Chapter 20
20
Verity
“It’s mostly a formality,” Wicker says as we whiz through town. “They already have proof Rufus is dead—the Barons collected his body. They’ll need documentation that the frat voted Justice in, although the… er… specifics are allowed to remain secret. Each frat does it their own way. All of that is protocol. What isn’t is…” his hand rests on my belly, “well, frankly, you.”
The four of us sit in the back of the car while a pledge drives. It’s tense because no matter how many times they assure me everything about the meeting is ‘protocol’, there’s no denying that what's about to happen is unprecedented.
PNZ may accept this vague leadership decision, but the other Kings?
I guess we’ll find out.
“I can handle Sy,” I say with more confidence than I feel. The Dukes have made huge progress under Sy’s new leadership, but their King still sees me as a little sister. “And Killian seems reasonable. At least, sometimes.” Pace snorts, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like the word ‘meathead’ but I ignore him and look back at Wick. “And if you can play nice with the Baron King, just for today, we can get this over with and go for lunch.”
There’s a suspended silence where each of my Princes simply stares at me.
“What?”
“You just ate six pancakes,” Lex says, gaping. “And eggs. And a double serving of bacon.”
“Seven,” Pace corrects. “Seven pancakes. She stole one of mine.”
My jaw drops in outrage. “Your child stole one of yours,” I retort, not even the slightest bit ashamed. I knew carrying a baby would make me hungry, but something flipped once Rufus was no longer in the house. My appetite is insatiable—and not just for food. I woke up to Pace buried deep inside me, and then showered with both Lex and Wicker.
And it’s not exactly easy now. Lex is dressed in a dark gray waistcoat and crisply pressed trousers, hair slicked back into its bun. He looks like a gentleman, but only I know how much of a lie it is. Four hours ago, he was pushing his spunk into me while muttering absolute filth into my ear.
Wicker is carefully rumpled in that way of his, the top three buttons of his shirt undone to reveal a white undershirt. His hair looks like it was slicked back, but has since fallen victim to an ambitious round of fucking. Another lie. We fucked before he even fixed his hair.
Pace is the only one who came as himself, his dark green button-down untucked, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His jean-clad legs are spread enticingly, the outfit finished off with an expensive pair of sneakers. The arm he has slung around me is loose and deceptively casual, but every now and then, he’ll give a lock of my hair a little twirl around his forefinger.
Shivering, I try to break myself out of the lust fog. “And I can’t help it if Justice eats like his fathers.”
The car makes a right turn, and Wick gives me a smirk. “We get through this with no new surprise family announcements, and I’ll take you to that all-you-can-eat Chinese place down on the Avenue you like so much.”
Lex’s eyes pop wide. “You took her there? That food is filled with sodium and MSG. No wonder your ankles are swollen!”
“It’s not the food.” I roll my eyes. “You try carrying forty extra pounds without any side effects.”
“Well, you can’t go anyway.” Lex leans against the door, a blaze of sun catching the amber in his eyes. For a second, they glow like fire. “I spent all night getting the new 4D ultrasound equipment set up, so we’re breaking it in this afternoon.”
Wicker snorts, fussing with his hair. “I still don’t know why you needed to spend so much of Rufus’ money on some fancy scan machine. She’s only going to be pregnant for like three more weeks. I hope they take returns.”
“I guess I should have spent it on another car,” Lex drawls, flicking his brother a wry look. “And plus, it can be used for her next pregnancy.”
“Another car would be—” Wicker freezes, brows slamming together. “Hold up. What do you mean her next pregnancy?”
Lex and I share a long, simmering stare.
“Guys.” Pace cuts off our bickering with a pointed tap on the window. “We’re here.”
We pull up in front of the large building where two black SUVs are parked along the curb. Shit. I knew Wick spent too much time washing my hair, but it felt so good. “Looks like we’re fashionably late,” he says, sliding his fingers through mine. The driver opens the door, and I heave myself from the car with the help of the guys.
The stirrings of fall are in the air as we march toward the building, Lex’s hand guiding on the small of my back. I must look ridiculous in my mid-length purple dress, like some sad, mutated grape, but I’m running out of things that fit.
Entering through the doors of the old courthouse, I can’t help but drink in the interior. From the floors to the molding, everything looks old and historical, painfully intricate, and wildly out of place next to the trio of men waiting to check my Prince’s weapons.
“Hey, Kaz,” I greet, opening my purse as I eye the LDZ next to him. “Making friends?”
He doesn’t look surprised at the fixed-blade I pull from my bag. “Ah, Jordan and I are enjoying the lesser parts of our new titles. Guard duty.”
