“Just, uh, squeeze in there.” I pant, stretched to my limit. Sy grimaces, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. “Can you reach?”
“If I shift like this, I can.” His body moves like a contortionist. The problem is his size, obviously. That’s always the problem with Simon Perilini. He’s just so fucking huge. “Okay wait,” he grunts, moving one last time. “How about this?”
“Yes! Oh my God, yes!” We grin at one another. “Okay, now just move your fingers a little…” His fingers flail around. “Almost, yes! That’s it. Right there.”
As his grip finds the right spot, I also get in position. Our gaze holds as I silently count to three and we move at the same time. He wraps his massive hand around the old crank handle as I flip the lever across the room.
The old metal wheezes to life.
Sy’s muscles bulge as he gives it his all, the cog turning with a grinding noise as the mechanisms spin. Remy had a good point before about Sy being the strongest, and I see that strength now, his body rippling with it, eyes narrowed in determination. His white tank doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination, and I get a little dazed as his biceps swell and shift. It’s a struggle to move my gaze to the pendulum hanging down the center of the tower. I wait for the connectors to trip it off, to force them to swing but—
“Ugh!” I groan. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Sy deflates while his chest heaves from exertion. Wiping the sheen of sweat from his forehead, he offers, “Want me to do it again?”
“No.” I slump against the wall, resisting the urge to kick the closest thing. “Something’s still wrong, and I don’t want to force it.” I point to the system overhead. “When you crank that, this whole section should connect into this other part, which should then propel the ropes that hold the pendulum, which then should make the hands move.”
I thought if I got Sy to turn the crank, everything would get moving. But it only partially worked. I eye the area I’m convinced is the culprit. I searched high and low for the nut I finally got to fit, but now I’m not so sure.
Sy eases himself out of the tight area he had to wedge into in order to reach the lever and holds up his oily hands. “Well, I can say for certain we definitely used enough lube that time.”
Remy pops his head through the door, gaze pinned to my face. “No luck?”
Shrugging, I answer, “Some. Sy got the crank to work, but it trips up around here.” I point to the area I’m pretty sure is the problem, but my attention is diverted by the pull of Remy’s shoulders as he slips into his motorcycle jacket. “What’s up?”
“I’m headed to my meeting,” he says, green eyes trained too intently on zipping up his jacket. “Just, uh, wanted to let everyone know.”
He’s been good about this. Communicating his comings and goings. At first I thought it may be a good way to keep us from asking questions, but now I suspect having another layer of accountability makes him feel more secure.
Whatever he needs, we’re happy to give it.
Sy dusts off his hands. “Cool. I think we’re just going to stay in tonight.” His blue eyes sweep to mine, face carefully blank. We talked about it yesterday, the drive home from the cemetery somehow both relaxed and buzzing with the tension of what comes next for us.
Nick announced this afternoon he has some business to take care of, and Remy has been going to meetings pretty consistently, so we saw the opportunity coming. It gives Sy and I a few hours to work on our other project.
“Definitely,” I agree, not sure why my cheeks feel warm. Sex in this house is no secret. Their need for me, and frankly my need for them, is pretty well known, but it still feels strange to be so open about it. I give the lever a casual tap. “Just a quiet night at home alone.”
“Sure, Vinny.” Remy snorts, flashing me one of his panty-dropping smirks. “You keep pretending like you’re not a screamer.”
“I am not!” I shout, grabbing the first thing I come in contact with—one of the clock repair manuals—and toss it in his direction.
He snags it out of the air and tucks it under his arm, giving Sy a lazy salute. “Save some for me, brother.”
“Hey, give that back,” I demand, but Remy just grins and ducks back down the staircase. I throw my hands in the air. “Fucking guys, I swear!”
Sy stalks up, following my gaze, and says, “Forget him.” Bracing his forearm on the low-hanging rod above my head, he reaches out to graze my hip with his greasy fingers. “Let’s go make the most of a quiet house.” Even though he’s towering over me, hemming me in, his blue eyes simmer with playful anticipation. “You think we’ll both fit in the shower?”
Nothing with Sy Perilini is an easy fit, but I strain up on my toes to press a kiss to his sweaty neck, delighting in the way those bulging muscles of his go tense. “I’m willing to give it a try.”
