5. EXILE
5
EXILE
“ S ay the word, brother, and he’s gone.” Nick holds the gun at arm’s length and squints, counting the bullets in the chamber. He and everyone else in the room are cloaked in a haze of red. “They probably haven’t even left the parking lot.”
“Jesus,” I hiss at the splash of rubbing alcohol and wince at the pain. That Prince pussy brought a knife to a fistfight. I should let Nick go after him, but not yet. If anyone is going to take him down, it’s going to be me and not with a bullet. “Fuck! What the hell, Pauly?”
“Put the gun down,” Sy says, forehead creased with worry. His eyes dart from the wound to our medic-slash-trainer. “You sure nothing internal got nicked?”
“Seems clean,” he says, poking around. Pauly’s a lot of things, but a gentle touch isn’t one of them. When he hits a tender spot, I fall back on the table and groan.
“Son of a bitch!”
“Here,” Vinny says, thrusting a bottle toward me. Her soft hand cups the back of my head and tilts it up, pouring the whiskey on my tongue. The burn feels nice as it goes down my throat. She pushes my hair off my forehead, and I tug her down, wanting her lips on mine. Our tongues mingle, the taste of whiskey shared between us. Blue starts to mingle with the red, turning purple. Fuck yes. That , more than anything, makes the pain slip away.
“Better?” she asks after Pauly clears his throat, forcing her away.
I look up at her, at the glare of white coming off my girl, peaceful and true. “Hey, if I can survive being stabbed by you, I can take a little swipe by that prick.”
She grimaces, but I know she doesn’t regret sticking me in the gut. I may have had it coming. Things were complicated then.
“I’ve got something better than Jack,” Pauly says, looking up from his needle and thread. The tremor that often runs through his hands isn’t present, thank God. “Perc, Oxy, Scratch?—”
“No.” Sy’s response is firm. Unrelenting. “Absolutely fucking not.”
“I’m off all that shit.” I reach for my girl and tug down the little skirt she’s wearing. My thumb finds the star, and I brush over it. “But thanks for offering.”
I don’t miss the look between Sy and Nick. Pauly’s stash will be gone before the night’s over. Flushed down the can. Oh well. With the way Scratch has been flooding the streets lately, I’m sure his stock will be back up soon. When my girl blew up her daddy’s house to smithereens, the cockroaches survived and took shelter elsewhere.
Lav holds my hand and feeds me whiskey while he stitches me up. I watch the needle work its way in and out of my skin and shake my head. “I can’t believe I let that kid get me with a knife. I didn’t see it coming.”
“Well, you should have,” Nick says, fidgeting with the supplies on Pauly’s worktable. “He couldn’t beat you fair. That’s the only goddamn reason to bring a knife to a fistfight.”
“Are you saying you couldn’t have beaten Perez?” I smirk.
“ That was a message.” He slides over to Vinny and pulls her hair off her neck, bending to suck her skin. “To everyone.”
Her nipples peak from his kiss, hardening under her shirt. I’d call him on his bullshit, but if it weren’t for Nick and his obsessive ways, Vinny wouldn’t be in our lives. His blue eyes are on me, and I feel a shift in his energy. “What?”
“You realize you can’t come in the tower tonight, right?”
“Fuck that.” Sure, the rules say that if you lose a Fury you can’t come in the tower. But I’m a fucking Duke, not some cub. That’s my home. My bed. My girl.
I look toward Sy and his expression isn’t helpful. “He’s right, man. Three days.”
“You’re not serious,” I argue. “He cheated!”
“Those are the rules,” Pauly says, looping the thread and making a knot. He snips them with the scissors and nods at his work. “Always have been, always will.”
“Oh, suddenly you’re the expert?” I snap. Pauly’s history is murky as fuck.
“I got my ass kicked by Daniel Payne sophomore year.”
“Daniel Payne.” Nick’s expression is incredulous.
“Yep.”