I grin at him. “Congratulations on making Duke, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Frowning, he takes Lex’s pistol. “Shame Ballsy turned it down though. We would have run West End ragged with Porterfield.” I don’t miss the accusing look he gives my Princes. “Feels like he’s more East than West these days.”
“He stays in East End for me,” I stress, not allowing that glint of animosity in his eyes to grow. “Eugene’s one of my best friends, and he’s gone through a lot. I don’t blame him for needing to take some time.”
Kaz shrugs, nodding his head. “Sure, I get it. Still sucks.”
I pat him on the arm. “Maybe next year. He’s only a junior, right?”
“Right.”
With that, Lex impatiently leads me down the high-ceilinged hallway, and I try not to panic over what’s about to happen. “Maybe we should have given them a heads-up about being late,” I say, keeping my voice low. Everything in here echoes.
“It’ll be fine,” Lex says, jerking his chin at something—someone—down the hall. Nick Bruin, dressed in a black T-shirt, jeans, and scuffed-up boots, straightens when he sees us. There’s no doubt his eyes linger on Wicker a beat longer than necessary, possibly trying to determine how he missed the family resemblance.
“Hey, Nick.” I grin when I see him, unable to stop myself from looking at the puckered two-inch scar on his neck. “Looking all healed up.”
He stretches his neck back and forth, demonstrating the statement. “Not sure I’d win any Furies right now, but at least I’m finally off that godforsaken bed rest.” Nick’s blue eyes drop to my belly. “But Christ, look at you. You’re fucking huge, Ver. You sure there aren’t two in there?”
I glower at him.
“Positive,” Lex says, stepping next to me. After an awkward moment, he thrusts his hand out, and after an even awkwarder moment, Nick slaps it, their fists meeting in one of those unflinchingly macho handshakes. “Looks like you’re still doing the range-of-motion exercises. You got a clean scan from the guy I sent you to?”
Nick fingers the scar. “Yeah. You did good work.” He looks back at me. “How much longer until this thing falls out of there?”
I grimace at the visual. “Any time in the next three weeks.” Every time I say that, it feels surreal. It seems so far away, but also excitingly close. “But no rush. I’ve still got a lot to do before baby Justice gets here.”
Nick smirks. “Justice, eh?”
I shrug. “Seemed appropriate.”
“Lex,” Wick calls out. “We better get inside.”
“You guys go ahead,” Nick says, jerking his chin toward the ominous set of doors ahead. “I’ll keep an eye on Verity.”
“Oh,” I say, glancing at my Princes. “No. I’m, uh…. going in, too.”
His eyebrow lifts. “It’s an official meeting, sorry. Kings and Royal invitees only.”
It takes everything in me not to explain, but it’s not right to let him know before the Kings.
“I know,” I say, feeling the warmth of Lex’s fingers as they thread with mine. “Let’s just say there’s been some changes in the hierarchy in East End.”
Those blue eyes pierce through me. “What does that mean?”
Lex drags me off before I can say more.
“Considering you’re the ones who called this meeting,” I hear Killian’s drawl when the guys enter the room ahead of me, “you’re skating right over the bounds of punctuality. Good thing the Baron King isn’t here, or he would have nullified the meeting two minutes ago.” Killian sighs, muttering, “Apparently there’s a situation with their new Baroness.”
Wicker raises his chin. “It’s probably best he isn’t here anyway, because I have a feeling he’s not going to like what’s about to happen.” Stepping aside to allow me to enter the room, he adds, “You know, with the old guard being so obsessive about tradition.”
The first thing I see, other than Sy and Killian’s confused faces, is the long table in the center of the room. There are five chairs, each one designed for a King. Killian and Sy occupy theirs. On one side of the table, the Count’s seat sits empty, as does Maddox’s. On the other is East End’s chair, which is being held for Rufus, and three standard folding chairs, which I presume are for the Princes. It’s clear the second they see me that I shouldn’t be here. They better get ready, because the rules in Forsyth are about to get real fuzzy.
“Verity?” Sy bolts to his feet when he sees me. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”
I face them both, smoothing out my dress. “I’m here to update you on the current status of East End.”
Sy eyes Killian, and then Lex, before making an uncomfortable expression that’s about seventy-percent eyebrows. Gently, he says, “This is a meeting for Royal frat members only. House girls aren’t included.”
“Well, that’s the thing.” I move toward the East End King’s chair and stand behind it, my men flanking me. “As of two nights ago, I’m a little bit more than a house girl.”
“Explain,” Killian looks between us. “Now.”
