She’s a goddess.
I’ve never seen anything so sexy in my whole goddamn life, Lavinia straddling me as her pussy, slick with cum and her own hot arousal, grinds across the length of my dick. It’s not just her pussy, though. It’s her tits, supple and full, right in front of my face. It’s the notch her teeth dig into her lip as she rocks against me. It’s the way she gazes down at me, so full of raw want that it makes my toes curl against the instinct to shove my hips up.
“Lav,” I pant, wanting to reach for her face, but feeling the cuffs restraining me. “Please.”
Her mouth parts on a moan, because of course she’d get off on me begging for it. Tied up. Helpless. So horny that my dick surges with another stream of precum. My secret is that it doesn’t matter how she takes it, only that she does. She can tie me up, make it hurt, bring me to the edge of insanity and shove me off the peak, and it’d all be the same to me, so long as I get inside.
I rush out, “I’m ready when you are,” but when I shift, bracing myself in anticipation, my wrist snaps, the chain to the cuffs jangling against the bed frame.
Remy snorts. “I bet you are, champ.”
“Shut up,” I hiss, then turn back to her. “You’re in control, baby.”
“You say that,” her eyes cut to Nick, “but someone won’t let me come.”
Nick sprawls next to me, head down by my feet, his gaze firmly on Lavinia’s ass. He extends a finger to skate teasingly around her ankle. “Thought you should save it. Let him feel it when you clench around him.” He looks at me and smirks. “Happy birthday.”
Lavinia freezes, gaping down at me. “It’s your birthday?” A flustered look comes over her face. “No one told me it was your birthday.”
I attempt a shrug that probably looks like a spastic twitch. “It’s not until tomorrow. I never make a deal out of it.”
“I didn’t get you anything,” she worries, and I raise my head to fix her with a long, significant look.
“Lavinia.” My eyes dart downward, to where her pussy hovers over my cock. “Trust me, this beats any present I’ve ever gotten, or ever could get.”
She blinks. “Oh.” When she rises up, my cock springs with her. We’re both wet, drenched in our own arousal and the sticky residue left by both Nick and Remy. My brother may play it off like this is all spontaneous, but Nick wouldn’t give his victory fuck up for just anything. If this is my birthday present, then that means he’s done his research. The hornier she is, already fucked open by both of them, the easier it will be for her to take me.
Hopefully.
“You scared?” I ask. She’s got me nudging at her entrance, and I force my hips to stay on the mattress. Someone should probably tie that part of me down too.
“No. Not scared.” She bends forward, kissing up my chest, tongue lathing over my nipple. “A little nervous, I guess.”
I grasp the chain of the cuffs with my fingers, the grip so tight it stings. “I’ll be good.” I mean it wholly, but I still shoot Nick a quick, desperate look.
Don’t let me hurt her again.
Nick locks his fingers around her ankle and lowers his chin in a nod.
A shiver rushes through me as she ascends, tongue painting a hot path to my throat. “Just working up to it,” she whispers, pussy dragging over the head of my cock.
I strain upward to plant a kiss on her throat, sucking a bruise into her pale flesh. “Feed me your tits,” I tell her, dying to get them in my mouth. She grabs them both, squeezing them together and leads them to my hungry tongue. I suckle her, listening to her moan as I tug her nipples into hard peaks.
She rises up, grinding her pussy against me again. Her eyes flick to the chain binding my wrist, mouth turning down. “I wish you could touch me.”
The air escapes my lungs in a hard, painful gust. “Fuck, babe. I want to touch you, too.” I give Remy a pleading look. “Maybe–”
“Nope.” Remy sits up, his own cock already stirring to attention again. “I’ve got this.” He moves behind her, his hands sliding around her chest, palming her tits. “That good, Vinny?”
It’s infuriatingly unfair, but the burn of envy is eased by the sound of her hum when she reaches between our bodies, fingers sliding enticingly over my shaft. I feel the warm heat as her lips spread apart, welcoming me in her folds, and I know instantly that it’s worth it.