“You’re serious?” I ask, bringing up the image of that suit-wearing, scummy business man.
“Back in the day, Payne was like his son, a football player for the team. Not as big as Killian but big enough and that fucker was faster than he looked for a guy his size. I had to spend three nights on a friend’s couch.”
“Girl friend or guy friend?” Nick asks, eyebrow raised.
He smirks. “That information is in the vault, my friend.”
“Whatever.” I’m not interested in Pauly’s sob story. He got his ass kicked by Daniel Payne of all people. I got stabbed by a cheating ex-con. Slowly, I swing my legs over the side of the table, fighting a groan. Jesus Christ. This hurts a lot more when I’m not flying high. Sy loops his arm beneath mine and eases me off the table. “I’m good.” The three of them share a look. “Fine. It hurts like a motherfucker, but you’re right. Three days is the rule. I can do it.”
Vinny steps forward. “I’ll go with you.”
“Yeah?” I ask, feeling a bit of the anger dissipate.
“Come again?” Nick says, already shaking his head. “There’s no fucking way you’re going out there with Remy. It’s fucking dangerous enough for a Duke to be homeless for three days, but you too?—”
“Remy is my Duke as much as you are.” She cuts him off in a way no other person dare speak to him. “He needs my help and I’m trained for it. Won’t be the first time I’ve nursed one of my men back to health.” No one misses the look she gives Sy. “And as much as I hate to say it, probably won’t be the last.”
Sy grabs her by the waist and pulls her against his body. “You’ll have eyes on you every minute of the day,” he tells her, “but if you need anything, call us, okay?”
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Nick shouts, “you’re seriously letting your Duchess, basically your Queen, roam the streets with a loser?” He cuts me a look. “No offense.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t pretend like you’re worried. We can handle ourselves. You’re just pissed she’s not sleeping in your bed tonight.”
“Damn straight I am.” Nick turns to Vinny and pouts. “Baby–”
“I’m going,” she reiterates. “I can take care of it—” she glances at me and quirks her lips, “him.”
Sy grunts, brushing his lips across hers, and presses something into the palm of her hand. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I’m not okay with this.” Nick lifts his foot and rests it on the metal chair next to the table. He pulls a knife out of his boot and holds it out to Vinny. “But if you’re going to be stupid, take this.”
“I’m armed, Nick.”
A slow grin spreads across his face. “Of course you are, Little Bird, but for my sanity, take the knife.”
She holds out her hand, and he grabs her by the wrist, dragging her against his body. His hand cups the back of her neck, pulling her by the hair until she’s looking up at him. “Stay safe. I don’t have time to go on a vengeance murder spree right now.”
His mouth covers hers, hard and possessing, and my dick twitches wanting in on the action, but then a twinge of pain from my side joins in and I think I may throw up.
Bending down, Nick tucks the knife into her boot and then releases her to me. Vinny wraps her arm around my waist, and I try not to lean into her as we walk to the back door. “Hey,” I call to my brothers. “No one gets ink while I’m gone. That’s my job.”
The last thing I need is some other guy encroaching on my territory.
“Got it, bro,” Sy says. “See you in three days.”
The door closes and the two of us are alone in the back alley. I’m tired, sore, and probably a little drunk.
“What now?” I ask, pushing her hair off her cheek.
She holds up the object Sy passed her. It’s a set of keys. One to his car, the other older, bulky, and made of brass. The letters ‘RG’ are engraved on the side. There’s a reason Simon is king.
He’s always one step ahead.
I manage to not just stay awake as Lav drives through West End, but to give her coherent directions. “Are we staying with Jade?” she asks, pulling the SUV to the curb. My friend Jade’s storefront is across the street. “It doesn’t look like she’s open.”
The shop’s windows are dark–as they should be. It’s late. The Fury wasn’t over until well after midnight, and then I had to get stitched up. The only sign of life on the street is the faint strains of music coming from the dive bar down the road. I shift in the seat, trying not to grunt at the radiating heat in my gut. I jerk my chin to the four-story building I had her park in front of. “We’re staying here.”