After exchanging a nervous look with Pace, I begin, “My father, Rufus Ashby, was found guilty by the members of PNZ for carrying out the acts of kidnapping, rape, and murder during his reign over East End, as well as the attempted abduction and assault on me four months ago.” My gaze meets Sy’s. “These are not related to the current missing girls. I wish I could say it was, so that would be over, but it’s not.”
“Where is Rufus now?” Killian asks.
“Being processed by the Barons.” My tone is flippant. It’s hard to care. “He’s dead.”
Killian’s spine straightens and Sy manages to speak through his shock. “About fucking time. Who took the crown?”
Here, I wring my hands, understanding that it’s unconventional. “The frat gave my unborn son the Oath of Fealty, and once that was complete, Rufus was executed.”
Killian looks between the Princes, eyes narrowed assessingly. “You’re not answering my question—the only one that matters. Which one of you did it?”
I square my shoulders, looking him in the eye. “I did.” And with that, Pace pulls out the chair, while Lex and Wicker each assist me and my cumbersome belly into it. It feels so good to get off my feet that I groan, long and loud. Insulting or not, Lex isn’t wrong about my swollen ankles. “I killed my father and secured the throne for my son. But my Princes have agreed to help run the kingdom until he comes of age.”
“What?” Killian balks. “He isn’t born yet. That doesn’t mean anything. Your territory needs a King, not a fucking—” He makes a wild, belligerent gesture. “Whatever the hell this is! Don’t make this some weird group rule bullshit,” he says, eyes pleading. “Sy and I—we’re really trying to bring about change in Forsyth Royalty, but you’re running before we’ve crawled. You get one King, just like the rest of us.” He holds up a finger. “One King. Not three, a fetus, and his mommy.”
On either side of my shoulders, Lex’s hands squeeze the back of my chair. “The frat voted for this,” he says, voice low and challenging. “They did it democratically, without threat or manipulation. You don’t get to decide the future of our house. They do.”
“This,” Killian says confidently, “is a clusterfuck. We asked for a King and you brought us?—”
“A solution,” Pace says, eyes rolling. “So get over it and get on with it.”
Sy shakes his head, mouth pressed into a tense line. “The Baron King will never accept it.”
“We’re taking his advice,” Wicker cuts in, glaring at Sy, “and leading our fucking kingdom. Hell, we just added another King to his crypt.”
Killian rubs his forehead, looking worn. “Do you not think I’d want to rule South Side with my brothers as equals?” He gestures to Sy. “Don’t you think Perilini would rather share his kingship with a legit Bruin and a Maddox? There’s a reason we choose one leader, and it’s big enough that people like us sacrifice the hope of ruling alongside the people we care about.”
“Simon.” I hold Sy’s gaze beseechingly. “We all know Nick and Remy rule alongside you in all but name. I’m sure it’s the same for South Side.”
Sy nods. “That might be true, but the name means something, Ver. It’s a target I’d never put on my brothers’ backs, and I’d never ask DKS to put their necks out there three times more than they already do in order to protect them.”
There’s a long beat of quiet where the only sound is Killian’s gold pen tapping on the tabletop. Finally, he holds up a hand, jaw tight. “Let’s just shelve this until the Baron King can be here to have a say.”
I deflate, disappointed but unsurprised. “In that case, we can skip to the next topic we called this meeting for. The Barons’ vote won’t be necessary. It’s a matter of the contract between East and West.”
Sy frowns. “Your contract?”
“My contract was with the Princes,” I correct, “and that’s already been dissolved.”
Understanding dawns on Sy’s face. “You want us to dissolve ours.”
“Verity can come and go as she pleases,” Pace offers, laying a stack of papers on the table. “There’s no reason to bind her to East or West—but,” he adds, “if and when she goes to West End, she may not come alone. We need your assurance we’ll be welcome as her escort.”
Sy scratches his head. “Are you sure?” he asks, looking at me. “We’ve fully moved out of the tower and into the apartment, but there’s still room for you there. Or we can find another location to?—”
“No, thanks.” I give him a gentle smile. “If I’m going to build a life for me and my son, I need to choose somewhere to do it. West End will always be home. I have roots there. But East End…” I glance behind me, meeting Lex’s gaze. “It’s where our presence as a Royal unit can do the most good. Not just for our family, but for Forsyth.”
“You’re really serious about this,” Killian realizes, glancing between the four of us.
It’s Wick who answers, “Verity may have held the knife, but we all killed Rufus Ashby. We didn’t do it impulsively. We spent months building a plan, and we’re committed to seeing it through.”
Sy exhales, sliding the stack of papers closer. “Well, if it’s what you want.” He pales, eyes jerking up. “Oh, your mother is going to lose her shit.”