“Take him slow, Vinny,” Remy says in her ear. His eyes are closed, his mouth sucking at her neck. He tweaks her nipple, and she bucks forward, taking the head of my cock with her.
A breath gets caught in my throat as I hold her gaze, feeling the resistance on the tip of my cock. Her hips give a little testing rock, which is all the warning I get before my dick finally spears through, the head slotting right inside her entrance.
Lavinia tenses, lips parting with a gasp. Her palms land flat on my chest, fingers splayed over each of my pecs. “Oh my god, you’re–”
“Fuck,” I growl, jaw clenched painfully. She’s hovering on her knees, the tip of my cock disappearing into her hole, and it feels like silk, liquid fire. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Her eyes widen, and she licks her bottom lip. “It doesn’t hurt. I think… I think I can take a little more.” My fingers scream in protest as I brace for it, the chain digging painfully into my knuckles as she gives another careful rock, sinking another hard inch of me into her slick pussy.
“How the fuck,” I snarl, slamming my head into the mattress. “How the fuck do you feel this and not instantly come your fucking brains out?” From the distant, low chuckles, I can assume Nick and Remy understand this question is meant for them.
Remy’s the one to say, “It’s just experience, bro. We all bust our nuts too early the first few times.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from my own dick to see how honest he’s being. She’s so tight, but so much more pliable than the last time. That night, I think I probably felt it, the way I tore myself into her. The whole experience was always knitted up in that sense of wrongness. Right now, it’s the complete opposite. She squirms to make room for me, but it’s there–a place for me inside of her. I can feel it, and all I want is to thrust, shove my hips up and pierce right through the resistance, sheathing my cock in all her warmth.
I resist the urge, my muscles so tense that I can feel them vibrating with restraint. Sweat begins beading on my forehead. “Lav,” I grind out, watching her sink down another slow, agonizing inch. “Say something. Are you… is this…?”
“I’m okay,” she says, even though the words are spoken through a series of panted breaths. She touches my jaw, stroking day-old stubble with the pad of her thumb. “Are you? You need to relax, Sy. You’re going to pass out or something.”
“Yeah,” Nick says, “you’re not the one taking that thing. Ease up a bit.”
I shoot him a glare because he doesn’t fucking get it. There is no easing up when it comes to this. Only then, Lavinia tips down to kiss me, and it’s so gentle–so achingly sweet–that my muscles begin unwinding. I fall into the sensation of her lips, her hair tickling my neck, her pussy fluttering around the head of my cock, and the next rock she gives, taking another thick inch of me, doesn’t even make me clench against the instinct to slam upward.
I take it with a long, tortured groan. “You pussy’s so fucking good,” I say, licking the whisper into her mouth.
Nick shifts on the bed next to me, his eyes trained on her pussy while his hand fists his cock. “God, look at you taking him. You’re doing so good, Little Bird. Just a little more.”
‘A little’ is an exaggeration. It’s barely halfway. We may be past the ‘just the tip’ phase but nowhere near fully inside. I understand that may not happen this time. I’ll take whatever she can give me.
But instead of pushing down, Lavinia rises back up. Panic washes over me, but before I can react to the loss of heat, she comes down again, harder than before. My cock slides in deeper, balls twitching as her walls cover me in warmth.
Remy soothes her groan by stroking her hair, whispering, “Don’t force it, Vinny.” His hand disappears behind her, and then I feel his fingers scissoring around her folds. Belatedly, I realize he’s checking her for tears. For blood.
“Is she…?” I don’t breathe again until he meets my gaze.
Remy dips his chin in a nod. “So far, so good.”
Lavinia’s fingers descend next, my stomach flexing at the feel of her brushing my shaft. Her eyes go foggy as she touches the place where we meet, and I realize she’s measuring, seeing how far she has left to go. “Oh,” she breathes, eyes snapping to mine. “That’s… deeper.”
