Page 88 of Dukes of Peril

Laura shoots me a dark look, whispering, “Here we go…”

Behind me, Kathleen clucks her tongue. “Boys are such babies, I swear.”

Bruce snaps, “This is fucking bullshit!” and then peers around Sy, revealing a bruised, swollen eye that fixes on Nick. “You're going to let him do this, Bruin? You’re the one wearing the ring. You make the rules!”

Nick doesn’t even look at him, shoulders pressed back against a pillar as he shrugs. “I’ve also got a victory.”

“You already got your ass kicked once tonight,” Sy adds, jerking his chin out toward the street. “Walk it off somewhere else before you get another one.”

One of the DKS guys must approach Bruce from outside, because we suddenly hear an exasperated, “Come on, dude. It’s one party, you’ll live.”

Over the last few weeks, Bruce has become a major pain in the ass. Outwardly defiant to Nick’s leadership, hostile about my position, and well, that showing tonight was just embarrassing.

“I’m a senior,” he shouts. Sy moves just enough that I can see Bruce out on the sidewalk, face red with an unattractive blue vein throbbing on his forehead. “Like you said, I’m a fucking legacy, Perilini. I have just as much right to be in there as you do.”

“That’s right.” From my vantage, I only catch the knot in the back of Sy’s jaw hardening, but I can perfectly imagine the daggers he must be glaring into Bruce’s eyes. “You think I’d have the disrespect–the fucking dishonor–to walk through these doors after a loss? Then you don’t know shit.” Like me, he’s probably remembering that beating he took from Saul’s goons. We didn’t spend three days holed up in the Crane Motor Inn like fugitives for some entitled shithead to question Sy’s loyalty to traditions.

But Remy’s the one who says it, back stiffening as he saunters to the door. “Sy’s never broken the Dukes’ tradition. Notonce. And he sure as fuck isn’t about to break it for you.”

Bruce’s mouth curves into an ugly, bitter smirk. “Not once, huh?” His eyes flick to me, making my own narrow in response. When the other guy goes to tug him away, Bruce shakes him off, turning his head to aim a glob of spit at the sidewalk. “Fuck it, then. Your parties have sucked ass since day one, anyway.” With a final flip of his middle finger, Bruce ambles away.

“Coming through!”Ballsack and Porterfield push through the crowd, carrying the keg from the back room. The guys already went through one, and that doesn’t include the punch Kathleen made in a giant paint bucket or the row of shots lined up on the bar reserved for the winners.

That’s where Nick is now, leaning against the bar with a bag of ice in one hand and a shot in the other. He catches my eye from across the room and gives me a wink before swallowing it back.

Even though I’m stone cold sober, the lick of heat in my belly makes me feel like I’m the one that just took the shot.

“If you’d told me three months ago that you’d tame all three Dukes, I wouldn’t have believed it.” Laura follows my line of vision. “But you did it. I have no idea how.”

I shift uncomfortably. “Tame seems like a little bit of an exaggeration.”

Across the room, Remy waves the winner of the first fight, Kaczinski, over to the chair to get his victory tattoo. He’s loose in a way I haven’t seen him before. The glint of wildness is missing from his eye, but it’s replaced by a clarity so intense that when he catches my gaze, I feel trapped, my skin suddenly tight.

“I don’t know,” she adds as I take a sip of beer, “taming one bear isn’t easy, but three? You must have a magic pussy or something.”

I choke on the beer, first in surprise, then on a laugh. When I recover, I say, “It’s not like riding their dicks is a chore,” and the admission is made so casually, so unthinkingly, that my stomach seizes in shock.

I wait for the wave of shame, as if I’m betraying myself by confessing something like that, but it never comes. It’s just the truth. These men are mine now, for better or for worse, and I’ve already had their ‘worse’.

No one deserves their ‘better’ more than me.

“I bet it isn’t.” Her eyes flick to Sy, who’s over by the door talking to a group of guys. From their strong gestures, I’m guessing they’re reenacting some prior fight. His cheeks are ruddy with the flush of liquor, and all I can think about is getting him naked. Again. “But you’re the first to tap that, so bravo.”

‘Tapping’ isn’t quite what’s happening, but I’m not telling Laura that. We’re getting closer, spending time every night warming up my body and stretching me out. Although, ever since Remy showed Sy how to curve his finger to find my G-spot and turn me into a puddle of liquefied heat, it’s hard to get him to focus on anything but that.

I glance at Laura, trying to decide if I need to handle another jealous cutslut, but she’s making eyes at Ballsack across the room. I tip my drink toward him. “You guys have something going on?” The thought all at once warms and terrifies me. Ballsack is a nice guy. Loyal. Sweet. He deserves someone who’ll be good to him.

Laura looks like she wants to eat him up. “Some girls won’t waste their time on recruits, but what can I say? I like the ones that need a little breaking-in.”

The way she and Ballsack exchange a long look makes me believe her. Even more so when a few seconds later, she pushes her empty cup into my hand and says, “Later, Lavvy. I’m going to go find a dark corner and ride his face.”

“Bring him back in one piece?” I call, looking down at her discarded cup. Nick catches me just as I reach the trash can, intending to toss it in.

“Babe, you know we have recruits to clean up.” Taking the trash from my hand, he drops it right onto the floor like the slob he is. “Besides, I have another job for you. Much higher priority.”

My eyes narrow as they dip down, watching his thumb work the button on his jeans. “That’s not a job, Nick. It’s a career.”

His mouth curves into a wicked smirk. “Oh, Little Bird, you should know by now that fucking me is pleasure, not work.” He leans in and licks the seam of my lips, pushing his tongue into my mouth. It tastes sharp, like tequila and fire, and he uses it to speak against my lips. “I need my victory ink.”

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