of our noses colliding–but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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