Page 23 of Dukes of Peril

Quiet, almost whispered, “Did the Duchess really hit him with a car?”

My jaw drops. “I don’t even have a car!”

“That’s enough!” Sy cuts an authoritative figure, hand whipping out to snap fingers at a group off to the side. “You bitches gossip worse than a knitting circle. We know you’ve been hearing a lot of bullshit, so we’re here to set the record straight before you start a fight we’re not equipped to win.” There’s no doubt he can get this group under control, but just as he opens his mouth to get started, something flickers across his expression. His eyes dart back to his brother. Flexing his fists, Sy says, “Uh, Nick, can you come up here?”

Nick tenses and I rest my hand on his shoulder, giving him a little nudge. Sy crouches down to meet him, beckoning him close. “You’ve got to be the one that does this. You’re the leader.”

Nick stares blankly. “Sy, I don’t do public speaking. I break faces professionally.”

“Tough shit.” Sy gestures to the ring around Nick’s finger. “I’ve got your back, we all do, but you’ve got to step up. They need to see you up here taking charge. It confuses the hierarchy if I do it.”

It’s a strange dichotomy. Sy is the older brother, but Nick is the heir. They were raised together, fought together, but Sy has done the work in the frat, while Nick was working outside–for their rivals. No matter the history, I know better than anyone that in the Royal system, legacy and blood matter—and Sy doesn’t have it.

“He’s right,” I say, nodding at Nick. “It has to be you. Plus, look at these guys. They don’t need a politician, Nick. They’ll actually listen to a professional face-breaker.”

There’s a wild glimmer in Nick’s blue eyes, like he’d rather set a bomb off and take down the whole tower before stepping up on that bar. But something transpires between the brothers, a flicker of understanding, and then Nick sighs. Cracking his neck, he grabs Sy’s hand, letting his brother haul him onto the bartop.

Nick looks even bigger from this vantage. Stronger. More intimidating. Royal.

Idly, he palms his fist–the one with the hand bearing the ring–and cracks his knuckles, staring out at the crowd.

“The rumors aren’t all untrue,” he begins, a wave of disgruntled whispers working through the room. “Some serious shit’s gone down in the last couple days, but you’ve got the details wrong. All three of your Dukes are standing here—” his eyes flick to Remy, still curled up on the couch, “or… laying here,” Without moving anything else, Remy’s fist rises, forefinger and pinky extended, “with our Duchess, and all of us are fine. That’s the only fucking thing that matters. We’re solid.” This time he looks at Sy, a grimace rising on his mouth. “Ish. We’re solid-ish.”

The room flutters with reluctant chuckles, and that seems to give him a boost.

“So here’s the thing. I know you probably want names–houses, Kings–and I don’t blame you. Truth is, if it were up to me, I’d be filling at least two corners of Forsyth with bodies.”

The room erupts in a sudden, booming cheer, and Sy swings furious eyes on his brother.

Nick pushes his fist into his palm, eyes narrowing. “But that’s how houses fall, boys. I’ve worked in the other Kingdoms. You all know it. It’s why you’d probably rather Sy be up here.” A tense hush falls over the crowd and Nick pauses. “Shit, I’d rather him be up here, too. But that’s not how this works, which is unfortunate, because he’d give you the kind of speech that would turn you from boys to men. I don’t know how to do that. I’m a soldier, like all of you. A fighter.”

“A kick-ass fighter!” Ballsack shouts from the middle of the room. “3-0, undefeated!” he adds, noting Nick’s score from the ring.

Nick shrugs. “So if my history in South Side bothers any of you, then no offense, but I don’t give a fuck. It’s how I learned we can’t be messy. Not anymore. Rule one.” He sweeps his gaze over the men. “No more Viper Scratch. I’ve seen that shit eat through more brains than are in this room. If we see anyone holding, doing, or selling it, you’re done as DKS, and the doorwillfucking hit you on the way out.” The threat is delivered like a boulder, Nick’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not here to fund the Counts. Got it?”

A murmur of agreement surges throughout the room, although some of the guys glance back at Remy’s form on the couch.

Nick pretends not to notice. “We need to worry aboutourproduct, our coffers, and our legacy. We’ll do that by running a tight ship. We need to be more like the Lords and less like the Counts.”

This doesn’t go over half as well.

“The Lords are trash!” a tall guy up front insists. I remember him from family dinners, always trying to get up the cutsluts’ dresses.

Nick takes a long, restraining breath. “You know what running these streets makes perfectly fucking obvious? That Forsyth isn’t a boxing ring. Out there,” he thrusts a finger to the east, “the hardest punch doesn’t win. You know who wins?” Nick moves the point of his finger toward the ceiling. “The motherfuckers in the box.”

“The Kings,” someone in the back yells.

Nick raises his chin, seeking him out. “You’re right, Hernandez. Or at least, they did. Which is why I’m going to confirm another rumor.” Nick’s eyes flick to his brother–not for reassurance, but in warning. “I helped Killer Payne take down his father.”

The room swells with shifted movement, the DKS members all turning to look at one another. Some of them look worried. Some look mad. Some look completely unsurprised, and a few even look disappointed.

“The Lords are our rivals,” Nick explains, “but they aren’t our enemy. And if working with them will help West End strengthen our territory, then you can bet your asses I’ll do it.”

“What about the Princes?” Someone shouts.

Nick scoffs. “Fuck those pussy-ass bitches. If we need a pregnancy test, we can call them.” He flicks a sharp, roguish smirk my way. “Maybe one day.”

My face explodes with heat, and I turn to shield it from the prying eyes. More from embarrassment than anything. As I want to recoil at the thought of being pregnant, it’s not as horrifying as it should be. Not if Nick’s the one putting the baby in me.

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