Deeper than the last time.
More than she’s ever taken.
Victory sparking in her eyes, she clamps her teeth into her bottom lip, rises in a slow, slick drag, and dives back down, taking so much of my dick that my thighs clench in shock.
“Babe, you keep doing that and—”
Shit.
She does it again, her hips rising in a long, torturous tug, and then sinking back slowly. Remy’s hands are on her hips, but they’re not guiding her. I can tell, because gradually, he pulls them away, as if he’s been waiting to catch her falling off a bike and suddenly realizing she doesn’t need the support.
My eyes fly frantically from her pussy to her hooded stare. Every time she drops back down, taking just a little more of me, I’m hypnotized by the way it looks, the space between us disappearing inch by inch. Somewhere in my brain, I try to reconcile what I’m feeling with what I’m seeing. My dick is inside there, through her belly, buried into her sweet, wet cunt, and I want nothing more than to tell her to stop.
I want to stay inside her forever.
“Don’t come,” she begs. “Not yet.”
My ass flexes in time to her rhythm, and when I speak, it’s in a voice I hardly recognize, deep and slurred. “I won’t.” It’s a promise I don’t know if I can keep, because the truth of what’s happening is almost as hot as the act.
I’m getting fucked.
My eyes rise to Nick and Remy, even though it’s not like last time. I don’t care that other people see–that they know. This is about me and Lavinia becoming what we’re meant to be. Nick and Remy aren’t my audience, they’re my compass, and right now I need them to tell me if this is right.
Both of them are watching her pussy, though.
Remy’s leaning back, ducking his head to see it from behind, and I can’t even imagine how it must look. “Fuck,” he breathes, running a finger around her tight, stretched hole. “Your pussy’s taking him so good, Vinny.”
Nick’s eyes are glazed and almost black as he touches her thigh, desperate for a better look. “Get your phone,” he tells Remy. “Take a picture so they can see later.”
I start, “You don’t have to–”
But Lavinia’s only protest is to look at them over her shoulder, saying, “No faces.”
Remy’s already fumbling for his discarded jeans, pulling out his phone and bending to get a photo.
“I can take more,” she says, teeth baring down on her bottom lip. “I just… let me just…” She shifts, changing the angle, falling forward and trapping me with her dark eyes. With one roll of her hips, I sink in farther than before, watching as her jaw goes slack. “Oh God, right there.”
Her eyes, which had been locked-in on me, flutter shut. That simple act sends a jolt through my heart. She trusts me.
Behind her, Remy is snapping a photo of her pussy, but all I can focus on is the way she looks, forehead creased in abandon as she writhes to take more of my dick. Carefully, I plant my heels and give a small, measured nudge with my hips, bracing myself for disaster.
But when her eyes fly open, she just says, “Yeah, like that.”
“Yeah?” I give another testing buck, not trying to drive myself in deeper, just wanting her to feel me here.
She makes a low, keening sound, bearing back into motion, and behind her, Remy spits a soft curse. The urge to come is overwhelming—the need to touch and make this good for her more painful than the ache in my balls. She deserves it.
She deserves the best.
My eyes drop from her, down to Nick who is watching this with sharp intensity. Our eyes meet and I jerk my chin.
He doesn’t miss a beat, licking his thumb and leaning between us. He swipes the pad over her clit, rolling it in a slow circle. I don’t just see her react; I feel her, the muscles lining the walls of her pussy clenching around me. My hips rock up, and she drives down to meet me. Nick must do it again, because this time she cries out, one hand thrusting in my brother’s hair as the other claws down my chest.
The rush of feeling her tighten around me, all the way around me, eclipses all other moments. “Oh my god, Sy,” she pants, eyes snapping open and meeting mine. “I’m coming.”
She doesn’t have to tell me, because her back straightens at the same time her pussy strangles my cock, gripping me like a goddamn vise. I lurch forward, the thread snapped, my orgasm unleashing like a detonated bomb, but then slam back, forgetting my restraints.