Spoiler: We need a bigger shower.
I try not to stare.
I swear, I do.
But Sy scrubs the shampoo through his hair, and he doesn’t even pretend. He let me wash first, content to lean back against the wall and watch, his fingers reaching out to occasionally catch my hip, steadying me as I navigated the tight space.
“Jesus.” His eyes slither up and down greedily, pausing darkly on my tits. “You have the perfect body, you know that?”
My cheeks have probably been red since Remy left, but I still feel a flash of heat rising to my face. I’m not used to having Sy like this. In the past, everything sexual between us was aggressive and rushed, or tense and full of shame.
Now, the low-burning heat builds between us differently.
I wait until he bends his head back, rinsing out the suds, to dip my gaze low, landing on his long, half-hard cock. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
He lifts his eyelids enough to catch sight of me, and even that’s enough to make a shot of lust zing right to my center.
Sy slams the shower off a second later, either not noticing the couple suds still trailing down his shoulder, or just not caring. “Let’s go.”
We don’t bother dressing after we dry off, my quick footsteps following Sy’s long stride through the main living area toward his bedroom. For once, we don’t see Archie on the bed when we step through, giving the bed a long, considering glance.
“This isn’t…” I begin, unable to deny the thread of nervousness taking hold. “This doesn’t mean we can–”
He stops me with two fingers on my chin, turning my gaze to his. “I know the rules,” he says, clutching at the towel slung low on his waist. “This is just… training.” A drop of water falls from his hair to his cheek, rolling toward his mouth, and I reach up to thumb it away, captivated by the texture of his lips.
“Okay.” I don’t tell him I trust him, because the words aren’t enough. Instead, I drop my towel, holding his eyes as I lower myself into his bed.
His eyes darken as I spread myself out for him, my nipples already peaked from the air against my damp skin. Sy eases his head to the side to crack his neck, restraint visible in the tendons there, jaw hardening as his gaze assesses the expanse of my skin.
“Okay,” he says, dropping his towel.
His cock is already rock hard.
He climbs over me, eyes fixed to his destination, which is why I don’t startle when his mouth descends onto my breast, lips opening to greet my nipple with his tongue. I arch into the warmth and he makes a low, rough sound, moving to the other breast. He palms me while his tongue explores the flesh, occasionally tracing over the dark lines of my tattoo.
I can feel how much he’s enjoying it, the lines of his face growing harsher and hungrier by the second. The possibility of him losing control in the heat of passion worries me, but not more than the thought of me doing the same. This isn’t a rowdy party downstairs.
This time, I’d give in willingly.
But that’s not what we’re here for.
So I do the only thing I can. I grab his hand, pull it between my legs, and wait.
“Fuck,” he sighs, fingers curling, but not in the good way. Suddenly he’s stiff, tense. “Maybe we should–”
I spread my legs wider, rocking my hips and clit against him.
His teeth clench, eyes sliding closed. “Lav…’
“I want it, Sy,” I say, coaxing him with another buck of my hips. “Touch me.”
Pausing, he reaches up, rolling my nipple in his fingers. “Like this?” A sharp thrill rushes down my spine, but I don’t lose sight of the objective.
“No,” I tell him, making sure I’m absolutely clear. “My pussy. My cunt. My cum pocket. My flower. My tunnel of love. My lady garden—’
His eyes fly open, jaw going slack, and then he starts to shake, laughter seizing him. “Your lady garden?”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “Whatever. I read a lot of romance novels back at the Hideaway.” Romances where the hero always knows exactly what to do with his woman’s secret pleasure zone. How the fuck did I end up with one so broken? “Sy, come on. If we’re ever going to get past this, then you’ll need to touch me.”
The mirth fades from his eyes, and they grow dark, grim. “What if I hurt you again?”
“You won’t,” I say, fluttering my fingers through his hair. Before he can argue, I add, “And if you do, I’ll say so and you’ll stop.” I hold his eye. “Right?”
His eyes soften with a sorrow I’m still unused to seeing. “Of course, I will.” Quietly, he adds, “Lav, I promise.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about.” I lie back, spread my thighs, and press his hand between my legs again. That alone is enough to send a zing of pleasure through my limbs. “Tend to my lady garden, Big Bear. Cultivate that flower. Plant those seeds. Fertilize my—”
When his mouth crashes into mine, it’s clearly just a way to get me to shut up, but I embrace it, parting my lips so I can taste his tongue.