I laugh, feeling Pace’s fingers combing idly through my hair. “Who do you think gave me the idea? Don’t worry, all of us are firmly required to attend as many family dinners as possible. But,” I nod at the papers, “without contracts.”
Sighing, he holds up the paper, ripping it in half. “Your call, Princess.”
“See,” Killian says, gesturing to the torn paper. “If the Baron King had done that with his contract, he might actually be here today.”
Frowning, I wonder, “What do you mean?”
Sy folds his arms, his eyebrows doing that serious crouching thing yet again. “Let’s just say… if what Remy says is true, we should all be expecting an invitation in the mail soon.”
Wicker’s eyes narrow. “An invitation for what?”
Killian kicks back in his seat, head cocked. “A black wedding.”
“The first black wedding in four decades,” Sy adds.
“What’s a black wedding?” I ask, feeling confused.
“An arranged marriage between a Baron and Baroness,” Sy explains. “Mom told us about it when we were kids. Apparently, there are times when a contract is signed between two families, agreeing for a Baron to take a formal bride. I thought it was an urban legend because she said it’s always held on Halloween and everyone wears all black and masks,” he shrugs his massive shoulders, “but apparently not.” He smirks at Verity. “I guess it’ll be your first official event.”
“I’ve had my fill of Barons lately,” Wicker says, squeezing my shoulder. “I think we’ll pass.”
“You’ll be there,” Killian says, rising from his seat in an indication that the meeting is officially over, “just like the rest of us. You think killing a King gives you power, but the truth is, all it gives you are obligations.” He tilts his head at me. “Congratulations, Princess. Welcome to the club.”
It’s interesting to see the palace grounds transform with a new season. I’ve seen the crisp, dry decay of winter in its wilted vines and rattling branches. I’ve observed its springtime yawn of budding flowers and thawing fountains, an explosion of color across the courtyard and alongside the palace’s exterior walls. I know all too well the lush green of its wet summer, the screams of cicadas, and the enchanting, speckled glow of its fireflies.
But the first peek of autumn is somehow the most magical of them all.
I stand in the circular drive, hypnotized by the rain of leaves. A strong breeze is enough to capture us in its tornado of yellows and oranges, the old oaks shedding them like a skin.
“We should take you out in the boat sometime,” Pace says, and I realize the three of them have come to stand beside me, following my gaze to the landscape. It looks like a painting. “Out there on the water, it looks even less real.”
Catching one of the oak leaves as it flutters past, I stroke it wistfully over the curve of my belly, imagining Justice can hear the slight papery crinkle. “I’d like that.”
“Count me out,” Lex says, pulling a face. “Algae is gross.”
Wicker drawls, “Is it the algae, or is that you can’t swim for shit?”
Lex balks. “I can swim.”
“Doggy-paddling and panic-treading don’t count,” Pace argues.
“I’m not the best swimmer, either,” I say, grabbing Lex’s arm in a loose hug. “Although I do have built-in floatation devices at the moment.”
Wicker barks a delighted laugh that makes a smile spring to my face.
More and more, I’m convinced I made the right choice. The thought of raising our son—maybe even our children—in this place doesn’t feel as nightmarish as it once had. The earth beneath our feet is pure and fertile. The stones that sit on it are strong and solid. And the people who dwell within it…
“We’re better than the man who made us.”
Not questioning the randomness of this thought, Lex gently takes the leaf from my hand, tucking it behind my ear like a flower. “And he’ll be better than the men who made him,” he agrees, brushing his knuckles against my belly.
My fingers itch to loosen his hair, but I don’t.
Not until we’re downstairs in the medical wing.
I hold back until then, and Lex winces when I snag the hair tie, giving a little, “Oof,” as I pull it free. “Leave some hair on my scalp, would you?” Despite this, his cheeks color as he takes his stool. “This won’t be much different than the regular ultrasound for you.”
I’m lying on the exam table, my dress pulled up to reveal my belly. It’s beginning to look weird with the skin pulled so thin, but a part of me can’t imagine not having it there anymore.
“Careful with the joystick!” Lex snaps at Pace. “It took two hours to seat right.”
“Pretty sure I’ve heard that one before.”
All three of us startle at the sound of Wicker’s voice. I’ve had more exams than I can count over the course of my pregnancy, and the only one I remember Wicker attending is the clandestine ultrasound where we discovered the baby’s sex. I haven’t pushed him about it, and Lex stopped pestering him to participate some time in my second trimester.
Now, he’s closing the door behind him, looking reluctant as he shuffles into the room. “So, uh… what goes on at one of these things?”