“Fuck!”
Lavinia falls forward, hair tumbling over her shoulder, her hips convulsing. Her mouth meets mine, tongue pushing between my lips. Her nails dig into my chest, but nothing matters but the sensation of her pussy milking my cock.
Nothing matters but her.
She finishes her kiss, the same time my cock stops twitching inside of her, and I gaze into her eyes.
“I love you,” I say, not caring if the guys hear me. Not caring if she says it back.
I just want her to know.
“Look at me.” My mother reaches for my face, twisting it back and forth as if she’s searching for something. We’re in the kitchen, just the two of us. Nick, Remy, and Lavinia are in the other room with Dad and Pops.
“Ma.” I grab her forearms and gently force her to stop manhandling me. “Jesus, can’t a guy just get a drink?”
“Something’s different.” She frowns, twisting to grab my hand, and I cringe as her eyes zero in on the marks around my wrist. “What happened here? A fight? Oh, Simon…”
“No, I’m not fighting again!” Breaking away, I stick my head in the fridge, originally planning on grabbing a bottle of water, but fuck. A beer seems like a better idea. In moments like this, I understand what it must be like for the guys and Lavinia to live with me. The hyper-analyzing is annoying as fuck.
I stand, slamming the door, well aware that my cheeks are flushed. I grab the bottle opener off the counter and pop the top. “If you have to know, Lavinia and I…” I swallow the rest of that sentence along with a gulp of beer.
She turns to smooth out the icing on my birthday cake, eyebrow rising. “You know the rule, sweetheart.”
‘If you can’t talk about sex, you’re not mature enough to engage in it.’
That just about sums up life with a mother who’s a sex therapist. “We had sex,” I blurt, hand clenched around the bottle of beer.
She looks at my wrist, brows hiking higher on her forehead. “Adventurously, it seems.”
Shaking my head, I explain, “No, I mean… we’re together. She’s my girlfriend.”
Her eyes flick toward the living room where Remy’s excited voice carries as he describes something enthusiastically. “And your brother and Remy?”
“She’s their girlfriend, too.” I swallow, picking at the label. “Our Duchess. You know how it is.”
Mom’s good at keeping a straight face. The job requires it, but a mix of emotions runs through her eyes at the announcement. “Are you sure? Because managing this type of relationship isn’t for everyone.”
I rake my fingers through my hair, already regretting this conversation. “I know things didn’t work out with all of your… Dukes.” God, this is weirder than telling her I lost my virginity. “But that’s the thing. I get it now, that this isn’t something that comes easily. I fucked up with Lavinia–bad, and more than once–and we still worked through it. She’s the right one,” I tell her, feeling this from the bottom of my soul. “For us. She gets Remy. Like, really gets him.” I snort. “And God, Ma, she might be the only person in this world who can actually handle Nick.”
That makes her expression ease, because I know these are her real questions. Nick, Remy, and I aren’t normal men. We’re a mess–always have been. “And what about you?” she asks.
“Me?” I rest my elbows on the counter in front of my birthday cake. It’s red velvet–the same every year, just the way I like. “I gave her my journal,” I whisper, keeping my voice low. When I glance up at my mom, she’s frozen, searching my eyes. I’ve never let anyone read my journals before. “I know I don’t talk about it much, but I think… I think I was really messed up when I met her.” Lavinia dragged me from the edge of a place so filled with anger that it was eating me up inside. She showed me patience and care while dragging me out of that dark place of doubt and rage, over and over. She taught me to understand myself, and that women weren’t my problem. I was the problem. I could tell Mom all of that, but I don’t, because in the end it’s shockingly simple. “I love her. She makes us… better. Connected. Not new or different, just…” I struggle to find the word I’m looking for.
My mom knows, though. “A family.”
Something in my shoulders unwinds at the realization. That’s it. “Well, she needs that just as much as we do, because her own family is fucked all to hell.”