“An abandoned building?” She peers out the window. “What does that old sign say? Royal…”
“Gazette. It’s the old newspaper building.”
Vinny gives me a look. “What are we doing here?”
“Remember when the lawyer came by and gave Sy all that paperwork from Saul’s estate?” I ask, resting my hand on her thigh.
“Yeah. He shoved it in a drawer and ignored it.”
It’d sat there for weeks, a darkness radiating from the closed drawer. Like Sy, I thought it was best to just pretend it wasn’t there–but avoidance is my nature. Nick on the other hand wouldn’t let that shit go. He was dying to know what was in there, probably because he worked so closely with the King in South Side that he had an idea of what may be in there.
He wasn’t wrong.
“Nicky finally made him take it to his parents and they helped him go through it.” This isn’t really my story to tell, but Sy’s the one that gave her the keys. “Turns out he inherited more than just Saul’s ring and title. There were bank accounts, investments, business holdings, not to mention bills that needed to be paid, and... ” I nod to the building, “properties. This is one of them.”
“A dusty, abandoned, newspaper building?”
“Well sure,” I admit, “but Saul was using it as a little hidey-hole for his current fuck buddy.”
She makes a face at the term, but it is what it is. Saul had no wife–no one ever met his standards. He didn’t have the need to keep his rotating lovers secret, but he was a controlling bastard. Keeping some girl, probably a student–, a virgin, and with enough royal blood to satisfy his kink–, tucked away in an abandoned building to meet his needs is on brand. Fucker.
“I mean, I guess I’m not surprised. My father definitely had investments, and Saul had to do something with all that gun money.” She unbuckles her seat belt. “How’s Sy handling it?”
“With a quiet fury,” I say with a laugh. “He hasn’t said much to me or Nicky either. I think he’s still processing everything that comes with leadership. You know what they say, ‘It’s not easy being King’,”
Vinny climbs out of the car and walks around to the passenger side, opening my door and helping me out. It takes everything in me not to cry like a fucking baby from the pain.
Vinny’s arm is back around my waist, and her body is warm, and despite her size, strong. She angles us toward the door and takes the key from me, shoving it into the lock. It takes a minute, but the lock gives, and a moment later we’re inside. The lights work, and I jerk my chin down the hall.
“There’s an elevator.” Lav hesitates. “Aw, fuck, Vin.”
I’m a dick.
“It’s fine,” she promises.
I shake my head. “We can take the stairs. It’s only four flights.”
“No, you can’t. You’re barely upright,” she says. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “We’ve got this.”
Once her mind is made up, Vinny works fast, getting us inside and helping me lean against the wall. Through gritted teeth, I tell her “Top floor.” She takes another deep breath, stabs the button, and the doors slide shut. I squeeze her hand and say, “Hey…”
She looks up at me, eyes wide, and I distract her the only way I know how. I kiss the hell out of her.
The box zooms upward, but all I feel is the pinch of her nails in my forearms as she holds onto me and heat of her tongue in my mouth. My cock joins in, trying to break free of my shorts. She tastes so good. Feels so good. Better than a million hits of scratch. With my good side, I lift my hand to cup her breast but the elevator jerks to a stop, and the bell dings, ending the ride. Thank fuck, because my legs are about to give out, and my abdomen feels like it’s being stabbed by not just one blade but a million.
At least I got to feel her boob.
“You okay?” I ask as she helps me out.
“Yeah.” She grins. “We did it.”
“Fuck yeah, we did.” I sway to the side, and she catches me. “Oh, shit.”
“Bed?” she asks.
“That door over there.” I don’t even take in where we are, the room growing hazy around me, but I feel her hand in mine.
The last thing I remember before falling asleep is soft sheets and the feel of Vinny next to me, content with the knowledge that despite losing tonight, wherever she is, I’m home.
“Turn over.”
