Page 106 of Dukes of Peril

His blue eyes dart down to mine. “You want to test me? Fine.” Jabbing a fist into his pocket, he yanks out a pair of keys, shoving them into my palm. “It’s got half a tank. That should get you out of the state.”

I blink down at the glimmer of silver in my fist, confused. “So you would let me?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t leave Forsyth.” The response is rough and curt, but I hear with a crystal-clear clarity the words beneath them.

You just can’t leave me.

“You’d come with me,” I realize, chest thudding painfully as I meet his stony gaze. “Even after everything you’ve worked so hard to build. Sy, Remy, your parents–” My words bite off, because Nick loves them. I’ve seen it, felt it. He left them once, and maybe he had a good reason, but it cleaved a part of himself away. There’s only one response to this that rings true. “Nick, that’s crazy.”

“Of course it’s fucking crazy!” he explodes, the words hurled so viciously that they might as well be fists.

I couldn’t stop the flinch if I tried, stumbling back in shock.

His furious grimace plummets away, leaving a miserable, pleading expression in its wake. He drags both palms down his face. “Goddamn it, Lavinia. I’ve always been straight with you. I’ve never dressed this up into something it isn’t. I know you hate hearing it, and god knows you’ll never fucking say it back, but I still lay it out there.” He waves a slack hand between us. “I love you. To other guys, that means rainbows and fucking sunshine, but to me, it looks like this.” He holds out his arms as if presenting himself. The aggressive posture. The inked skin. The scars.

Take it ortake it.

I deflate, wrapping my arms around myself. “You don’t understand. You’ve never had all your freedom taken away. Sometimes… the way you are with me…” I choke up, unable to tell the truth of it. Nick’s love can be scary. It’s been a long time since he locked me up and threw away the key, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’d do it again if it meant keeping me.

Nick knows, though.

“Freedom?” A wretched breath of laughter tears through his throat. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I’d follow you anywhere, put a gun to my head and pull the trigger, leave my family, my friends, my whole fucking world if you asked me to. But even after all these years, you still think the way I love you makes you a prisoner. When are you going to get it?” His jaw tightens, and he reaches up, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “You’re not shackled to me, Lavinia. I’m shackled to you.”

The defeated frustration in his eyes makes my stomach drop. Unthinkingly, I reach for him. “Nick, I didn’t mean–”

This time, he’s the one to flinch, turning away with a bowed head. “I’ll sleep in my room tonight,” he mutters.

He’s already slammed the door by the time I manage to process the enormity of that decision. Nick has been a chain around my neck since the first night we met, an obstacle between me and freedom. Standing here alone, I realize that somewhere deep down, I’ve been waiting around for him to give it back to me.

But maybe Nick’s been waiting, too.

A Queen would take it back herself.

18

Remy

“Fried chicken!”I snap my fingers, feeling restless in a way that chafes at me. “That’swhat it is.”

“That’s what what is?” Dusty, the leader of this group of freaks, looks up from the cup of coffee he’s pouring. A deep line of confusion scars his forehead. “Chicken?”

“Can’t you smell it?” The room they gave the students for the NA meeting is down in the basement of the student center, two floors below the various restaurants circling the main area. One is a fried chicken chain and I swear the oily scent has seeped into the walls.

He sniffs the air, contemplative. “Yeah, kind of.”

I scratch my head like a bad habit, nails digging painfully into my scalp. “Fuck, now I’m hungry.”

“This will have to work for now.” Dusty hands me the paper cup of coffee and says, “Stop scratching.”

My sense of smell is back–apparently also my appetite. Thank fuck. Among the other side effects of my bender, I felt my muscle eating away at itself. Unlike Nick and Sy, who are genetically predisposed with a six-pack of abs and magically ripped, I have to work on keeping bulked up. I’m too tall, too lanky, too slack on my fighting physique.

There are other things I’ve noticed getting better. My hands are less shaky. I was able to ink the guys after the Fury the other night. There’s still the occasional tremor, but it feels good to be able to hold a pencil and pen. Losing the ability to create sucked.

And almost losing my best friends and Vinny…

Let’s just say I understand the concept of rock bottom a little better than I ever wanted to.

“Hate it here,” I mutter, eyeing the yellowing walls and flickering lights.

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