Page 136 of Dukes of Peril

When the last member crosses the mat, Remy pushes his chair back and walks around the table, pausing in front of Nick. He holds his fist out to him, and Nick doesn’t miss a beat, reaching out to bump their tattooed knuckles together.

Facing Sy, Remy tosses his pin on the pile and says, “To the victor.”

And there it is, a stack of bronze pins sitting before Sy in an untidy pile. Only three are missing: Sy’s, Nick’s, and Bruce’s. There’s a tense silence that follows, as if the whole room is holding their breath. Sy stares at the pins, his dread unmistakable when he shifts his eyes to Nick.

“Nicky?”

Taking a breath, Nick stands, giving my hand another squeeze before letting go. I watch him round the table with an aching chest, stopping in front of Sy. Nick looks at the pins, a crevice appearing in his forehead.

His words are rough and toneless. “I’ve followed two Kings already. First Daniel Payne, then Saul Cartwright. I was really fucking good at it, too. Some might say I was too good at it.” He stops, mouth tilting unhappily as he regards the ring on his finger. “I told myself when we started making plans that I was never going to be some tyrant’s fucking lapdog again.” He finally meets his brother’s gaze, twisting the Bruin ring from his finger. “I never wanted to be King, Sy. All I ever wanted was one worth following.” Holding his stare, Nick sets the ring down right in the middle of the pile. “Now, I’ve got it.”

Sy drags a palm down his mouth, eyes fixed to the ring. “I’m not a Bruin.”

Nick snorts, lips twitching upward in a way that makes my chest ease. “I once told our Duchess that a last name is just a series of letters.” He shrugs, giving perhaps the most Nick’ish wisdom applicable here. “Who gives a fuck? Your father is a Bruin, just as much as mine is a Perilini. Family isn’t blood or the right series of letters, Sy. It has to be something a hell of a lot stronger than that.”

He glances at me and I see the truth there just as much as I feel it in my bones.

It has to be love.

Unconditional. Unyielding. Unbreakable.

Without waiting for a response, Nick reaches behind his back and pulls out a pistol. Not just any pistol, butthepistol–the one with the Bruin ‘B’ carved into the barrel. Nick grabs Sy’s hand, flips his palm over, and presses the gun into it. “To the victor, big brother.”

Sy swallows, testing the weight of it in his hand, and we all watch him, waiting. Sy’s never expressed any interest in taking the crown. Where Nick’s been preparing to lead, Sy’s been preparing to follow. But when he finally looks up, a stony determination settles in his eyes, and suddenly, I know this is what Sy is meant to do.

He raises his chin. “I’ll need your help, little brother.”

“Didn’t you hear me before?” Nick asks, nodding toward Ballsack. “We’re a package deal. All of us.”

Sy takes a breath, glancing at me and Remy. I wonder if he sees us for what we are: two wayward Royal heirs, looking for a place to call home. The fact is, we were always all in on these men. These violent, incredible, fierce fighters. Bruin or Perilini, they’re all the same to us.

Family.

Sy pushes to his feet, tucking the gun into his belt. “To the victors.”

24

Sy

I spendthe wait turning the ring over in my palm, not daring to slip it onto my finger just yet.

Every Kingdom only has two rings–that much I know. One is for the King, the other is for his heir. I wonder which one my father wore, but that much is obvious. It’s on Saul’s finger. He didn’t take West End for the purpose of a fresh start. He took it because he wanted to conquer it.

I’m taking a sip of Saul’s scotch when the door to his top-floor office opens.

“We’re two weeks out from the playoffs. Make sure the media has our new rankings and—” The words abruptly stop, his alert gaze falling on me. “I’ll call you back.” Lowering his phone, Saul’s eyes dart suspiciously around the room. “I wasn’t expecting guests.”

Hearing this, Neon pushes past him and lunges at me. Since my mama raised me right, I make sure the glass of scotch is firmly on the table before he arrives, yanking me to my feet. Although, let’s face it. I rise on my own more than he lifts me, holding my arms out for what I know is coming.

Neon’s narrow eyes hold my stare as he frisks me, hands patting my armpits, sides, back. Pausing, he quickly removes the black pistol tucked against the small of my back, throwing Saul a look as he removes the magazine, emptying the chamber.

Saul commands, “All the way, Neon.”

Neon continues patting me down, stilling when he reaches my crotch. I see the look in his eye, like he’s trying to decide if the rumors are true. Is that bulge in my pants my cock or a gun? I arch an eyebrow. “Keep your hand there any longer and you’re going to need to buy me a drink.”

At the last second, he pulls back, tossing Saul a nod. “He’s clean.”

“Simon,” Saul says, not looking any more at ease. “This is a surprise.”

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