She rolls across the mattress, exposing her backside to me, and I press the soft felt tip against her skin. She’s in tight little shorts and a tank pushed up around her neck—both delivered by Jade. There’s no way she got Vinny’s size wrong, so I’m taking the skimpy outfit as a get-well-soon present. The knife wound continues to hurt like a motherfucker but the injury had no effect on my cock, which has been somewhere between half and full erect since we got here.
Unfortunately, someone doesn’t want me to overexert myself, and I’ve had no fucking relief.
We’re two days into exile, holed up in Saul’s lover’s old apartment on the top floor of the Gazette. It’s not too shabby, with an updated kitchen, bath and bedroom with a nice-sized bed. There’s at least one other room, and an office, but I haven’t had time to explore much since I slept the whole first day. The only time I was awake was when Vinny gave me antibiotics and forced me to eat and drink. It hurts less in my sleep—the wound and my pride.
Today I feel a little better, and my hands are twitching, eager to get moving. If Vinny isn’t going to let me finger her sweet pussy, then I’ll do the next best thing: mark her up.
I start my work up at the brand and move out, creating a constellation of Orion–visible on clear nights right now. Propped on her elbows, Vinny holds a brittle, yellowing newspaper between her hands. Our circumstances may not be ideal, but the unlimited supply of reading material has my girl pretty content.
“Jesus Christ.” She abruptly sets the paper down. “Just when I think Forsyth can’t get any more fucked up.”
“What are you talking about?” I connect the lines between the stars in the dip of her lower back.
Her neck turns, looking back at me. “Did you know there was a serial killer active in the city about twenty years ago?”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, he even had a creepy moniker: The Forsyth Carver.”
Well, that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. “Knife kink, huh?”
“Apparently.” She picks up the paper again and starts reading, “‘ Police have identified what they believe is the sixth victim of the brutal killer coined The Forsyth Carver. The nickname was earned because of the nature of the murders, where the victims were methodically tortured with a sharp blade. A source told the Gazette that the most recent body was discovered along a hiking path on the edge of the University, near the river. At the time of this report, the police have no suspects, suggesting that students take caution and travel together ’.”
“Fuck, that’s dark.” I place a hand on her back, forcing her to still. Reading gets her all worked up. “But I can’t say I’m surprised. Forsyth seems like fertile ground for a homegrown killer.”
“You know, I bet my father knew about it.” She props herself on one elbow, giving me a flash of side-tit. Furrowing her forehead, she adds, “And your dad.”
I grunt because, yeah, probably.
“I mean, who’s to say one of them wasn’t the killer?” she continues, her mind exploding with theories. “We know they’re both sociopaths.”
“Add in Saul, Rufus, and Daniel…” I place a hand on her side, fingers grazing the underneath of her boob, and push her back over so I can add the final star. “You’ve got enough for a Royal line-up.”
“Yeah, but none of them seem like the type to move around in secret,” she admits. “Those bastards like to do their torturing and murdering in the wide open.”
“Well, did they ever solve it?” I ask, capping my pen and rising to my knees to get a good look at my work.
“I haven’t gotten that far yet.” She reaches for another newspaper from the stack beside the bed, but I lean forward, grabbing her wrist. “Hey!”
“Sorry, Vin, but we can follow up on your serial killer later.” I fight past the lingering pain in my gut and press a kiss to her shoulder, fingers grazing over the fresh ink. “I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”
Her breath hitches when I lightly touch her sides. Vinny gets me, but she’ll never understand what it’s like to connect my art with her body. She turns every stroke into a living creature. Sure, the same could be said about all the tattoos I’ve inked on people, but she’s the only woman who carries my marks all over her body, permanent and temporary.
She’s my muse.
Vinny shifts, looking over her shoulder. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. I can cough without wanting to cry.”
