Page 7 of Dukes of Peril

“I want you to be alive,” I say. “As a Duke, as a King–I don’t care about titles. I just know this is bigger than me.” I close my fingers over his, curling his fist around the ring.

“You’re wrong,” he replies, searching my eyes. “But if that’s what you want...”

There’s something in his eyes when he puts the ring back on. Disappointment, perhaps. Maybe even some of that hurt I’d seen in Remy’s eyes back in the kitchen. It’s a strange feeling. I finally have the power to hurt these three, and I’m gaining zero enjoyment from it.

He nudges me against the doorjamb, and his fingers reach out, tracing along my neck. “All I care about is that you’re safe.”

“I’m fine,” I tell him, although it’s followed by a massive shudder. It’s not as much about the cold as the sudden release of tension. All the tears I’ve been holding onto fill the corners of my eyes. “I swear I tried to get him out of there safely,” I whisper, needing Nick to know this. Remy hurt me, but it’d never once crossed my mind to leave him there. “I’d almost done it. I talked him off the edge, and then his fucking dad showed up.” Shaking my head, I swat at the falling tear. “He threatened to send him away to some long-term hospital, and then–”

His body tenses. “That’s not going to happen.”

I cut my eyes at him. “You can’t promise that. These men are too powerful and fucking deranged.”

“Hey,” he says, fingers curling around my neck. His ring digs against my skin. “If deranged is a criteria, then I’ve got us covered. Plus, Sy is the most powerful man I know. And Remy? He’s stronger than you think.” He presses his forehead against mine. “Especially with you in his life.”

I don’t know how Remy is going to handle all of this once the dust settles. I don’t know howI’mgoing to handle it, but just having Nick here, having Sy and Remy in the other room, makes me feel like it’s possible.

“Thank you,” I say, trying to keep my eyes open, “for coming for me.”

“I made the mistake of letting you go once,” he says, guilt etched into his features. “Once, Little Bird. It’ll never happen again.”

2

Nick

I don’t helpher shower.

I sit on the bench in front of the bed and spin the ring on my finger, round and round, listening to the sounds of water hitting her naked body. If things were different–if I were actually fucking normal–I’d be thinking about this ring, and how, for the first time, I feel the weight of its responsibility. I’d be thinking about this hit out on my ass. I’d be wondering what to do about it and when to make a move.

Instead, I’m thinking of her skin.

Consuming it. Biting it. Claiming it. Making her bleed just so I can swallow it down, giving her a home inside of me. It takes a level of willpower I don’t have to stop myself from bursting into that bathroom, slamming her up against the tiles, and fucking her until she’s black and blue.

It’s not because I’m horny–although I absolutely fucking am, twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five. It’s because my mind keeps going over seeing that dot in the river. A vision of her had settled in my mind, dead and cold and still. Maybe someone like Sy or Remy could react to that with romance and tenderness, but my fucked-to-shit lizard brain wants nothing more than to poke her, just to see if she twitches. It wants blood and tears andlife. It wants to shoot my cum inside of her and know, deep down, that it’s meant to be there.

I ball my fist, the ring digging into my palm, and resist the urge.

She walks out twenty minutes later, and the first thing I do when I see her standing there, swimming in some rich fucker’s oversized sweater, is whip off my shirt.

“Take it off.” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, but she doesn’t flinch. Not because of me. Not anymore.

She gives me this little exasperated sigh and lifts the sweater over her head. “It’s cold, Nick.”

But she doesn’t fight when I lower my shirt over her head, wet hair dripping little dots into the dark fabric. I pull it down over the swell of her chest, but my hands go right beneath it, palming her tits idly, letting myself be comforted by their warmth.

“Get some rest.” I say this as if my lips aren’t suddenly on her neck, thumbs caressing her nipples into peaks. It really isn’t fair. She’s barely been mine for a day. I haven’t even had time to explore what that means, how far she’ll let me take it.

She isn’t pushing me away.

Clenching my jaw, I force myself to let her go. To guide her into the bed. To lift the blankets around her shoulders and watch the heaviness of her eyelids as she settles on her side, a palm between her cheek and the pillow.

The feeling that tugs at my chest at the sight of her so small and weary is different than it used to be. I saw her like this plenty back in our old Crane Motel days. Restless, yet somehow still tired. Weighed down and deflated. I used to imagine taking her away from that place, but there wasn’t anything noble about it. I’d just wanted to own her. Didn’t much care what condition she came in.

Now, I just want to make the darkness haunting her eyes go away.

When I go to move away, she grabs for me, wide eyes flashing to mine. “You’re leaving?”

“Responsibilities.” Unthinkingly, I lace our fingers together, letting her feel the metal of the ring between our knuckles. “Remember?”

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