Page 160 of Dukes of Peril

“Here,” Remy says, crawling in right next to me. It’s both better and worse, his presence making the space impossibly more tight, but also soothing me in a strange, intrinsic way. Wordlessly, he trades the screwdriver for the flashlight and holds it up to the spot in question. I wedge the edge of the screwdriver under the edge of the cap, prying.

But it doesn’t budge.

After watching me try this a few times, grunting at the effort, Remy reaches over me, hand closing over mine, and together we apply the leverage to force it loose.

Leverage.

The word rattles around my brain as I stare into the revealed spot.

“Are those…” he asks, holding the flashlight steady.

They’re wires. Three of them. Red, green and black. They coil around the screw and vanish under a piece of conduit, down into the wall.

Clocks–especially this one, which I know inside and out–are made of metal and wood. Brass and steel. Not the plastic and copper I see peeking out of the workings like the head of a snake.

“Remy,” I say, my voice quiet against the stone. “The clock doesn’t work because it’s been rigged.” Looking over, I meet his green eyes, my breath quickening. “With explosives.”

There’s only one person deranged enough to put them there.

Tick-tock.

“Vinny,”he says, chasing me into the living room. “Slow down.”

“You don’t understand,” I snap, not stopping. “We need to get out of here. My father threatened me yesterday. ‘The clock is ticking,’ he said.” I palm my forehead, heart pumping wildly. “Jesus Christ. I thought he was being dramatic, but he was laying it all out there. We’re literally living in a bomb!”

“Hey,” he catches my arm and brings me to a lurching halt. “You’ve been a little–” he grimaces, and I get the sense that he’s choosing his words carefully, “–offsince you got up. Take a deep breath and let’s figure this out. Start at the beginning. What fucked you up when you got out of bed?”

I don’t want to slow down. I want to get my men to safety and drive to my father’s fucking mansion that he built on lies and death, and end him. For good.

But when I look into Remy’s eyes, I realize he’s right. He and I do this, get caught somewhere between real and not. My nightmares and sleep paralysis. His episodes and mania.

I need to be sure.

Taking a deep breath, I let his grip on my shoulders ground me. “I had a dream,” I confess, hurriedly amending, “Ihavedreams. It’s not the first time. I wake up stiff. Frozen, you know? Back in the box.” He gives me an understanding nod. “But Leticia is there, Remy. She… talks to me. Tells me things about the secrets she knows.”

Now that I say it aloud, it sounds ridiculous.

Remy takes it in stride, though. “So your sister is a bitch even in your dreams.” His hands settle on my hips, warm and steady.

Fuck, it’s true. She’d probably be proud of it. “I guess so, except...”

He holds my eyes. “Except what?”

“Except she’s always like… making me feel dumb, like she’s telling me stuff. Things I should know.” None of this is coming out right and I shake my head, trying to find something coherent.

“Ah,” he nods in understanding. “She’s not Leticia. She’s you–your subconscious.”

I make a face. “Don’t get all ‘Sy’ on me.”

He doesn’t look insulted at the comparison. “I mean, I’m no Dr. Freud like your Big Bear in there,” he shoots me a smirk, “but I’ve had my share of brain probing. Your sister–your brain–is trying to tell you something you already know. You just have to be open to whatever it is.” His thumb rubs a circle in my hip. “Can you do that?”

I exhale, pulling in air. I close my eyes and pull at the cobby webs of the dream. “She said something about having already given me what I need.”

Frowning, he says, “Okay. Any idea what that means?”

“Leticia never gave me anything but an inferiority complex and bruises,” I snap, not liking the feeling of being manipulated–neither by dream Leticia, or as Remy says, my bullshit subconscious. “It’s all just mind games. Like father, like daughter.”

Although, I realize, Leticia did give me something. The box hidden under the floorboards, the receipt, the phone number, the detonator Nick and I discovered she’d programmed to give her–

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