“That’s progress.” Her pink lips lift into a smile. Fuck, I just want to kiss her. Well, not just kiss her. I want to bury my cock deep inside her tight little pussy and spend the rest of our time here in fucked out bliss. If she has the same idea, she rejects it, and says, “I should probably check your wound and change the bandage.”
She stands, pulling down the thin tank. Deny me all she wants, my girl is horny. Her nipples poke against the cotton, dark shadows taunting me and I know if I touch her between her legs, she’ll be wet. I watch as she walks over to the bathroom, the booty shorts inching up with every move. Thank you, Jade. She returns with the first-aid kit.
“Lean back,” she says, nodding at the headboard. Every movement still hurts, but I follow directions. Once settled, she glances down at my cock, tenting in my pants. “Seriously?”
“It’s been two days, babe, and I can see your nipples and your shorts keep riding up your ass. This boner is totally your fault.” Two strokes is all it’d take, and I’d come hard and quick.
“It’s not my fault Jade sent over these clothes. They’re cute, and I appreciate it, but she clearly underestimates my size.” She tugs at the tank, trying to cover her belly, but all it does is make her tits spill out the top.
“There are ways we can fix the boner, you know, other than changing clothes,” I give my cock a good squeeze, “which wouldn’t make one bit of difference.”
“This isn’t just a cockblock,” she informs me. “As much as I’ve improved with my nursing duties, I don’t want to redo Pauly’s stitches.”
I look down at them. “They’re tight, right?”
“He’s got a shockingly steady hand.”
I take her hand and rest it on my cock. “Your hand feels pretty steady to me.” She squeezes the hard length before pulling away and rolling her eyes.
“Really, though,” I tell her, “you’re getting good at this. Better than what I had growing up at least.”
“Who cleaned you up then?” She wipes down the stitches with antiseptic. “
I shrug. “Mostly nannies, I guess. I had this one, Justyna, who was around during the skateboard years, when I came home busted up almost every day.”
“Justyna is a pretty name.”
“She was from Greece. She was super into holistic shit, making her own medicines and salves with herbs and plants. She had a whole section in the greenhouse for it.” I wrinkle my nose. “I swear I smelled like compost for a year. Total game killer.”
“I’m sure,” she says, rolling her eyes, before dropping her gaze to focus on changing my bandage. “Was she nice?”
“I guess.” I narrow my eyes. “You jealous of someone else taking care of me?”
“After our mom…” she swallows, “died, we had nannies too. Most of ours were young—au pairs, from like France or Switzerland.” She pulls the backing off the adhesive. “I’m pretty sure that was more for my father’s benefit than ours.” She spreads the adhesive over my skin, fingers gentle. “They were all attractive and generally inexperienced. I just figured maybe you had a few hot nannies of your own.”
I snort. “The opposite, actually. Grandmotherly, Mrs. Doubtfire types. I guess it makes sense now, knowing that my father’s the Baron King.” Who has a reputation for cozying up to the much younger Baroness. The pieces of my childhood are easier to click into place now that I know his true identity. He never needed my mother, not when he’s had an endless string of house girls at his disposal over the years. It was well known in royal circles that the Baroness belonged to the masked Baron King first, and the current crop of barons, second. With that perspective, it begs the question, who needs to fuck the nanny when you’ve got a girl contractually bound at your whim? Apparently not my father.
“And your mom?” she asks, putting away the supplies. “Was she ever around?”
I lean back against the pillow. “Nah. She was never really part of my life. We mostly went to see her.”
“At the hospital?”
I nod. I don’t talk very much about my mom, Amber, very much. Why would I? She’s just another thing taken from me by my father. Another secret and mystery. Is anything I know about her real? My father deals in lies; I can’t trust anything he’s ever told me.
“That must have been hard.” She inches up the bed, curving her body against my side. She’s careful not to touch my stomach, although I’d give anything for her to counteract the pain.