The tension melts away and his ministrations turn diligent—worshipful. This time when he teases me, it’s the right way, the way we worked on before ‘the incident.’ He rubs delicious circles into my clit, thumb pressed in exactly the right spot. My hips rise, desperate for more and he gives it to me, shoulder shifting to give him more access.
Sy kisses me absently, his mind clearly focused on the route of his fingers, sliding through my slickness. Every time my own fingers skate up his arm, his ribs, the broad expanse of his shoulders, his muscles flex into the touch, almost like it’s just instinct to chase it down. I’ve noticed his reaction to my touch for long enough to understand what it is.
Sy is used to being hit, used to being the one doing the hitting, but this? The way my palms smooth down his back, the tickle of my fingers at the top of his shoulders, how my touch lingers greedily…
It makes my chest hurt to wonder how long he’s been starved of gentle touches like these. There’s an unspeakable power in the way I can make him shudder with nothing but a brush of my fingers over the nape of his neck. I watch his eyebrows crash together mid-kiss, and then suddenly, he’s gone, sliding down my body.
His face hovers between my thighs, and when he finally dips down to press a long, wet kiss to my clit, his blue eyes never leave mine. The whimper that punches from my lungs sounds pained, but in truth, it’s anything but. Weaving my fingers through his curly hair, I watch, captivated as he gathers my wetness with the point of his tongue.
It’s impossible to forget who he is–Simon Perilini, undefeated fighter, a man strong and violent enough to take down anyone in Forsyth–but right now, he’s licking my pussy with such a slow, careful intensity that it makes my body fill with liquid warmth.
It’s like straddling a bomb.
“Oh, god,” I gasp, fingers clenching in his hair. “Don’t–don’t stop.” My hips chase his tongue, eyes locked on his as he brings me steadily, unforgivingly to the edge of annihilation.
It’s a battle to watch his face as I come apart beneath his mouth, my eyes wanting nothing more than to slam closed as I ride the wave of ecstasy. The flash of wicked satisfaction in his eyes is enough to hold me there, trapped beneath the glow of it as he holds my hips down.
He claims his victory with a sharp, pleased rumble against my clit.
When the arch in my back falls, my body collapsing bonelessly into his mattress, he doesn’t shift away. I’m too blissed out to really pay much mind to what his fingers are doing, but in the back of my brain, I know they’re exploring me. My pussy is slick, wet and loose, and he pulls back far enough to look at it, his finger slowly descending.
His finger brushes the entrance, stalling there. A flash of trepidation crosses his face before he finally shifts his shoulder, sliding a long, thick finger into me.
I suck in a breath.
Freezing, his blue eyes jump to mine, throat jumping with a swallow. “Good?”
“Easy peasy,” I reply, brain clearly befuddled from the orgasm.
After a second of hesitation, he drags the digit out and back in, eyes pinging back and forth between mine and his own hand. Sy approaches most things with a sense of aggressive curiosity. It’s one of the aspects of his personality I can relate most to, and it’s on full display here, his head dipping to observe the way I look as I take him to the knuckle.
It’s with that same air of investigation that I begin feeling the teasing pressure of a second finger. Slowly, carefully, he slides it in along the first, brow furrowed as he meets my gaze.
“Now?” His voice has dropped to a low, rough octave that sends a shiver through my spine.
I spread my thighs wider for him. “You’ve seen your brother’s dick, right?” I hold up three fingers to indicate size. “I can take more, Sy.”
He looks at my pussy skeptically. “Are you sure?”
I rock my hips, taking the two fingers in deeper, whining at the feel. “Please.”
The expansion of his chest on a long inhale isn’t the only sign this is affecting him. His stiff cock bobs heavily between his legs when he shifts, a trickle of eager precum dripping from the head. “Here goes,” he says, the tone full of warning.
He pushes in the third, and yep, like everything else with Sy, his fingers are big. Thick. Blunt. Long. Three fingers are more like four, and this time I feel the stretch. But I force myself to exhale, to let the burn dissipate, my body adjusting for him.
