Page 128 of Dukes of Peril

Saul hums quietly, touching his lips as his eyes roam her body. “Yes, we’ve all seen the tattoo by now. It’s nice work, Remington. But that wasyourinitiation, not hers. At the time, Lucia being a Duchess wasn’t on the table. That mark was a warning to the Lords that I’m not to be trifled with.”

“Yeah,” Nick says, mouth tipping into a vicious grin. “We all know Killian’s Lady got the best of you, and you’re still sore about it. But that has fuck all to do withourwoman.”

Saul gives Nick a mockingly patient look. “A Duchess bears the brand, Nicholas. That’s tradition. Don’t pretend like you haven’t seen your mother’s.” His lips curve upward, eyes gleaming hatefully. “I can still smell the scent of her burning flesh as your father held her down.”

The shot slams through the room, sending a shrill scream in my ears. In a flash, Ewing has Nick on the ground, hand tight around his wrist. When I regain my bearings, I see that Sy’s body is curled around Lavinia, muscles coiled tight as he tucks her into his chest. Looking to Saul, I fully expect to see a bullet hole square in his forehead, his brains spattered over the armchair.

But his hand is on his ear, blood dripping down his fingers, and he doesn’t look dead.

He just looks annoyed.

“You missed.” He seems as surprised as I feel, turning to seek out a bullethole. The tower has gathered plenty over the years, the lead swallowed whole by the stone.

“No, I didn’t.” Nick says, the gun has already been wrangled from his hand, his snarling face pressed against the floor. “That was the only fucking warning you’ll get, Saul. The next shot I take, you’ll be dead before you feel it.”

Saul stands, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, and presses it against his ear, face hard. “And here I was going to let you do the branding yourself–as per tradition. I’m not feeling so generous anymore, boys.” He lifts his hand, flicking two fingers. “Bring him in.”

One of the goons stabs the elevator button, and Sy shoots me a pointed look. If they’re planning to cram our girl into that goddamn elevator…

Well, Saul doesn’t know it, but she’ll be just fucking fine. We’ve been working with her on being in that steel trap for the last week, and it’s not pretty, but my Vinny can handle it, and when she turns, pressing her cheek against Saul’s shoulder, I see her readying herself, gathering up all her white and blue.

Unfortunately, when the doors slide open, an enraged, blood-stained Bruce steps out of it.

Hot rage shoots up my spine, my vision filling with crimson and fire. “You’ve got some fucking nerve showing up here.”

“No, it’s good,” Sy curls his arms around Vinny, voice low and harsh. “It means we won’t have to chase his ass across West End to give his ‘fuck around’ a little ‘find out.’”

“I had a feeling you’d refuse.” Saul waves Bruce over, frowning at the bloodstain on his handkerchief. “So I brought someone who appreciates the sanctity of DKS’s legacy.” He looks at Bruce with arrogant eyes, resting a hand on his shoulder. Quietly, as if sharing some valuable wisdom, he says, “It’s all in how long you press it, you know. The longer the iron is on the skin, the more the symbols will spread. Restraint is important. Some Duchesses' marks are barely identifiable. The screamsarefun, though.”

When Bruce turns to us, his smirk tugs at the butterfly stitches holding his cheek together. “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy giving this slippery snake a little pain.” He lifts his chin, eyes piercing right through her. “And making you assholes watch.”

I step between them, catching his gaze. “You’re not touching her.” Whatever happens here tonight, that much is fact. It’s as vital to me as breathing. The thought of someone putting a mark into her skin–myskin,mycanvas–just isn’t bearable. Even the mention of it makes my blood throb with the utter wrongness of it. I gesture to Nick. “He’ll kill you instantly. Sy will pummel you to death.” I tilt my head, holding Bruce’s glare. “But you can’t even imagine the things I’d do to you. The last time I sawed into someone’s body, I could have stayed there playing with his guts forhours.” Taken by the notion, I idly muse, “I wonder how long I could keep you alive...”

Bruce’s face screws up. “You’re all a bunch of fucking whack jobs!”

“Clearly.” I shrug, shooting Sy a look. “Point still stands.”

A gun rises to Sy’s back, the goon nodding to Saul, who says, “I don’t think you understand. This isn’t a request.” He ducks his head to meet Vinny’s gaze. “Or should I give Killian Payne a call? It’s pretty late. I venture he won’t be in the most forgiving of moods at three am.”

“Vinny,” I start, already seeing that spark of panic in her eye.

But she’s already twisting free of Sy, snapping, “Fine! Just fucking do it already!” All of the red in her aura becomes tinged with green when Saul takes the bag from Neon, unzipping it to produce a large butane torch.

“Absolutely fucking not!” Nick sneers, bucking against Ewing.

Saul gives her a flat look, taking the iron from the bag. “Get on your knees.”

Gripping my hair in two thick fistfuls, I hiss, “Goddamnit.”

Sy’s eyes swing to mine, the alarm in them meant only for me. He’s afraid I’ll do something stupid–something rash.

He’s right.

“Stop,” I say, my shoulders caving in defeat. My stomach roils at the thought of what I’m about to do, but we’re outmanned here. If anyone has the right to this, it’s me. Despite that, I can’t even look at her as I begin rolling up my sleeves, glare fixed to Saul’s shiny shoes. “Tradition says a Duke has to do it,” I argue, extending a palm. It’s only then that I allow myself a glance in her direction. “Give it to me.”

Her eyes are wide, shining with unshed tears. “Remy…”

Forcing a smile, I lie through my teeth. “It’s okay, baby.” From the way Nick is peering up at me, eyebrows crushed together in restraint, he understands.

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