She frowns at my language but asks, “And you’re sure she can get past the things you had to do to get to this place?” She pulls the collar of her shirt to the side, revealing the puckered brand right above her heart. Although she normally hides it, it’s been a presence our entire life. I don’t—no, can’t—think about what she went through to get it. She lets me look at it for a brief moment before covering it again, saying. “Some things can’t be undone, Simon.” It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her mention her past with my fathers in anything but a happy light.
“We didn’t brand her,” I say quietly, squirming under the weight of her stare. “Remy marked her with a tattoo. That was enough.”
Her head snaps back in surprise. “And Saul is okay with that?”
My lip curls. “Saul doesn’t get a say in how we manage our Duchess.”
“Hm.” The corner of her eyes crinkle with skepticism. “Well, you never know, I suppose. Maybe things will be different for you.”
“They will be.” I say this with absolute conviction. “No one is going to hurt her again. I wouldn’t let them, and neither would Nick or Remy.” I don’t say that the three of us are willing to give everything for her, but from the worry in my mother’s eyes, she still hears it.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she says.
Before I can find a way of reassuring her, Nick struts in, loose and easy in a way our mom probably hasn’t seen him since high school. When he passes her, ducking in to press a quick, affectionate kiss to her temple, I wave my hand.
See?
She twists to give him a long, considering look, Nick opening the fridge to grab three more beers. When he turns, he freezes, looking between us. “What?”
Mom says, “Nothing,” and fidgets with the cake, but Nick narrows his eyes at me.
“Motherfu–” he swallows the curse. “You told her, didn’t you?”
I glare at him. “Like you can judge.” He nearly shouted it from the rooftops when he lost his virginity in high school. All it got him was a lecture from mom on communicating his intentions to young girls who are prone to romantic attachments and a trip to the pharmacy to buy condoms with Pops. At least I don’t have to go through that.
“All he told me is that you’re happy,” Mom says, adding a wink.
My brother’s eyes meet mine, and as unfamiliar as the term is to us, she’s right. We are happy, and I plan to do everything I can to keep it that way.
“Mom said dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” I say, walking into the living room.
Nick’s showing Pops the gun he got from Maddox. “Do I want to ask how he got it from you?” Nick asks.
Pops handles the gun reverently, running his thumb over the design etched in the side. The Bruin ‘B.’ He answers with a pointed, “Do I want to ask how you got it back?”
Nick pauses before sinking back into the couch, crossing his arms. “Touché.”
As curious as I am to know the answer to that question, I know it’s futile. Nick and Lavinia have been pretty quiet about what transpired in the Baron’s crypt. “Hey.” I look down at Remy, nudging him with a loose fist. “Where’s Lav?”
He twirls his marker around his fingers and jerks his chin toward the stairs. “Washing up, I think. Want me to find her?” I shake my head before the seed of eagerness in his eyes can grow. Normally, Remy loves chatting with our dads, so I know it’s not the company. It’s her. Lavinia.
All three of us are hooked.
The house isn’t big, a modest two-story bungalow with a basement. By the time we were in middle school, it was clear two growing boys, along with two adult men, were not going to fit in the current footprint. Instead of moving, they blew out the back of the house and the attic. They used our old rooms to build a large ensuite and then expanded upstairs for me and Nick.
I jog up the stairs, noting that the hall bathroom light is off, door open. I peek my head into Nick’s room, but it’s empty. I look in my old room next, finding her standing by the dresser, looking at a photo of me and Nick standing on the edge of a dock. I was about fourteen, Nick thirteen. We’re posing like Mr. Universe, puffed out chests, straining to produce biceps. We were scrawny little shits, but Dad and Pops had recently agreed to workouts.
“Hey.” I lean in the doorway, thinking that fourteen-year-old me would have absolutely fucking died at the sight before me. A hot girl in my childhood bedroom. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
“The Perilini-Bruin boys. Heartbreakers from the start.” She turns from the photo and sits on the end of the bed, eyes assessing the space. “It smells like you in here,” she says, running her hand over the quilt.