“We had to visit Amber at rehab once or twice. It was… not great.” I can still remember walking down the long corridor, the walls a muddy brown, a sign of the chaotic emotions locked inside. “The hospital wasn’t so bad—I guess that’s what money gets you.” I push down her shorts, seeking the star. “Lots of sunlight and open spaces. Amber… she just always seemed kind of out of it, like half in this world and half in another.” I recognize the irony here. When I’m off my meds, it feels the same. “There was always this tension between her and my dad.” So much orange. “I’m not sure why he never divorced her.”
I know why: control.
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“It’s been a while. He moved her farther away.” Like he’s always trying to keep her out of reach. “It’s fine. It’s hard to miss what you never had.”
She leans into me and kisses me. Soft and gentle, which is nice, but fuck, I miss hard and ruthless. It’s been nice having her here alone, but also a misery, not being able to have her like I want.
I may not be able to get off right now without busting a stitch, but there’s no reason my girl can’t. I push my fingers down the front of her pants, running them down the curve of her body until I find her clit. She’s warm, and it only takes a few strokes to get her wet.
“Rem,” she breathes, “I don’t want you to?—”
“I’m going to,” I reply, licking into her mouth, “and I’m not stopping until you come so hard, they’ll hear your screams down on the street.” I pull away. “Now be a good girl and take off those shorts so I can eat your pussy.”
Her gaze grows heated, and she actually cooperates, easing out of the tiny shorts. I inch down the headboard and lie on my back. She climbs on top, straddling my hips. “Is this okay?”
I reach out and push her tank up, exposing those pretty tits. “There we go.” I gesture her forward. “Come here.”
She’s careful around the wound, but I can smell her as she inches closer–see the slick residue between her thighs. “Fuck, I just want to taste you.” I run my fingers over her clit. She’s bare, skin soft and supple. Parting her folds, I give her a slow, teasing lick. Her pelvis bucks, and I clamp my hands around her hips, guiding her down, getting the first taste.
Fucking heaven.
Her groan bounces off the high ceilings, and she grabs the headboard with both hands. The view from beneath her is a dream, her tits heaving with every thrust. I’d stare at them all day but I’m too consumed with how hot her pussy is against my tongue.
Once she finds a rhythm, she breathes, “Remy, I’m close.”
“Not yet,” I command, pulling my mouth away and dipping my fingers into the sloppy heat of her pussy. I wet my fingertips, then grip her ass, pulling her cheeks apart, seeking her tight, puckered rim. Making tiny circles, I warm her up, testing to make sure she’s ready.
“You’re wicked,” she tells me, pussy thrusting desperately at my face. I flick out my tongue, giving her a tease.
“Baby, you’ve been toying with me for two fucking days playing nursemaid. This is just a little payback.” I push in a finger, and she moans as I stretch her out. “You want more?”
“Mmhmm.” Her words are lost as she bites down on her bottom lip, head nodding furiously. It’s time to give my girl what she wants, sliding in another finger and spreading her hole. Swiping my tongue flat over her pussy, I cover her with heat. My fingers chase her thrusts, fucking in and out. Her breath comes in short gasps, slipping into a groan when I feel the tremor run through her body as she gets closer and closer.
Then I do what I’ve been itching to do this whole time–the thing we do the best–fall off the edge to oblivion.
Lavinia
It’s day three, and I finally convinced Remy to leave the comfort of the top-floor apartment. Although he doesn’t need to overdo it, it is important to keep his body moving, and I figured exploring the building a little more couldn’t hurt. I take him straight to the Gazette archives.
“You’re addicted.” He gives me the once-over. “I can see it on your face.”
“I’m not addicted,” I bite back. Although, obsessed may be the correct word. What started as a distraction from boredom ended with me going down the rabbit hole. Now I can’t stop digging through these old papers and reading up on The Forsyth Carver.
“It seems like he was active–on and off–for three or four years.” I push through the door of the room that has a plaque identifying it as ‘The Morgue’ on it. The scent of musty, dried-out newspaper slams into us. This is where I’ve spent most of my time while Remy has been recovering. There are no corpses here, like the Barons’ crypts, just the dead stories of old Forsyth. “He liked co-eds, particularly ones with royal affiliations. Not actual royalty, but women the community would be less focused on.”