He pauses, eyes watching mine. “Lav?” This time, I hear the strain in his voice.
“Yeah, like that,” I tell him, hips rising off the bed. He takes the bait, following my rhythm, fucking in and out until the burn has transformed into a toe-curling enjoyment of the fullness.
“Damn, you’ve really come a long way.” Sy and I both tense, our gazes whipping to his open door. Remy’s body forms a casual slant against the jamb. He’s shirtless, arms crossed, eyes hooded as he observes us. “You don’t even look like you want to kill her. I’m proud, man.”
Sy stiffens over me, hand pulling back. I grab his wrist, keeping him from leaving me.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Remy says, eyes blazing as they trail over my naked body. “I’ve been here since she came her brains out on your tongue, but if you’d rather I leave…?” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder, eyes questioning.
Sy gives me a quick look, his cock pressing against my thigh. There’s a question in his eyes, and I know he’d tell Remy to get lost if I asked him to. But I also see a thread of relief there, understanding that it might make this easier, knowing he has someone to be accountable to.
“Then stop hovering in the doorway,” I tell Remy, watching some of the tension in Sy’s shoulders unwind.
Remy stalks to the bed, replying, “If you insist.” He’s never looked more menacingly feline, the ink on his skin shifting with his every movement. His jeans are slung low on his hips, giving me a peek of the crescent moon I’d tattooed there, and when he eases down on the edge of the bed, I mourn the loss of it. He asks, “What do you think?” and palms my inner thigh, peering down for a look. “Can you take four, Vinny?”
I nod, pushing past the tickle of uncertainty in my belly. “I want to try.”
He turns his gaze to mine. “I was hoping you’d say that.” When he reaches up, finger tracing my bottom lip, there’s a spark of hunger in his eyes that momentarily consumes me. He uses it to push his finger past my teeth, wetting it on my tongue. That flinty need in his eyes burns brighter when I close my lips around his knuckle, sucking. Briefly, his eyelids flutter. “Good girl.”
He pops his finger out, slick with my saliva, while Sy shifts to give room. Watching the two of them, both their attention fixed to my center, might be even hotter than what comes next. There’s a nudge of pressure as Remy prods his way in, thumb giving my clit a soft, idle stroke as he breaks through the resistance, sliding into my entrance alongside Sy’s fingers.
Remy moves slowly, deliberately, widening me with every inch. “Breathe,” he says, reaching up to stroke a warm palm over my breast. He glances at Sy. “You, too.”
We both inhale and exhale at the same time, and that simple move allows Remy to push in deeper.
“Oh, fuck.” I bite down on my bottom lip at the intensity of the utter fullness. “That feels so–it’s so much, but–so good.”
Ignoring my incoherent rambling, Remy says, “Look at this.” The words are spoken in a tone of awe as he and Sy watch my hole take them in. “I’ve never seen a pussy so pretty, Vinny. You’re getting so wet for us.” He shifts his eyes back to me, bending to push a slow, lascivious kiss to my throat. “I knew you could take it, baby.”
I’m not sure which one of them curves the finger that brushes against the magic spot inside me, but the gush of resulting heat makes me clench around them both. “That,” I gasp, white spots popping in my vision. “Whatever that is, do it again.”
Remy chuckles as he pulls back, eyes brightening in a way I haven’t seen in weeks. He does it again and my body turns to jelly.
Sy looks at Remy, face set into a contemplative scowl. “How are you doing that?”
Remy smirks, and under normal circumstances, he might take the opportunity to tease him. Tonight, he doesn’t.
Remy pulls his finger out, nudging Sy’s wrist. “Turn your hand so your fingers are–yeah, exactly. Feel around a bit. Curl a finger here and there, but not too much. Wait until–” The sparks explode again and I keen, head digging back into the pillow. Remy laughs. “Bullseye.”
While Sy is mastering the art of my G-spot, Remy shifts closer, his touch grazing lower and lower, until…
My hips lurch when he makes contact, his fingers pushing at my other entrance. The garden’s back gate. I remember Nick’s words to me the other day in the stairwell.
“You know he wants it, don’t you? This pretty little ass of yours taking his cock.”