Her skirt is short enough to expose the lean line of her thigh. And the low scoop of her shirt… well, someone should have suggested a sweater. “I was just here a few weeks ago, I doubt my mother’s washed the sheets yet.”
When I left. When I hurt her.
“No.” She shakes her head, a smile flirting at the edge of her mouth. “It’s a different smell. You, but… more boyish.”
“More boyish?” I ask, stepping into the room. I like the look of her on the bed, a million teenage fantasies colliding.
She hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, kind of a mix of sweat, hormones, and cheap body spray.”
“Aside from the body spray, how is that different from now?” Birthdays always make me ruminate on the fact I don’t feel any differently, but this one especially. I’m still a jumble of exposed nerves and hormones when I’m around this woman. My cock incessantly hard. Painfully hard at the moment.
She stands, never breaking my gaze as she closes the gap between us. Hands flat on my stomach, she pushes up on her toes, pressing her nose into the crook of my neck. “Now you smell like a man,” she whispers, inhaling.
If I thought it was hard to keep my hands off Lavinia before, actually sinking my cock into her has made it substantially worse. I clench down on a surge of instant, consuming lust, but can’t fight the impulse to grab her hips, turning to catch a whiff of her hair. “I’ve worked a lot on my self-control the last few months, but you keep sniffing me like that and I’m going to come in my pants.”
“Or you could come inside me.” She slides her hand lower, cupping my erection. “We can be quick.”
I give a strained laugh at the lie. The truth is, sex between the two of us might never be quick. There will always be prep work and patience. It’s odd to think there was a time that reality would have brought a sense of bitter disappointment. Now, I imagine spending an hour working up to getting my dick inside of Lavinia and shudder at the prospect.
The ache in my balls is already returning. “Two things will happen if we’re not downstairs when my mother calls us for dinner.”
Her hand gives a torturous squeeze, lips brushing against my jaw. “Oh yeah?”
Struggling to find my voice, I rumble, “First, she’ll send someone up here to find us. Second, it’ll be Nick, and he will lose his goddamn mind if he thinks I’m fucking you in my childhood bedroom before he does.”
She pulls back, eyes growing wide. “Oh my god, you’re right. He’ll hound me.”
“Like a dog.”
“Fine,” she says, but even though her lips turn down, I can tell she’s trying not to laugh. “We’ll go eat.”
This is how I end up sitting through an entire dinner, surrounded by my family, with a throbbing boner.
“Granted,” Remy is saying, recounting the events of last night’s fight, “this Prince was built like a bus ticket–”
“Aren’t they all?” Dad says, laughing. Remy laughs along, but Nick and I share a look.
The Princes are getting bigger and stronger as the years roll by.
Remy goes on, “So Nick absolutely mollywhops this guy, right in the jaw. And you know Nick. He’s boasting the crowd up like he does, pretending like he’s above it all.”
Lazily, Nick cuts in, “I am above it all,” and Lavinia rolls her eyes.
“Please, you love the attention,” she says.
“Speaking of,” Nick says, pushing back his cleared plate, “any heads up on this alumni poker game Saul has directed us to host?”
There’s no missing the look exchanged between our parents. Abruptly, the whole vibe around the table sours.
In a not so subtle way, Pop rests his hand on mom’s and squeezes it. “How about you two ladies—sorry, Duchesses—take a break.” He gestures to the messy table. “We’ve got this.”
“Thank you, honey.” Mom stands and gives both of her husbands a kiss on the cheek. She looks to Lavinia and says, “Let’s get out of here before they change their minds.”
“Grab the plates,” Dad says, reaching for the empty platter and starting for the kitchen.
“We don’t keep things from her.” I follow, carrying my plate and my mother’s. “Whatever you have to say to us, you can say to her.”
