Page 28 of Dukes of Peril

Hearing the seriousness in my tone, Nick turns, giving me his full attention. “Shoot.”

“Do you think…” I can barely say it. Admit it. “Do you think I could have killed Tate?”

Nick’s eyebrows crash together. “What?”

“I was there with her and Leticia. I don’t know what frame of mind I was in, or what I saw, or whether or not I was cycling, or…” I look at Nick, searching his expression for some kind of confirmation. “She was running around with a Lucia behind our backs. What if I thought she sold us out?”

“Remy–” Nick tries.

“It was one of your guns. I had access, Nicky, and don’t fucking tell me I’d never–” My words choke off. “Because look what I did to Vinny. If I’m capable of that–”

“You did not,” Nick’s gaze is rock solid, voice sharp with vehemence, “fucking kill Tate.”

My heart pounds, and this time when my stomach rolls, it’s not from the withdrawals. “Are you sure?”

Without hesitation he says, “Yes.”

“How can you be sure?” Even though it’s a question, it emerges with all the desperation of a plea.

“Because if you did, your father would have known,” Nick says, holding my stare. “And he would have used that shit to lock you up for the rest of your life.”

I blink. He’s right. The conversation with my father up on that cliff made one thing certain. He’d take any chance he could to lock me away forever. To keep me under his thumb and away from the DKS. Nothing could have turned Nick, Sy, and West End away from me faster and more effectively than the knowledge I’d killed Tate.

The nausea dissipates, relief whipping through me at the new certainty. The resolve from before returns in full force, and I promise him, “I’m going to make it better. With you. With Sy and Vinny. With DKS. I don’t know how yet, but I do know one thing.”

“I know.”

“How?” I ask.

“A man who’s cheated death twice doesn’t just give up.”

“Hefights,” I add, feeling it in my chest. God, it’s the first real feeling I’ve had in days not engulfed in regret and cravings.

Nick stands, brushes himself off, and then offers me his hand. “Then let me help.”

Pauly meetsus at the gym, sizing up my shoulder in the training room off the main room.

“An x-ray would make me feel better,” he says, raising my elbow and ignoring my grimace, “but I think it looks pretty good. Range of motion is all there. You should start some light exercises tomorrow. Nothing too strenuous, but you need to loosen up this joint, son.”

Nick’s expression is skeptical, but I’m confident in Pauly’s skills. He joined DKS before he failed out of med school. ‘Something came up’ is what he always says whenever someone asks why he didn’t graduate. Verity told me once that he was kicked out during his residency for stealing drugs from the pharmacy at his hospital. That tracks, to be honest. I see it in the shake of his hands and the mottled scars on his upper forearms. But he’s the closest thing the gym has to a medic, although he’s actually just a trainer, and even then, only part-time when his real job allows it.

His real job.

As a line cook.

It’s no wonder the Duchess is always meant to be pre-med.

“No shit.” I hiss when he drops my arm, rounding the chair to get another look at my back.

“These bruises worry me more,” he says, giving the large black and blue patch a poke. “The fuck did you do, jump off a building?”

I glance at Nick, whose eyes darken. “Something like that.”

Pauly makes a thoughtful noise. “Well, you’re going to need something for the pain if you plan to rehab that shoulder. We’ve still got some codeine in the back.”

Fuck.

That sounds like heaven wrapped in pussy.

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