Page 109 of Dukes of Peril

The LDZ snorts. “Almost. Story’s ruthless. Anyone that can hold their own against her deserves credit.”

Go figure—we can all agree on one thing: hot girls Jell-O wrestling in bikinis is a good time, no matter where they fall on the compass. I’m struck by the image of Vinny this New Year’s Eve, slicked up and rolling around in a barely there bikini. My dick twitches. Jesus. After watching her take down Haley, I have no doubt our girl will win the crown.

That seems to break the gloom, and everyone tosses out their favorite badass Sutton moment. It’s trite, but what the fuck can we do? Wallow in the bleakness of it all? Everyone here is tired of pain and depression. Sutton was a bitch who probably did a lot of fucked up shit, but haven’t we all?

None of us want to be remembered for our worst moments.

The tower isquiet when I get back, Sy’s door hanging open. I don’t think twice about barging in, pencil still fidgeting between my fingers. I pause at the scene that greets me, though. Him and Vinny are already in bed, her in a tank top and pink lace panties, him shirtless, laptop propped open on his thighs. She’s sound asleep, curled into his side. Between their feet, Archie is tucked into the nook their ankles have made. He opens one eye at my entrance, checks me out, then lazily lets it fall shut.

The room smells like sex.

Sy looks up, noticing me at the door. “Hey, man,” he says quietly. “You just get back?”

I stretch my arms over my head, grabbing the top of the door frame. “Yeah.”

“How was the meeting?” He’s not supposed to ask, but I know he can’t help it.

“Fine. Solid six.” It’s a lower number than he’s been used to hearing lately, and it makes him frown.

“Just fine?”

“Another day, you know.” I shrug, but then add, “They talked about the Countess.”

“Oh.” His eyes flick behind me, across the tower to Nick’s door. We both know Sutton was a junkie long before Nick killed Perez. And that Perez was living the kind of life thatgetsyou killed. But still… “I hope you didn’t get much blowback.”

I shake my head. “Not really.” I want to say some other things. About how the Counts are legitimately falling apart, or how Lex Ashby showed up looking like a hot mess. But I don’t want those assholes talking about me outside of the group, and I keep my word to extend the same respect. “Is this a post-fuck cuddle?” I ask instead, nodding at Vinny.

Sy looks down at his laptop, and I grin, watching the tips of his ears go pink. “We didn’t… dothat.” Quieter, he adds, “Not without you or Nicky.”

Him and Vinny are still gun-shy about full-out fucking, I see. “And where is our brave leader?” I wonder, twisting to stare at his closed door.

“Out,” Sy says, not looking happy about it. “Things are still pretty tense.” He dips his eyes to Vinny in an obvious gesture, but it’s not necessary. We both heard Nick yelling last night, his door slamming. She slept up in her loft, the message loud and clear that she wanted to be alone.

A ball of tension in the back of my neck unwinds seeing her in Sy’s bed again. Whatever happened between her and Nick, it doesn’t extend to us.

“Remy,” Sy says, giving me a long look. It isn’t until he jerks his chin toward my hand that I realize I’m tapping my pencil against his doorframe.

I curl my hand into a fist. “Oops.”

“What is it?” he asks, moving to shut his laptop. “You’re agitated at a six head-check.”

“Nothing,” I say, and there used to be a time Sy would pry it out of me until my teeth ached from gnashing them. These days, he just shrugs and diverts his attention, reopening his laptop. Groaning, I relent, “Jesus, man, I need something to fuckingdo.”

His forehead creases. “Don’t you have a piece due for art history?”

I pull a face, amending, “I need somethinginterestingto do. Nothing is holding my attention.” I gnaw at my lip, ignoring the worry that crosses Sy’s face. This has always been the beginning of a cycle for me, kicking around for something to get lost in and always finding the worst goddamn thing. I raise my chin. “Let me tattoo you.”

All the soft concern on Sy’s face slams into a scowl. “No.”

“Please?”

“You know I don’t do that random ink shit,” he insists, resting a palm on Vinny’s head. “I get a tattoo when I win a fight. That’s it.”

I arch an eyebrow. “I can put Vinny’s initials on you, like Nicky did.”

“Fuck that,” he says, even though I see a flare of intrigue in his eyes at the thought. “Go tattoo Nick.”

“He’s gone,” I whine.

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