“Vinny’s tough,” Remy adds, shoving the last roll into his mouth before stacking the basket on top of an empty bowl.
“That’s obvious.” Dad pushes his chair back. “But the life they lead, being a Duchess…” He goes unexpectedly quiet, his long dark hair shielding his expression.
Pops is the one to explain. “She needs someone who can relate to her situation just as much as the three of you do.”
That statement sits uncomfortably in my chest.
“Which is exactly why we need to know what we’re getting into with this poker game,” Nick says.
Pops snorts and turns on the faucet, shifting it over to hot. “You mean the one we haven’t been invited to since we dropped DKS?”
There are rules in the fraternity. If you drop, like our parents did, then that means you’re no longer affiliated in any way. It’s full-on persona non grata. A former member can no longer attend events, receive any perks, or wear letters or symbols associated with the fraternity. But this is Forsyth, where allegiance runs deeper than a pin or ring. The brand on my mother’s flesh tells that story just as much as the blood that runs through Nick, Lavinia, and Remy’s veins. Still, I know our parents were ostracized when they chose one another over Royal life.
Dad opens the dishwasher and starts rearranging the plates, but abruptly freezes, jaw dropping in horror. “Who put this pot in here?”
“I did,” Pop snaps. “It’s fine.”
“This is hand-wash only!” Dad barks, thrusting a finger at the pot. “And it takes up too much space, anyway.”
Fighting over the dishwasher is a lifelong struggle with these two. Both think they’ve figured out the key to maximum arrangement. Whatever talk she must be having with Lavinia isn’t the only reason my mom happily escaped from cleanup.
“Jesus,” Nick says, swiping the pot from Dad’s hand. “I’ll wash.” He shoots me a look. “You dry. Remy, you put up the leftovers. You two sit down and drink a beer.”
Dad and Pops both look impressed. It’s the first time they’ve seen Nick wearing this new leadership skin. It suits him better than anyone expected.
I grab the dish towel off the rack. “So,” I start, trying to get this back on track. “The poker game?”
“Right,” Dad says, taking a seat at the kitchen counter, while Pop grabs two beers. “I don’t know what to tell you, son. Other frats gather alumni together for homecoming or a family weekend. DKS has always had our poker game. As it grew, it seems like Saul decided to link it to the fall festival. A lot of local families come out to that anyway—”
“Because it’s a good place to be seen,” Pops adds, sitting next to him, sliding the beer over. “The media is there. Politicians. Saul likes that attention, but really what he wants is to remind everyone that West End is still open for business. His business.”
Dad’s eyes dart between us. “But you boys already figured that out, didn’t you?”
“It’s not the business part that worries me,” I say, that flicker of possessive anger sparking in my chest. “He’s making Lavinia the night’s entertainment.”
Pops freezes, the beer halfway to his mouth. “You pissed him off, didn’t you?” After a moment of obvious silence–Nick can’t spend time with anyone and not piss them off–Pops deflates. “I’ve tried really hard to hold back on the ‘I told you so,’ but Nick.” He levels my brother with a hard look. “I told you so.”
“You can always walk,” Dad says. “We did.”
I chuckle, the sound dark and mirthless. “You ‘walked,’ huh? Because that’s not the way I hear it.”
Pops’ eyes narrow. “And just how do you hear it?”
A lot was happening that night I met with Maddox at the Underworld, so much that I didn’t have time to dwell on what he told me. That doesn’t mean I forgot, though. “Word is, you lost the loyalty of the frat.”
Nick watches our fathers closely, expression hardening at the look they share. “Hey, fuck that. Don’t just leave us in the dark.”
Pops sighs, avoiding Nick’s glare. “You know your grandpop died when we were Dukes.” Grandpop was his grandfather, our great-grandfather.
My back goes ramrod straight. “You’re not saying Saul–”
But Pops shakes his head. “Saul didn’t kill him. Your grandpop had been dying for years with lung cancer.”