“Sy can have that.” Remy’s voice comes hushed and full of gravel. “But I want this. Please, Vinny?”
I nod, unable to formulate words. Pleasure skates up my spine, the combined sensations–three fingers in my pussy, one entering my ass–are enough to meld my mind. Remy’s gentle, exploratory, coaxing his way inside patiently. A fresh layer of sweat breaks out on my skin as he rubs and teases me, finger still slick from my wetness.
It’s deliriously intense, and for a moment, I get this surge of confident knowledge that if someone doesn’t put a dick in me soon, I might actually fucking die.
“Fuck, she’s close,” Remy says, sliding his finger in and out of the ring of muscle. “Feel her clenching?”
Sy grunts next to him, pushing his three fingers in deeper. “She’s fucking soaked. Do you think this will–”
My eyes crash closed as Sy curls his finger, the orgasm abruptly within reach. Paying no mind to how crazed I must look, my back arches, hands clawing wildly at the sheets. I chase their fingers like a woman possessed.
“Holy mother of Christ.” My eyes fly open and I see Nick’s shadowy profile in the doorway. His hand is already fisting his erection through his jeans.
“Nick,” I gasp, face twisting in the sweetest torture. “Please…”
I don’t know what happens from one moment to the next. I just know that one second I’m feeling relieved–so relieved, because Nick would never leave me a writhing mess like this–and the next, he’s above me, tearing at the button on his jeans, shirt already lost somewhere on the floor.
Nick takes his cock out of his pants, eyes already blown to black. “God, what the fuck are you two doing to her? She looks like she’s about to crawl out of her own skin.” The question is rhetorical, because Nick bends to get a very thorough look at exactly what it is they’re doing. Once he does, he reaches up to stroke the hair off my temple. “Have they let you come at all?”
“Yes,” Sy says defensively. “I got her off.”
Nick nods, eyes lazily moving to Remy. “And you?”
Remy’s finger wiggles, still buried knuckle-deep in my ass. “I’m here for support. Just helping stretch her out.”
That’s all. A twinge of delicious tension shoots up my spine as his finger presses deeper in my ass. I moan in pleasure and Nick’s hand drops to my jaw, thumb grazing my chin.
“You getting yourself ready for them, gorgeous?” At my nod, his cock gives an aggressive twitch. “So fucking perfect.”
The compliment sends another surge through me like a jolt of electricity.
Having the three of them like this—well, it used to be my biggest fear. Now my whole body sings at the feel of their hands on me, inside of me, all at once. The hard press of Sy rutting against my leg, Remy lips leaving wet, searing kisses along my inner thigh…
And Nick.
God, the way he handles his cock. It’s both graceful and barbaric. The hard line of his tattooed chest rises and falls as his fist glides over his length, thumb running under the dark red head, brushing past the spot I know drives him wild.
My breath catches, the sensations too intense to fight. Every inch of my skin, inside and out, is hot and tight.
In my periphery, I see all three of them share a look, and then everything happens at once.
Sy curls his fingers again, hitting that delicious spot inside of me.
Remy thrusts deep into my ass.
Nick flattens the tips of his fingers over my clit, pressing.
“Oh, fuck!” I cry, hips shooting off the bed. If I didn’t look possessed before, then I know I do now, body shattering into a million pieces as it twists and bucks, seizing painfully against the slam of pleasure that overtakes me.
It goes on for a long time. So long that when Nick kneels next to my head, depressing the mattress with his weight, I’m barely coherent. He tilts my face toward him and runs his fingers along my throat. “Give me your tongue,” he demands, voice hard and urgent.
I flick it past my lips and Nick’s hand slides behind my neck, holding me up. A desperate noise comes from the back of his throat as he pumps one last time, bringing his cock to my mouth and coating my tongue with his salty release.
The sounds that follow come from Remy and Sy, both groaning through their own orgasms before I feel them falling back on the mattress.
I’m in a daze after that, the throbs coming from my pussy, clit, and ass merging into one satisfied thrum. I only know Nick’s the one who turns me to my side because his scent is suddenly all around me, his bare body tucking me against him. In front of me, there’s another one–Sy, going by the sheer heat radiating off of him. I know Remy can’t be far, because the fingers that rest on my hip, touching the star, can only belong to one man.
