Page 87 of Dukes of Peril

“You don’t know shit.”

I search his face, trying to figure out what it is about him. It’s something just beneath the surface. He tries hard to hide it, and most of the time, I’m betting he does a pretty convincing job.

It only takes a couple seconds for me to find it.

Desperation.

I grin wider, showing my teeth. “Too bad you don’t have the title that earns you the chance. Featured matches are for Royals only.” Coolly, I add, “RealRoyals. Not cheap knock-off orphans of Roy–”

As expected, he lunges, meeting the force of my palms as I slam him back toward the wall. It’d probably be a nice fight too–a better warmup than hitting the bag could ever be–but then his King steps into the hallway.

Ashby pauses, looking between the four of us, and Wicker suddenly goes rigid. His dad’s eyes pass right over him though, landing on Verity. “Whittaker,” he says, not sparing me a second glance. “I came to tell you what a good fight you had, but I see you’re not quite finished with the last round.”

Wicker raises his chin, shaking out his fists. “Just playing in the dumpster a bit.”

Ashby gives Lavinia and Verity a cold grin. “Excuse my boy. His appetites are legion.” He shifts his gaze from the women and raises his hand, two fingers extended in a small wave. “Come, Whittaker. Since you won the fight, you’re invited to my box as my personal guest.”

Wicker’s shoulders ease, but his smug expression stays firmly in place. “Perfect. I’ll have an excellent view of you getting demolished on the mat.”

It’s an empty threat, but Wicker Ashby isn’t my concern. I have a bigger prince to ruin.

Once they’re gone, Lavinia turns to Verity, frowning. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Verity exhales. Despite the bluster she’d shown before, her hand gives a tremble when she lifts it to tuck her hair behind an ear. “Thanks for stepping in. That was getting… intense.”

Lavinia holds her gaze, her words strong and clear. “I’ve always got your back, Verity. I’d never let anyone fuck with you and the other girls.” She shoots me a pointed look. “And neither would your Dukes.”

It’s only then that I let my gun go, flexing my tense fingers. “Never.”

15

Lavinia

The girlsand I all must look ridiculous as everyone begins the walk from the gym to the tower, arms wrapped around ourselves, huddled close for warmth. It’s late, but the boys’ rowdy celebration pings off nothing but empty warehouses and vacant buildings, so Nick and Sy just grin, leading the pack toward the tall building a few streets over.

I find myself staring at it in the distance, my neck craned up as the darkened clock face grows closer and closer. Odd to think there was a time I stood here on the street, right in front of it, so intimidated by the sheer enormity of it that my stomach roiled.

Now, the sight of it unwinds me.

Home.

One by one, we all pack through the doors–the Dukes and I first, then Kaczinski, tonight’s other winner. He whoops as he comes through, slamming palms with a few other DKS boys, then they all head up the stairs.

I hang back to wait for my guys, engaged in an idle discussion about holiday break with Laura. She plans to drive south with one of the other girls to see a concert, but it doesn’t really mean much to me. What am I going to do, go home for Thanksgiving? Christmas?

Yeah.

Fat chance of that.

I’m caught in a thought loop of mashed potatoes and murder when Sy suddenly shoots forward, blocking the doors.

Planting a palm on each side of the entry, he asks, “Where do you think you’re going?” He leans forward, posture both casual and threatening. “You know the rules.”

I feel the sudden tension more than I see it, an uneasy hush falling over the foyer as everyone cranes their necks to watch.

“You can’t be serious,” comes a sharp voice I recognize all too well.Bruce. The only parts of him visible through the blockade of Sy’s body is the curled fist at his side. “The only reason Kaczinski won was because I’ve been training him!”

Sy’s broad shoulders twitch in a shrug. “He won. You didn’t. You’re a legacy, Bruce, you know the deal.”

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