Page 34 of Dukes of Peril

“You’re right.” Lavinia says, fingering her glass. “Things have changed. That’s what I was trying to say before.” She lifts the glass, meeting my eyes over the rim. “I’d never drink in front of someone I didn’t feel safe with.” Then she tips it back, holding my stare as she takes a long, indulgent sip. I watch, transfixed as she licks the taste of it from her lips. “I don’t know what you deserve, Sy. But I know what I deserve, and for once in my life, that’s all that matters to me.”

I don’t need that wry curve of her brow to drive home what I already know.

“You deserve to be safe.”

“Among other things,” she says, nodding. “Yeah, I think I do.”

I give the space beside her hand a longing tap. “I can… be that for you. I can keep you safe.” When I look up, there’s a warmth in her eyes that I’m surprised to see. It’s not quite what it was like before, that day she smiled at me and touched me, and looked flushed and sated and… happy. It’s not quite that.

But it’s a start.

Clearing my throat, I look back at the menu. “You deserve a good dinner, too.”

A loud voice carries from across the room, and I glance over, grimacing when I realize who the voice belongs to. “Fuck, I thought this place had standards.” Seriously, this night is doomed.

“What?” Lavinia looks over her shoulder. “Who’s that?”

“One of Ashby’s little carbon copy fuckboys,” I grumble, but before I have a chance to elaborate, he sees me, eyes hardening. Without missing a beat, he strides across the restaurant in my direction, all swagger and cocksure grin. The blonde on his arm is sent to follow the hostess with a hard slap to her ass before Wicker stops at my table. “Perilini. Surprised to see you here. Isn’t this restaurant a bit out of your price range?”

Wicker Ashby is a member of PNZ, the Prince’s frat, and one of Rufus Ashby’s spawns.

Not genetically.

My lip curls distastefully. “Ashby.” His eyes flick to Lavinia, but for once tonight, my manners fail. This douchebag doesn’t rate an introduction.

Unfortunately, he disagrees. “Whitaker Ashby–my friends call me Wicker. And you’re Lavinia Lucia,” he says, eyes raking over her. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” The perfect, sparkling grin he flashes her makes my chest flare hot and possessive. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”

“And why’s that?” Lavinia asks, sweetly.

“Because I wanted to see the caliber of pussy that Bruin thought was worth killing one of our men over.”

My jaw clenches and the urge to rise out of my seat and pummel this piece of trash is intense.

But no.

I’m not letting this asshole ruin my date.

Sounding bored, I say, “Yeah, you’re going to have to be more specific.” Even though I know perfectly well who he’s talking about. “Nick has a twitchy finger when it comes to the Duchess.”

Lavinia gives him a sympathetic nod. “It’s a real problem. There have been interventions and everything.”

Wicker’s gaze moves from her to me. “Forgive me. I forgot with all the hits you take to that big, fat skull of yours, your memory probably isn’t up to par. Maybe a name will jog it.” His grin turns hard and cold. “Felix Ashby.”

“Ah, right,” I say, staring mournfully into my empty glass. “Felix. Poor bastard. To be fair, he did insult the Duchess.”

“And mistreated his cat!” Lavinia snaps, as if that alone is worth a death sentence. I mean, for her, it just might be. She is Nicky’s girl, after all. “He was obviously a piece of shit.”

“What’s this about, Wicker?” I ask. “Come to issue a threat? A warning? Because you’re not the first one to threaten us this week. You’re not even the first one to threaten us today. We’re fresh out of fucks.”

Crisply, he replies, “Like I said, I just wanted to see what drove Nick to murder.” He props his hand on the back of my chair while his eyes rake over Lavinia. “The three of you did pluck her out of a whorehouse. She must be fantastic at head for Bruin to be so whipped. I’d have to test it myself to be sure.” Pitching his voice to a seductive purr, he adds, “How about you join me tonight, sweetie? Plenty of space for a pretty little slut like you beneath my table.”

“What did you just say?” My vision turns red so fast that it’s like a freight train slamming into my sternum. I get halfway to jolting to my feet before Lavinia’s hand lands on my arm.

“Generous offer,” she says, smiling icily, “but we all know there’s a reason Princesses are contractually obligated to fuck you guys.” Lavinia tilts her head toward me, like she’s–very loudly–telling me a secret. “The word around that whorehouse is that East End dick is like getting railed by a soft taco.”

Wicker isn’t one to get provoked easily. He just shrugs a shoulder, easy as you please. “Don’t confuse East End with its blood royalty. The rest of us get to choose our lays. Like your sister, for instance.” He lifts his hand, kissing the tips of his forefinger and thumb. “Delicious cunt. Begged me for more.”

Something in Lavinia’s eyes shuts down, and it makes the storm inside of my chest grow wider, angrier. “You never fucked my sister. I know for a fact.”

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