I’m filthy inside and out. I’m stretched. I’m defiled.
But most of all, I’m theirs.
I can’t remember ever sleeping so soundly, and when I wake the next morning, it’s to find my limbs are twined with Nick’s. Behind me, Remy’s face is burrowed in the back of my neck. For a few long moments, I indulge in the warm tickle of Remy’s breath on my nape, the steady rise and fall of Nick’s chest against mine, the way he looks when my eyes blink open, face slack and yet somehow still lined with an inexplicable hardness.
I don’t feel Sy, though. His presence, his heat, his breaths–they’re absent in a strangely obvious way. It’s the only reason I lift my head, craning my neck to seek him out. I don’t catch a glimpse of his bronze skin, but I do smell the tantalizing waft of coffee, and then his distant, aggrieved voice.
“I told you, no more people-food!” he’s hissing. “It upsets your stomach, and no one else cleans the litter box!”
I laugh quietly, trying to keep from jostling the bed. Listening to this six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-twenty pound fighter, spar with my floof of a kitten is the best part of my day.
“Little Bird,” Nick’s rough, slurred voice suddenly rings out. “You keep shaking the bed like that and I’m gonna have to pin you down.” His lips move, but the rest of him still looks peacefully inert with slumber.
“Sorry,” I whisper, brushing the hair off his forehead. “Your brother and Archie are at it again.”
The corner of his mouth tugs up into a small, soft smirk. “I think we both know who will win whatever fight they’re having.”
His erection stabs at my lower belly, but for once he doesn’t make a move. He just holds me, eyes still shut. If it weren’t for the changed rhythm of his breathing, I’d assume he fell right back to sleep.
“How’d the meeting go last night?” I ask, reaching up to snag someone’s discarded shirt–Remy’s from the rich cologne scent of it–off the headboard. As much as I’d love to stay in bed all day, we all need to be on campus in the next hour.
“Good,” he mutters, arm clamping hard around my waist to hold me down. “Perfect. Flawless. I’m a god among mere mortals.”
I slide up to sit against the headboard, easily escaping his grip, and his resulting groan makes me grin. “Modest, too.”
“What happened last night?” Remy shifts, drawing my gaze to him. His mussed hair lays over one eye, and when I reach over to sweep it away, it squints up at me, green and annoyed. “What meeting?”
“Just a little product demonstration.” Nick frowns as I slip the shirt over my head, covering my tits. “Standard Duke stuff.”
Remy rubs his eyes, pushing up onto an elbow. “What does that mean?”
Nick sighs. Aware that we’re not going to let him go back to sleep, he opens his eyes and begins, “After that bullshit with Saul, I’m looking for new customers. Non-alumni.” Nick and I share a significant look. It’d been his idea, and although I doubt it’ll make much of a difference, having a backup cash cow to milk isn’t the worst idea.
“You’re doing what?” I look up and see Sy in the doorway. Archie is lazily draped over his arm, unconcerned by the suddenly tense set of Sy’s posture. “Alone?”
Nick waves dismissively. “It’s fine. Ballsack and Porterfield were with me.” Sitting up, he scrubs a palm over his face.
Sy’s forehead creases in astonishment. “Ballsack and Porterfield? Are you fucking with me right now? You’re setting up meetings and carrying product around town–Saul’s product–to find customers outside his system?” His eyes, having grown exponentially bigger, eventually bug out. “You could have been ambushed!”
Nick’s eyes roll. “We weren’t. I did my due diligence. Give me some credit here.”
“Are you hearing this?” Sy’s eyes pin behind me, on Remy.
“Yeah, I hear it.” Next to me Remy shakes his head, raking his hair back. “Nicky, this sounds pretty fucking foolish, even for you.”
“Foolish?” The corded muscles in Nick’s neck tense and he glances at me. “Do you want to tell them or should I?”
“Tell us what?” Remy sits up now, the sheet pooled around his waist barely hiding his morning erection. He looks between us. “Fuck. What now?”
Sy is wearing the same expression.
Dread.
Clearing my throat, I give Nick one last bracing look before explaining, “We were called into Saul’s office the other day to discuss the alumni poker game. You know, the one after the festival?”