“Like the girls at The Hideaway,” he muses, looking around the dusty room.
I nod. “Or the girls in the Princesses’ court.”
“Vipers from North Side.”
“Or a cutslut.” My forehead creases. “Like Laura.”
“Hey,” he grabs my hand, “there’s still a chance she ran off.”
I frown, unconvinced. “I just don’t think she would leave the girls without saying something. Or Ballsack. He’s still upset about it.”
“Ballsy is a great kid,” he notes, “but he’s got too much heart. Which is one reason we sent him over to keep an eye on Verity. He needed something to focus on.”
“It just feels like no one in Forsyth gives a shit about women when they go missing. Not then, not now.”
Laura going missing landed like a punch. My sister, Leticia, was missing for years. Although she wasn’t kidnapped, she was another victim of this city’s ruthless patriarchy. It’s not a surprise I’m drawn to the Carver story. It’s just more spilled blood. More lost females.
Remy pulls me to him and runs his fingers under my chin, tilting it up. “I’ll talk to the guys, see if we can get some action on finding Laura, okay?”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t actually think these are connected do you?” I ask. “The Carver and these new cases?”
“No. I haven’t unearthed everything yet, but I did ditch the analog and went to Google. The Forsyth Carver case was officially closed when he and his wife were found dead in a murder-suicide.”
“For real?” he asks, eyes wide.
“Yeah. Twenty or so years ago, so unless there was a cover-up,” which none of us can put past the Powers-That-Be in Forsyth, “it wasn’t any of the current Kings. Just some psycho over in the East End, who not only destroyed the lives of all those people he murdered but also his own family.”
“Well, that’s a bummer.”
“It is, but it’s also weird that it’s happening again, right?” I ask. “I just can’t help but think there’s some kind of connection, even if it’s just another home-grown psycho trying to be a copycat.”
“I like this color on you.”
“What color?” I ask, moving into his arms.
“It’s kind of pink.” I run Sy’s chart through my head. I’m not familiar with pink. “You’re all glowy.”
“I guess that’s what curiosity looks like?” I push up on my toes, preparing to kiss him, but a loud noise down the hall tenses us both. There hasn’t been a sound outside of our own in this building for three days.
“Did you hear that?” I mouth, eyes wide.
He nods, hand already on the gun tucked into the back of his jeans. Following, I bend, reaching for a knife, moving to step in front of him.
“The fuck?” He grabs me by the shoulder, yanking me back behind his lanky, muscular frame. A shadow shifts in the doorway. Again, I try to take a step forward.
“Stand down,” he hisses.
“You’re hurt,” I argue.
“ Woman –”
A high-pitched scream cuts our argument short. Remy’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his forehead.
“Oh my god,” Sy’s voice echoes down the hall.
“Shut the fuck up!” Nick snaps back. “Did you see that thing? It was fucking huge!”
A moment later, Nick and Sy appear in the doorway. Nick’s jaw is clamped tight, eyes darting back toward the hall. Sy is bent over in a state of barely contained laughter.
“Jesus Christ,” Remy snaps, lowering his gun. “You almost took a bullet.”
“Seriously. The last thing we need is another stabbing,” I add, taking a breath to settle my racing heart and put the blade away.
Remy narrows his eyes at Nick. “Was that you screaming?” He pauses, then adds, “ Like a girl ?”
“Shut up.” Nick glares at him while glancing back down the hall. “You didn’t see that thing.”
“He thinks he saw a rat,” Sy says through a gasp for air, while he shakes his head at his brother. “At least he didn’t piss himself.”
“Oh.” Remy scratches his forehead and nods. “Gotcha.”
“I never pissed myself,” Nick says defensively. “That was spilled beer.”
“Of course,” Remy says, sharing an amused look with Sy.
