Page 6 of Dukes of Peril

Remy turned.

While we were in the air, falling to what easily could have been our deaths, he turned so that he took the brunt of it. Right there, at the end of the world, he was protecting me.

“This one’s on me,” I explain. “Plus, I–I’ve done it before.”

Remy dips his chin in a nod. “Go ahead. I trust you.”

Nick and Sy help him onto the kitchen table and I gather my hair up, knotting it into a sloppy bun. “Sorry I only know the street-triage version of this. I’m sure a real Duchess knows the tendons and nerves and–”

“Vinny,” Remy cuts me off, green eyes holding mine. “You are a real Duchess.”

Nick holds his other shoulder, saying, “Just make it quick.”

Sy snatches a dish towel from a hook and twists it up, ordering Remy to, “Open wide.”

Remy bites down on it, wriggling his hips, taking a deep breath, and then he nods. His arm is warm, and for a second, I trace a vein on his bicep, praying to a god I don’t believe in that I don’t mess something up. Remy isn’t just a fighter. He’s an artist. The gravity of his trust slams into me and I’m momentarily paralyzed. This isn’t one of the North Side henchmen my father used to throw my way for a quick mending job. This is the man who put stars into my sky. The man who first showed me what it felt like to be touched with reverence. The man who looks at me as if I could save him, even though I can’t.

Do I have it in me to cause him pain?

Sy is gathering ice from the freezer, but Nick notices my hesitation.

“He can take it,” Nick insists. When I just stand there, Remy’s elbow cradled in my palm, Nick offers me a word of encouragement. Or at least, that’s what I think he’s going to do. Instead, in a voice blasé as ever, he says, “I bet Haley didn’t miss a beat when he whipped his dick out for her. I wonder if he kissed her first. Did you, Rem? Of course, you did. No way you get a girl on her knees without tasting her–”

I yank the arm upward violently.

Pop!

Remy’s scream is muffled into the towel, but his throat still swells with it, eyes clenched tight as his heel comes down hard on the table–once–twice.

Sy appears instantly with the bag of ice, pushing it into Remy’s shoulder. I flee the room more than anything, too exhausted–physically, emotionally, mentally–to untangle the look Remy gives me on the way out, full of anguish and hurt.

“Sorry,” Nick says, catching up to me in the hallway. “I just knew you needed–”

“I know,” I snap, immediately deflating. Quieter, I repeat, “I know.”

I pause, listening for Remy, but other than some basic swears hurled at Sy, he seems okay. Nick leads me deeper into the house, to a large bedroom on the main floor. A wall of windows overlooks the water, anemic morning light filtering in. The room is decorated in dark blues, but accented with warm golds. Like Nick said, these people are rich-rich. The bed is the most inviting thing I’ve ever seen, but tonight, I’m so tired, I’d happily take my nest up in the loft.

I turn to him before we walk in. “There’s something you need to know. My dad—the hit–it wasn’t on Remy.”

“It was on me.” Nick’s dark eyes take me in, and then he shrugs. “Your dad wanting to kill me isn’t anything new. Look at me, baby.” He holds up his arms, drawing my eyes to his broad chest. “Any girl I ended up bagging was going to have a pissed off father who wanted to kill me.” He reaches out, tucking his fingers into the waist of my pants, drawing me closer. “The way I see it, things are right on track. At this rate, we’ll be married by May.” The words are spoken with that sly, cocksure smirk that always makes my stomach flip, but I just shake my head.

“This isn’t a joke, Nick.”

He raises an eyebrow, reaching for my hand. “Who’s joking?”

I look down as he touches the ring around my thumb. My heart skips at the reminder I’m still wearing his Bruin ring. So fucking careless. This thing has probably been passed down since his great-great-grand-whatever. It could have gotten lost in the water, forever abandoned in the river bed.

Hastily, I tug it off, pressing it into his palm. “You should be wearing this, Nick.”

When I glance back up, his face is sharp and severe. “I gave it to you.”

“And you shouldn’t have,” I stress, just as sharply. “You’re a Bruin. You’re aDuke. And you’re the next in line to lead them.” I shove the tip of my forefinger into his chest. “You’re West End’s only hope of fixing this fucked-up ecosystem, Nick. You don’t give something like this away. You harness it. You fucking own it.”

He scoffs. “Big words coming from North Side’s only surviving heir.”

“North Side doesn’t want me, and I sure as hell don’t want them,” I point out, holding his gaze. “But West End? I’ve seen you, Nick. You’re one of them. You have the name, but you also have the spirit. You have the chance to maybe build something here. Something worth half a shit. Something that lasts.” Just in case that’s not enough to drive it home, I add, “Something for us. All of us.”

Nick watches me, looking all at once confused and annoyed. “What are you saying? You want me to be King?”

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