Page 116 of Dukes of Peril

Remy shakes his head, gazing soberly into the crowd. “No, but he’s around here somewhere.”

“How do you know?”

He gives me a look and reaches out, taking the pen I’d placed behind my ear earlier. “Because you’re here, and because you need him. It doesn’t matter how mad he is. He’d never abandon you.”

When he takes my hand, I let him, staying still as he turns my wrist up, uncapping the pen with his teeth. He only says that because he’s not aware of how it feels to have Nick refusing to speak to me–look at me. He wasn’t just mad at my question. He was hurt. He didn’t storm out of the tower or go down to the Hideaway to drink and fuck away his upset. He got quiet.

It’s scared me more than anything he’s ever done.

The tip of the pen tickles on my wrist, but I stay still, watching his face more than what he’s drawing. I’m not sure if it’s the sex or the company, but Remy’s been sleeping better since we began joining Sy in his bed every night and it shows on his face. From this close, I can make out the faint spattering of pale freckles over the bridge of his nose, a feature that had been lost to his sickly pallor before. I give in to the urge to touch them, running the tip of my finger from brow to nose tip.

His eyes raise to mine, and he pulls back, capping the pen.

The letters ‘LB’ are inked into my wrist in elegant, swooping calligraphy.

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

Rolling my eyes, I blow over the ink. “Yeah, yeah, I’m his Little Bird.”

“And?” There’s a stretch of silence where he just watches me, as if he’s willing me to come to some conclusion about Nick’s inside jokes regarding jailbirds. Finally, he smirks, folding my fingers into a fist. “It also means ‘pound’.”

Behind Remy, I see Verity strutting up, her red hair shining in the flickering lights. She’s agreed to fill in for me while I go get ready for the poker game.

“You’re early,” I say, trying to pull some semblance of normalcy over my expression.

“The girls are all getting ready in the tent,” she says, nodding toward the west end of the grounds. “I figured you might need a little extra time to prepare.”

My stomach flips. The truth is, I’d rather stay here all night, watching the pretty lights and happy, clueless people. But she’s right. I need to get my head in the game.

“Story knows you’re filling in,” I tell her, handing her the clipboard. “All the other details are on here. Sorry for dumping this on you.”

She gives an easy shrug. “Hey, you’re giving me an out from working the game tonight. I owe you one–possibly five.” More solemnly, she adds, “Good luck.”

Remy takes my hand, and we walk like a funeral march over to the tent set up at the back of the grounds. A few of Saul’s men stand outside, already on duty. It strikes me that one reason Saul wanted the event connected to the festival is that there’s an understood truce between the frats. The game attracts the most powerful men connected to the Dukes. Alumni with deep pockets. It’d be the perfect opportunity to make a move. I know more than anyone that there’s no such thing as guaranteed safety, but this may be as good as it gets.

But it makes me wonder about what Mama B mentioned this morning. I haven’t had the chance to ask about it, so wrapped up in my duties here. Sy’s been unusually quiet today, just as preoccupied with planning the event as I’ve been. Nick’s MIA, and Remy…

I glance over at him, the way he watches his feet as we walk like he’s lost in thought. Maybe he’s mentally preparing for the night ahead, or maybe he’s wrestling with something worse. He’s been so clear-headed and present lately, and I hesitate at the thought of drudging up a trigger.

Still, he’s my Duke, so reluctantly, I begin, “Remy…”

“He’s going to come,” he says, looking up at me.

“Oh.” I blink, realizing he thinks the worry in my voice is about Nick. “I mean, I hope so, but I kind of wanted to ask you something about… Tate.”

Remy comes to a slow stop, giving the guys guarding the tent a furtive, assessing look. He meets my eyes with a curious tilt of his head, keeping his voice low. “What is it?”

Taking a breath, I ask, “Did she ever work for Saul?”

Remy scoffs, his answer immediate. “Nah, she didn’t even know Saul. None of us did–not until we got into Forsyth. Why?”

“Mama B says differently.” Feeling annoyed by the eyes on us, I lean closer, smelling the sharp scent of his cologne. “She told me Tate was working for him.”

Remy snaps back to stare into my eyes, searching. “No chance. She would have told us.” The words are spoken with a certainty that his green eyes lack, and I practically see his mind kicking into overdrive.

“Sorry I brought it up,” I rush out, not wanting to burden him with something unfounded. “I know tonight is hard enough without filling your head up–”

“Vinny.” He hooks a finger beneath my chin, raising my gaze to meet his. “Remember what I said to you last night?”

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