Nick snorts. “You’re worried about ambushes? Well, he had a goon waiting for me on campus.” He jerks his chin at me. “And fucking Ewing pulled her out of class and hauled her in with me.”
Well, there goes breaking it to them slowly.
Every muscle in Sy’s face hardens. Before he can speak, Nick holds up a hand. “You may want to put the kitten down. It gets worse.”
Sy puts the cat on the bed, muscles already rippling as Archie makes a nest in my lap. I’m grateful, because after we take turns explaining what went down in Saul’s office, from the elevator ride to the big blackmailing video reveal, and then the specifics of the entertainment I’m supposed to provide at the poker game, Sy reacts by slamming his fist into the bedroom door.
“I’ll kill him,” he says, voice dripping with rage. “I will fucking kill him before I let anyone touch you. Do you understand?”
I jump up, stepping over Nick and grabbing Sy’s arm before he can do any more damage.
“There’s no need to kill anyone.” I square my shoulders, forcing him to look at me. “I’m a Royal woman, Sy. I was born and bred into this fucked-up system, and trust me when I say if this is all I have to do, then I’ll still make it out of this thing luckier than the rest.”
Flinty-eyed, Sy explodes, “How can you be okay with this? Letting that fucker parade you around like his whore?” I know somewhere deep down that this anger isn’t directed at me, but I still clench down on a flinch at the word. Whore. That’s exactly what Saul wants everyone to see me as, and hearing it barked from Sy’s mouth cuts at something in my gut.
Sy sees.
He always sees.
His face falls, and he surges forward, taking my face in his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that. You aren’t–no matter what happens. You’re ours.” Slowly, he repeats, “You’re ours, and he’s using you to punish us.” The cast of guilt over his features isn’t new. I’ve seen it ever since the morning in the belfry, when he came to apologize for hurting me.
This is one more thing he’ll need to atone for.
“Then don’t let him win,” I reply, the words sounding far more simple than the reality.
Sy’s face twists. “How are we supposed to just… do nothing?”
“He agreed that we can act as her protection,” Nick cuts in, glancing from his brother to Remy, “so that’s what we’re going to be. Nobody touches her. Nobody even fucking breathes on her.”
Remy makes a skeptical sound. “You’re really going to let a bunch of old fuckers put their eyes on your girl?” He shakes his head. “No way. This’ll be a fucking bloodbath.”
Nick snaps, “You think I want to? If this were just about what I want, Saul would be in a shallow grave somewhere. And then what?” He gestures to Sy. “I’d get my brother killed. I’d get you killed. I’d get myself killed. God only fucking knows what happens to Lavinia.” He glances at the ring on his finger, like he’s trying to remind himself of his role. “As leader of the Dukes, I can’t make rash decisions. That’s why I’m coming up with a contingency plan. Finding new customers. Making connections and hopefully a few deals. Expanding our territory so we’re not held hostage by that blackmailing asshole.” He looks between his boys. “He found a weak spot and I’m patching it up.”
“That’s very mature of you.” Sy grimaces down at his bleeding knuckles. “But I still want to kill him.”
“Get in line,” Remy says, still looking tired. “But, as much as it hurts to say it, Nicky’s right. We have to be smarter than these guys. Fucking Kings. They don’t use brawn to get what they want. They use their brains, their power, and money. If Nicky is going to be one of them one day, he’s got to start thinking like them—like my father.”
The words hang heavy, because it’s the closest any of them have come to saying it aloud.
One day, Nick will be King.
To become King means taking down Saul.
“Shit.” Sy drops to the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Goddamn it.”
Listening to them talk, I know they’re right. It’s how I would suggest dealing with my own father. The Kings raise these men to be soldiers, not leaders. Why? Because they’re terrified they’ll lose their throne. Nick said something else that tugs at me, something that makes my palms sweat and my stomach churn. Something I’ve been thinking about since we left Saul’s office.
“It’s time for the other plan, Nick,” I announce. Six eyes shift my direction, and I know I don’t look like much. Just a girl in nothing but an ill-fitting shirt, bluffing with a raised chin. “Saul saw me have a panic attack after being forced in the elevator by Ewing. He knows my weakness too, which is worse than the blackmail. I have to face this head on.” I look between them, steeling myself. “Will you help me?”
