Page 119 of Dukes of Peril

“Discussing blood doesn’t seem like the ladylike thing for a night like this, does it, Ms. Lucia?”

The hair on the back of my neck prickles at the sound of his voice. Remy’s smile falters, lips pressing into a tense line, and we share a brief look.

Good thing I’m not a Lady then.

Saul lifts his chin. “I’ll take a glass from my personal bottle, Remington.” Remy seems to understand what this means, and he reaches under the bar for a bottle of whiskey with a blue label. Remy pours it into a glass and Saul says, “Make that two. One for Ms. Lucia.”

I keep my eyes trained to the pervy geezer’s drink. “I’m not drinking.”

“I thought maybe you’d like a hit of liquid courage before your debut,” he says, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “I can smell your fear from here. I don’t really care if it’s real or not. The alumni are eating it up with a spoon.”

Instead of tossing that two-hundred dollar glass of whiskey in his face, I square my shoulders and walk away, carrying the drink back across the room. It’s obvious in the last ten minutes the energy in the room has changed. Too much booze and money. Too many men. Saul’s right. The clock is ticking, and the bead of sweat sliding down my back confirms it.

I’m going to be grinding on that goddamn pole soon.

“There’s that slippery snake,” I hear at the same moment a hand reaches out. I’m yanked down into a lap, my ankle twisting at the sudden fall. The move is so abrupt that it takes a moment to process that it’s Bruce who has his arm latched around my waist.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I say quietly, eyes darting toward my Dukes. Sy is busy counting money, Remy is suffering through Saul, and Nick… I don’t know where he is. This table is tucked against the back wall of the tent–not exactly the most visible spot.

“Thought you may want to meet my family,” he says, baring his teeth in a savage grin. Bruce has this weird little mole beside his nose, and from this close a vantage, I can see a single hair poking out from the middle. It moves when he talks. “You may not realize it, but the Oakfields have a long legacy with DKS.” He nods to an old man with a weathered face and thinning hair, who’s eyeing the four cards in his hands. “That’s my Grandpa,” he says, running his sweaty hand down my arm. “He was a Duke back in the day.”

“Great.” I clench up as his hand travels lower. “Let me go.”

“No can do,Duchess. I know you have no choice but to play nice tonight.” His eyes flick around the room. “Allof you do, and I’m going to make the most of it.” His hand slides under my robe, rough against my thigh. “That’s my Dad over there…” he nods to a man across the table, leaning back and smoking a cigar. “Also a Duke.”

I keep my voice even, even though it’s strained. “Lovely.”

Fingers inching higher, Bruce shifts his attention to the guy next to us. He’s only a few years older, and the striking similarity can only mean one thing. “And this is my brother, Brice.”

“Of course,” I say, scoffing.

“Why do you say that?” his brother says, grinning as he lifts his glass to his mouth.

“Because only rapists are named Brice.”

Brice barks out a laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Gesturing to me with the glass, he asks, “So this is the Count cunt you’ve been telling me about.”

Bruce grins back, holding me tighter. “The very one.”

“I see what you mean,” Brice says, looking me up and down. “I hear you’ve got some kind of magic pussy. You know, good enough to convince Dukes a Lucia is worth fucking.” He leans forward and reaches out, ignoring my flinch as he tugs at my bottom lip. “You’re right, Bruce. She would definitely look better with a dick in her mouth.”

I jerk away from his touch and go to stand. “Okay, I’m done.” But Bruce yanks me back down, hand moving between my thighs. I’m only wearing lace panties under this robe, and I clamp my legs together to fend him off. Stiffly, I hiss, “Let me go, Bruce.”

“Did you know my brother was a Duke, too?” His fingers stab between my legs, working against my muscles. “Every male in my family, for generations. Everyone but me.” His fingers inch higher and I grimace, feeling his obvious erection pressing into the back of my leg. “You know why?” Across from me, Brice’s grin slips away, and I fight off a gag at the scent of alcohol from Bruce’s breath on my ear. “Because Nick fucking Bruin showed up.”

“Yeah,” I say, fighting to get away, but his grip is solid. “He has a way of doing that.” Except right now. Where is he? Does he know I’m being manhandled by this asshole? I could yell. Shout. Make a scene.

The worst thing–maybe even worse than the way Bruce is forcing his fingers between my thighs–is the little niggle of worry in my mind that says Nick doesn’t care anymore. Maybe the fight was the last straw. Maybe the man who would have once done anything to keep me safe has given up on loving me enough to make a fuss.

That thought settles in my gut like a smoldering bomb. Regardless, it’s with confidence that I add, “They’ll kill you.” They will, but the threat falls flat. Bruce knows as well as I do that if I fuck up this night, they’ll be dead first. Saul and the Lords will see to it.

“Then I may as well make it worth it.” Bruce pushes me off his lap, but before I can even get my legs beneath me, his brother plants a hand on each of my shoulders, shoving me to my knees.

Right between Bruce’s legs.

“Remember that blow job you weaseled out of before?” Bruce says, looking deceptively loose as he thumbs open his pants. “You better open wide, slippery snake, because it’s time to pay up.”

“Fuck you,” I spit, elbowing Brice in the shin. He barely even moves, laughing as Bruce grabs hold of my chin, working my jaw open.

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