Lex, still gawking at his brother, visibly shakes himself out of the shock. “I already drew her blood. We’re just going to test out the new ultrasound machine. That is,” he shoots a glare toward Pace, “if someone doesn’t break it.”
“I’m not breaking it,” Pace snaps, and with a series of lightning-fast keystrokes, brings up some fancy interface. “See? I’ve been studying this software for days. I know it like the back of my hand.”
Lex looks slightly stunned again. “Oh, er—good. You can operate the viz panel while I guide the transducer?”
Pace turns to level his brother with a stare. “Obviously.”
Reaching for something on the table, Wick asks, “What should I do?” Realizing he’s holding a pair of forceps, he flinches, setting it back down.
“Wick,” I slowly say, “what’s up?”
“Nothing.” But despite his answer, he’s glancing around the room like a caged animal, the tips of his ears reddening the longer we stare back at him. “Look,” he bursts, “all this medical shit really freaks me out because he’s going to come out of there someday soon, and there’s going to be blood and goop and gross stuff, and honestly, the less I think about it, the better, but the baby has a name now, and like… fingers or whatever, and I want to see him in 4D too, so fucking get on with it.”
Lex takes this in with a slack jaw. “Dude, you’ve watched me meticulously disembowel at least half a dozen men.”
Pace adds, “You’ve cut off more fingers and toes than you have.”
Lex points the transducer at him. “You’ve seen the inside of a brain.”
“And hell, that was just a rough hockey practice,” Pace says.
“Yeah.” Wicker blinks, forehead knitting up. “And?”
Incredulously, I surmise, “But the baby being born will be too gross for you?”
Reaching up to scratch his temple, Wick seems to give this a lot of thought before coming to a conclusion. “Well, I didn’t want to hold the brain, you know?”
It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, but weirdly, maybe also the sweetest. “Wick.”
He looks slightly aggrieved. “Yeah?”
“Come hold my hand, okay?”
Jolting forward to round the table, he releases a tense exhale, grabbing my hand. “Sure, yeah. Got it.”
Lex shakes his head before squirting the ultrasound goo onto my belly. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
The 4D ultrasound machine is enormous and looks overly complicated. There’s a whole panel of buttons, dials, and switches. Pace navigates them expertly somehow, guiding Lex when the transducer goes too low or too high.
“Stop!” Pace says. “Right there. Look, Rosi.”
I crane my neck to see the screen, awed at the image of our son’s face on the screen. “Wow,” I breathe through the tightness in my throat. He looks lumpy, but I can still make out all the details, from his round cheeks to his closed eyes. He looks like he’s sleeping, and maybe it’s the lumpiness, but I could swear there’s a little divot right between his eyebrows, almost like he’s?—
“He looks so annoyed.” Wicker shoots me a beaming grin that takes my breath away. “Maybe he’s Lex’s, eh?”
“Bro,” Pace gasps, pointing at the screen, “look at his hand. Is he…?”
I groan. “Oh my god. You can’t be serious.”
Justice’s hand is balled into a loose fist beneath his chin, but his middle finger is very clearly unfolded.
“He’s absolutely flipping us off,” Pace says.
Wicker’s smile widens. “Then again, maybe he’s Pace’s.”
When I hear nothing out of the third father, I glance at him, noticing how hard he’s staring at the screen. “Lex?”
Straightening, he explains, “Just checking for any abnormalities. Craniofacial, skeletal, or abdominal. It’d be difficult to catch dysmorphisms on standard?—”
“Lex.” I put my hand over his on the transducer, waiting until he meets my gaze to command. “Stop looking at the fetus. Look at our son.”
He stares at me for a long moment as it sinks in. He doesn’t mean to see the specimen instead of the person. There was a time I didn’t understand, but now I do. Lex needs us to pull him out of the lab jacket and into the moment.
And suddenly, he does.
Blinking, he turns to the screen, his grip on the probe going slack. “He’s—” Lex pauses, back expanding with a sharp inhale. “He’s perfect, Ver.”
Wicker and I created this baby with blood and passion. Pace and I forged him in the heat of wild possession. But Lex and I made him right here, with a longing so fierce that it transcended things like science or territory lines.
Smiling softly, I stroke my thumb over his. “Yeah, he is.”
“He has your nose,” Lex says, tilting his head to follow Justice’s curled angle. ”He looks comfortable in there, doesn’t he?”
There’s a tiny moment where I think how nice it would be for everything to stay like this. That maybe I can stay pregnant just a little longer, and we can bask in the peace and harmony we’ve created, but then I remember: we’re in Forsyth.
And nothing in Forsyth stays peaceful for long.