Page 139 of Dukes of Peril

I blink down at my knuckles. “Yeah, he does that.”

“He really doesn’t remember?” Saul asks, forehead wrinkling. “To be honest, every time I was face to face with that kid, I’d wonder if he was pretending.”

Shaking my head, I shift to the side. “Remy doesn’t pretend.” My father’s pistol is tucked securely between the chair cushion, and I raise it between us, barrel pointing at Saul’s head. “But I do.”

Even though a split second of alarm sparks in his eyes, Saul vibrates with a low, sinister laugh. “What, you think you came in here to play me or something? You really are precious, aren’t you?” He looks at his goon, tipping his head in my direction. “You could do a better job of impersonating security next time, Neon.”

Neon looks him right in the eye, not moving a muscle. “Actually, I think I did a pretty good job of impersonating security this time.” Neon shifts his gaze to me. “What do you think?”

I give a chilly grin. “I bought it. Although, the grope was a bit excessive.”

“Sorry, boss.” Neon’s lips twitch. “I’ll buy you that drink later.” Not for the first time, I feel grateful that Nick had been able to suss out Saul’s least loyal man. Apparently, working for an egomaniac who doesn’t even pay well fosters a bit of resentment.

Saul looks between us, angrily stubbing out his cigar. “What the hell is this?”

“By democratic order of Delta Kappa Sigma, your reign is terminated on death.” I rise to my feet, cocking the hammer on the pistol. “The votes have been cast. West End has spoken.”

Saul shoots to his feet, face twisted in outrage. “You’re lying!” But his eyes zero in on the pistol and suddenly he’s whipping his head around. “Come out, you shit! Where is he? If anything happens to me, that video is going straight to Payne and–”

“The video’s gone,” I say, tilting my head toward Neon, who helped a competent junior DKS gain entry to the system. The Princes aren’t the only ones collecting Forsyth’s best and brightest. “And Nick’s not here.”

His face is turning red as he shoots another glare at Neon, who’s casually plugging his ears. Saul whirls back to me to snarl, “He has to kill me himself to take my Kingdom!”

“He would,” I concede, “if he’d been the one they voted for.”

I thought the moment it settled in would be satisfying. Poetic. It’s not that it isn’t, Saul’s face going an abrupt, pasty-white as he realizes I’m the new King of West End.

It’s just that it pisses me off more than anything.

He raises his palms. “Simon, just hear me–”

The shot cracks through the room like lightning, Saul’s head snapping back. Before he crumples to the floor like a sack of meat, I see the hole in the middle of his forehead; the life draining from his eyes, the slackness of his jaw as he goes down.

Across the room, Neon unplugs his ears, looking perfectly composed as he plucks up the bin next to Saul’s desk and extracts the trash bag from within. Like me, he steps forward and kneels, only whereas I’m yanking the ring from Saul’s finger, Neon is quickly slipping the bag around his bleeding head.

“Thanks,” I say to Neon as I rise, wondering how many times my brother has gone through these motions.

He looks up, offering me his fist. “To the victor.”

I bump my knuckles into his before sweeping out of the office, sliding the ring onto my finger.

The rest of the spoils will have to wait.

As much asI want to go home and curl up in bed with my woman, my night isn’t over.

Instead, I find myself being patted down for the second time that night. It’s not Neon, but instead a two hundred and fifty-pound former Forsyth linebacker manning the Hideaway’s entrance.

The only time I’ve been to the brothel is through the basement window–the night we completed our initiation. One look at the half-naked women situated around the living room, the pulsing music coming from the back patio, and the fully stocked bar, explains a lot about why my brother spent so much time here. This is a place where a man–fuck, or a woman–could get lost.

But I don’t have the time or interest in getting lost in the sins of this place.

Augustine, wiping down the bar, watches me as I approach. She makes no effort to hide the look of curiosity on her face as she sets a shot glass in front of me. “The Perilini men don’t usually come down here. That’s more your brother’s thing, and even then, it’s usually...” Comprehension dances in her eyes. “...work.”

I point to the bottle of whiskey behind her. Not quite the caliber of Saul’s stash, but it’ll do. “Yeah, well, tonight I’m the one with some business. Is Payne here?”

“I can find out.” She grabs the bottle and fills my glass halfway.

“To the top.” I watch the level rise. “Thank you.”

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