“What’s going on?” I ask. There are times like this when I see how deep their bond is, how far they go back. They know everything about each other, good, bad, and embarrassing.
“The great Nick Bruin is scared of vermin,” Sy says simply.
“I’m not scared.”
“Sure you’re not.” Sy rolls his eyes at his brother, pushes past him to wrap his arms around me, and lifts me off the ground. “Hey, baby.” He kisses me like it’s been a month, not three days. “Missed you.”
“I was just surprised,” Nick continues to argue, pushing him out of the way. “Those nasty fuckers carry diseases and you just know they’ll eat your eyes out if they get a chance.”
“When would they get a chance to eat your eyes out?” Sy asks. “You were walking down the hall.”
“How did you find us down here?” I ask as Nick kisses down my throat, sending a ripple of goosebumps down my arms.
“Tracker,” he says, pulling back and running a thumb over the spot. “It’s accurate as fuck.”
I used to fight against the tracker, but after Laura’s disappearance, and spending time down here, yeah, I’m okay with my men knowing how to find me.
“Should’ve known we’d find you surrounded by lots of words,” Sy says, thumbing through a stack of old papers. “Find anything interesting?”
“ Don’t get her started,” Remy says, lowering himself into a wooden desk chair that creaks under his weight. I don’t miss the way he gently holds his side. “It’s all murder and conspiracy theories.”
“When were you planning on telling me about this building, anyway?” I ask Sy, happy to change the subject.
He grimaces. “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to exclude you. I was just processing everything, I guess.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. It’s been a wild few months for all of us. “It’s a cool place, and it definitely came in handy this weekend.”
Nick smirks. “You mean it makes a perfect loser’s den?”
“I may be injured,” Remy says, jabbing an inked finger in his direction, “but I will still kick your ass, Bruin.”
“The apartment needs some work, but it’s comfortable. There’s a nice view of the city, and there’s plenty of room.”
“Big enough for the four of us?” Sy asks, catching my train of thought. I love the clock tower. It’s cozy and more of a home than the cold house I grew up in, but we can’t stay there forever. That building belongs to DKS and my men are about to outgrow it.
“Maybe with a renovation,” I consider. “Saul put some work into the kitchen and main suite, but there’s more room than that. At least a guest room, maybe an office,” I raise an eyebrow, “or a library. Archie would love the windows.”
Nick looks between me and his brother. “What are you thinking?”
“A new group of Dukes will come in next year and technically we’ll have to give up the tower, right?”
Remy snorts, wiping his finger through a thick coat of dust on the nearby desk before blowing it off in a puff. “You want to live surrounded by the ghosts of Forsyth’s past?”
“Someone needs to preserve this.” This town is bigger than what’s on the surface and the deeper I dig, the more I may be able to untangle the web of destruction in Forsyth. “There’s a lot of history here.”
“This whole side of West End is coming along too,” Sy considers. “For all his faults, Saul was pretty good at investing.”
“It’d be cool to be near Jade,” Remy says, and I think about her shop across the street. I watch him pull the marker from behind his ear and twirl it between his fingers before he announces, “You know, I’ve been thinking about finding a spot for a tattoo parlor, bringing in some of the other talent in the area, you know other body art like piercings, and setting up shop.”
“Oh,” I say, smiling at him, “I love that idea.”
“Yeah?” He grins back. “It’d be cool, right? It’d have to have a killer name like, like Bruin Ink, or Madman Tattoos, or…”
“Royal.” I hold up a copy of one of the yellowed newspapers, the name printed across the top. “Royal Ink.”
“Royal Ink.” Sy slowly nods. “I like the sound of that and I’ve got some inherited blood money I’d be happy to invest.”
Nick crosses his arms over his chest, a wicked grin lighting up his face. “It’s classy.”
Classy isn’t a word I’d ever choose for my rough and tumble Dukes, but the idea of building a life with them, having a home of our own, a business, and the future that comes with it, feels right.