Page 129 of Dukes of Peril

Unlike Bruce, I won’t make it hurt any more than it has to.

Saul looks between me and Bruce, the conflict clear. This man is obsessed with tradition as much as inflicting pain, but showing his power through both?

He can’t resist it.

Saul sizes me up, like he’s trying to decide which is worse. Ultimately, he decides, “It’s your right, Maddox.” He tips his chin toward Ewing, who’s still holding Nick down. “But if he makes one false move, wewillkill him.”

Saul places the rod of the iron into my hand.

It’s heavy and rough, and I test the weight of it, trying to remember back to the summer when I saw this coming. Back then, Verity was in line to become Duchess, and I spent a solid week before initiation trying to imagine it–burning a mark into her flesh. It never sat well with me. Not because it’s barbaric and unhinged–although both are true–but because I couldn’t fathom pressing a mark into a girl’s skin for the purpose of making her mine.

Not until Vinny.

An explosion of red and yellow makes me flinch, Saul sparking up the torch and setting the canister on the table. The flame glows with a hypnotizing gradient of blue and white, and if it weren’t for the hiss of butane, I could almost drown everything out and get lost in it.

“Remington,” Saul says, voice full of warning. “I do have all night, but I’d rather not waste it on this.”

Looking up at him, I step forward, inspecting the tip of the brand. The greek letters of our house, Delta Kappa Sigma, stand out in relief, and I lower it to the flame, feeling the radiating warmth graze the tip of my fingers.

I speak mechanically, turning the iron to heat it evenly. “It has to reach five-hundred degrees to burn through the epidermis, dermis, and subcutaneous skin.” Looking up, I meet Saul’s impatient gaze, my own narrowing. “Don’t suppose you brought a thermometer.”

He smirks. “No.”

There’s a tension in the air as we wait, my fingers spinning the iron against the torch’s flame. “Sy,” I say, glancing up at my friend. “Take off your belt.”

Dread fills his eyes as he begins unbuckling it, tugging it through his pant loops with a tight, jerky reluctance. “I used to respect you,” he says to Saul, folding the belt over on itself–once, twice. “Back before I knew who the real snake around here was. Open.” He says the last part to Vinny, gently placing the belt between her teeth. More quietly, he says, “Bite down, baby.”

Here’s the thing about Vinny, though.

She’s not scared.

She meets Saul’s eye and clenches her teeth around the leather like she wishes it were him.

“Where?” Sy asks, threading his fingers through her hair, cupping her face. “Where are you going to…?”

I shift my gaze to the flame. Trying to hold myself together long enough to do right by my girl, I answer tonelessly. “Her back.”

“Fuck that,” Bruce spits, running a finger down his mangled cheek. “Brand the bitch on her face!”

I grip the iron hard, knuckles straining. “The tradition is that her Dukes choose. But I can always shove it up your ass.”

Saul flicks a hand. “Put it wherever you want. But you’d better hold it to her skin for ten seconds, just like any other Duchess. No less.”

Shifting my gaze to Sy, I work my posture into something believably unyielding, giving him a nod. Without a word, he begins gathering up her hair, shifting it over a shoulder. “Hold on to me,” he whispers, Vinny’s arms threading around his neck. He brushes a kiss to her temple, taking a hard, bracing inhale. “Make it quick, Rem.”

The first tattoo I ever inked into her skin stares back at me from over her corset. I accept it as a part of her now, but I don’t think much of it. It’s my work, but not my soul.

This will be neither.

“Keep her still,” I tell Sy, watching Lavinia’s back go rigid as I lift the iron. Nick raises his head just enough to turn the other direction, looking away, muscles clenching up.

I take a series of short, fortifying breaths, tightening my grip on the iron with each one.

And then I press it to her shoulder blade.

The tendons in her neck go taut, her biceps swelling as she squeezes Sy’s neck. But she doesn’t make a sound. I count down the seconds in my head, ticking away.One, two, three…

“Don’t,” Saul warns when my arm twitches, “fucking move.”

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