Page 22 of Dukes of Peril

Behind him, one of the DKS members is watching, eyebrow curving curiously. My stomach rolls with the memory of what it felt like to be in this same room, Sy forcing his cock into me as everyone watched. Remy pushing me to my knees so Haley could watch.

And now Nick is shoving his hands down the front of my pants.

I guess I’m about to find out if giving into my feelings for Nick was a mistake. If the heat in his eyes can warm, but will still burn. If the power in his touch is there to hold me close or just hold me down.

“Nick.” Curling my palm around his warm neck, I put my lips to his ear, whispering, “Please, stop.” He goes rigid, but just in case the nice way doesn’t work, I add, “If you humiliate me in front of this frat again, you can say goodbye to your balls.”

He pulls his hand back, the muscle in the hinge of his jaw tensed into a tight knot. “Shit.” When he finally looks at me, pupils blown into wide pools of black, it’s all I can do to not tell him to just take me upstairs and have his way. The lopsided, rueful smirk he sends me doesn’t exactly help matters. “Sorry, Little Bird. Wasn’t thinking straight.”

I glance around the room to make sure we haven’t made a scene, realizing I’m still the only girl in the room. “Hey, where are the cutsluts?”

Nick bows his head, palms braced against the table on each side of my hips, and then takes a series of long, calming breaths. “No chicks invited for frat business.”

I card my fingers through his hair, hoping I’m helping more than hindering whatever situation is happening in his pants. “What about me? Am I not a chick?”

He looks up, scoffing. “You’re the Duchess. You pull rank on the cutsluts, you know that.” He nods at the guys making their way to the folding chairs set up across the room. “These pricks know it, too. They answer to you.”

That’s not exactly how it works with the Counts, but I’ve seen the way the Lords and LDZ fuss about Story when I’ve seen her on campus. They’d probably carry her around on their backs if she told them to. I’ve sensed a little of that power with the pledges, but that’s to be expected. They’re still fighting for a spot in the frat.

Sensing my skepticism, Nick straightens. “Watch,” he says, lifting his chin. “Hey, Porterfield!”

A beefy guy I’ve seen at the gym jumps out of his chair and runs over. “Yes, sir?”

“The Duchess is hungry,” he pushes my hair off my neck, eyes going glazed at what he sees there. Probably the hickey he just left. “What do you want, babe? Tacos? Candy?”

I lock up, realizing Porterfield is standing at the ready. “Uhhh...”

“Vecino has good tacos, but they don’t open until ten,” Porterfield says, forehead etched in thought. “But if you want candy, I can hit the corner store.” His dark eyes jump between us. “Or both. I can find somewhere that’s open, maybe in Northridge.”

“That’s not necessary.” I give Porterfield an apologetic smile. “It’s fine, but thank you.”

“You just said you were hungry.” Nick looks genuinely disappointed that I won’t boss this poor kid around.

But then Porterfield levels me with a pleading look. “Duchess, if you don’t give me a job, I’m going to go out of my goddamn mind. Really, you’d be doing me a favor.” Adamantly, he insists, “It’s not a problem. Promise.”

Looking around, I still feel that energy, like the static in the air before a lightning strike. These guys are all twitchy and coiled, and Porterfield has a point. They need something to do.

Deflating, I cave. “Is anything closer than Northridge open?”

Nick pipes in, “There’s a breakfast sub place just before you hit East End. You know it?” When Porterfield nods, reaching for his wallet, I jump down, ignoring the way Nick clutches for me.

“Just a second.” I pat his chest reassuringly before approaching the front of the room, weaving around high-strung bruisers and over-excited pledges. No one really looks when I climb up on the bar, calling out a weak, “Excuse me?” At the lack of response, all of them still chattering over one another, I try waving my arm. “Hey, guys?”

I catch Sy’s gaze, his large form standing in the middle of the crowd. He looks baffled, gesturing to the frat as if to say ‘Really?’

Okay, point taken.

So I stomp my foot, barking, “Hey! Listen the fuck up!” Instantly, the noise falls away, forty men turning obediently toward my voice. Blinking, I try not to shrink under their scrutiny. “Uh, thanks. Okay, so… by show of hands, how many of you rushed over here without eating breakfast first?” As I feared, a sea of hands goes up. “Porterfield is going to come around and take your orders. He’s going to need two volunteers to help bring back the–oh, yeah,” I say, pointing to a pair of fighters in the back who look like they might actually die if I don’t notice their hands are raised. “You two can go with him.”

Once that’s all in motion, Sy gives me a grateful look and steps forward. He extends his hand to help me down, arm wound around my waist to steady me. “Good thinking, Duchess.”

“Yeah, well…” I glance up at him, caught beneath the force of his gaze and the softness within it. I’d seen it earlier when I cleaned up his cut and it’s no less jarring six hours later. My face heats as Nick approaches us, breaking me out of it. “Forty hungry athletes, shut up in a room, already itching for a fight doesn’t sound very conducive to peace.”

Sy nods at Nick. “I guess this is as good a time as any to get this started.” Clapping his hands to get their attention, Sy climbs up on the bar. “Everyone shut the fuck up. I know you have a lot of questions, but first you need to sit down and chill out.”

This seems to have the opposite effect, which I guess isn’t a shock when you consider the temperament of the average DKS. One kid jumps up and says, “Is it true you got in a shootout with the Counts?”

From the back, “I heard Remy ODed at the Hideaway from some tainted Viper Scratch!”

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