Page 132 of Dukes of Peril

“I can take it, Rem.”

He bends to press a warm kiss to my forehead, a soft warning to the wet cloth he drags over my blistering skin. I hiss, twisting my face into the pillow. The scream I release is less about the pain and more about the smoldering rage in the center of my chest.

What happened last night was a new kind of violation.

That night at the Hideaway, I negotiated with a masked Nick Bruin as a way to leverage my own power at the mercy of the Kings. They thought I was a virgin. I wasn’t, but no one believed me, and by letting the men who broke into my room take me, I made that a certainty.

I had some choice in the matter, though.

At least that’s what I try to tell myself.

In some ways, I think that my very first assertion of control is probably what got us to this place. Saul Cartwright can handle a lot of things, but a woman with Royal blood not understanding her place? I don’t think that’s one of them.

Despite his gentle touch and the way he starts and stops, giving me time to breathe through the sting, the rest of the cleaning process hurts like a fucker, my fingers twisting into the sheets as he works. As much as it hurts me physically, I can practically feel it hurting him mentally–emotionally–when he pauses every now and then to press his palm to the small of my back.

I watch blearily as he rips open a square of sterile gauze, saying, “I’ll keep it loose, but this should make wearing clothes easier.” He ducks down to catch my eye, arching an eyebrow. “Not that I want to encourage it or anything. Your tits are heaven, Vinny.”

I bury a tense smile into the pillow. “Where are the guys?”

He presses the tape to my back carefully, jerking his head toward the living room. “Talking strategy.”

When he’s finished, I turn and face him, knowing my face must be red. “Well, we better go join them.” I grip his arm and pull myself to a sitting position.

Frowning, he insists, “Vin, you don’t have to—”

I narrow my eyes. “Yeah, I do.”

Giving in, he fishes me a low-cut tank top from my drawer in Sy’s dresser, threading my arms through it. As I stand there in nothing else but a pair of panties, I get a flash of memory–me helping Remy into his shirt that night up in the clock room, his shoulder still healing from the dislocation. I was so mad at him back then, but so annoyingly enticed at the same time.

This time, I give in to the impulse buzzing over my skin, straining up on my toes to press my mouth to his.

Remy makes a soft, surprised sound, his movements slowing to a crawl as he eases the shirt down, fingers stalling at the hem. He touches the star on my hip at the same moment he licks out to taste me.

“You’re stoned,” he accuses, mouth tipping up into a grin.

“Am not.” So as to prove this assertion, I take a step toward the doorway, nearly tripping over someone’s–Nick’s–shoe. Remy catches me gently around the waist, wincing.

“Maybe we should have cut that pill in half.”

We find them in the living room.

Sy and Nick sit across from one another–Sy on the couch, Nick in the chair Saul occupied last night. No one’s cleaned up the splatter of blood on it yet. There’s an open leather binder on the coffee table, the typography inside looking old and antique, pages worn. The heading at the top is in bold ink.DKS Charter and Bylaws.

“The frat has to vote,” Nick is saying, hands pushed into his hair. He hasn’t slept, that much is obvious.

Sy says, “You’ll get their vote,” with an air of exasperation that signals he’s repeating himself.

Nick gestures to the binder. “You can’t be sure. It’d be easier if I just took him out. Fuck, I should have just taken him out last night.” He looks over, noticing me at the edge of the room. “It would’ve been justifiable.”

Sy leans back, looking just as tired as Nick. “As much as I wish you had, there’s a process for a reason. Bruce would call foul, and it’s possible he has more supporters in the group than I’d like to admit.”

“Then fuck it, I can kill him too.” Nick says this as if it’s the most simple solution in the world–and I suppose to him, it is. Fuck with what belongs to Nick Bruin, and you’ll pay. Meeting my gaze, he holds out an arm. “Come here, LB. Let me see.”

I cross the room to him, my legs still bare, and he catches me around the hips, turning me toward his brother. It doesn’t hurt when he lifts the tape, and I get a moment of clarity that maybe Remy was right. The pain meds have already kicked in.

Nick utters a low curse at what he sees. “The plan where I kill everyone is looking pretty good right about now.” He replaces the tape, then pulls me into his lap.

“No, Sy’s right,” I say, turning sideways to curl my bare legs over his thighs. “A massacre will do us for a spell, but if we do it the right way, through the proper channels?” I look from Sy to Remy. “That’s real, lasting change.”

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