Dad pipes in, “We all figured he’d go once Davis was in the belfry.”
“And we were right,” Pops says, the dullness of an old grief filling his eyes. “In fact, we’d only been in for a couple months when he kicked it. I never wanted to be King. You all know that.” Finally meeting Nick’s gaze, he adds, “But grandpop was always good to me, and I wanted to honor him. Do right by him. Do things just the way he taught me.” He lifts the beer to his mouth, giving a bleak smile. “Saul had other ideas.”
Dad stresses, “Bigger ideas,” and I take a guess.
“Business ideas.”
Pops gives me a slow nod and begins massaging his knee. It’s an old training injury that always seems to flare up whenever he needs a fidget. “West End’s always had the gun trade locked down, but it wasn’t always about running them, you know. We’re built differently than the other Royals.” He jerks his chin at Remy, and then Nick. “We’re fighters. Our weapons are our bodies and our cunning, and we’re good at knowing how to use them–when to use them.”
Dad snorts. “A Count, a Baron, a Prince, a Lord… none of them are going to match a Duke on pure physicality alone. They need guns to beat us.”
“So,” Pops says, watching Nick with shrewd eyes, “what does a fighter do to ensure a victory?”
It takes Nick a second to answer, comprehension dawning on his features. “You monopolize all the guns.”
Pops tips his beer at Nick. “Exactly.”
“But where we saw strategy,” Dad says, eyes growing dark, “Saul saw business potential. Your grandpop was sitting on a stockpile that could have earned West End a fortune.”
Pops grabs his knee, leaning forward. “I don’t need to ask you to imagine what that would be like–Forsyth stocked to the teeth with West End guns.” He gestures broadly. “You’re living Saul’s dream out there, boys.”
Anger flickers in my brother’s eyes. “So you just… fucking left?”
“Hey,” Dad snaps, because as much as he and Pops bicker, no one jumps to his defense faster. “No one just leaves the Royalty, Nicky. Especially not when they’re about to become King.”
“There was a vote.” Pops’ voice is low and toneless. “That’s how it’s done in the belfry. You know that.”
Dad adds, “Saul campaigned the frat. Davis promised a future of the status quo, which was more about community and building up the gym than power, but Saul was offering a way for West End to earn money hand over fist.”
Pops rests his head back against the cabinet, eyes faraway. “DKS chose Saul.”
I share a look with Nick, because this is news to us. We’ve always been told it was a choice. That the three of them packed their bags and gladly left the Royalty behind them. It can’t all be a lie, only now I’m realizing it wasn’t as easy as they made it sound.
Because I’m looking into my Pops’ eyes, and somewhere beneath all the resentment and stubborn conviction, there’s a wound that’s never quite healed. Maybe Davis Bruin never wanted power or legacy, but he wanted to do something right. Something good. Something worthwhile.
And Saul Cartwright took it from him.
There’s a crash, Nick dropping a coffee mug into the dishwater. He clutches the counter, shoulders forming a taut, tense curve over the sink. “Do you have any fucking idea what it’s like out there?” he asks. Turning a glare onto our father, he keeps his voice low and measured, but so full of venom that it makes me jolt to stand between them. “West End was yours. You should have fought for it.”
Pops jumps off the counter, his knee injury forgotten. “You think I didn’t fight?” he asks, mouth pinched into an angry grimace. “You asked how the Baron King got that gun, so here’s the truth. I went to all of them–the Kings of Forsyth–hoping for one goddamn promise of support.” He tilts his head in that special, menacing way that comes with the Bruin genetics. “Do you know what that masked asshole told me?”
Remy’s the one to answer, the words quiet and grim. “Death is business.” He shoots me a look, because my fathers might not know Maddox’s true identity, but we do. “More bodies, more money.”
Pops gestures to Remy like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and I suppose it is.
Dad clutches his beer, staring sightlessly at his knuckles. “The other Kings liked Saul’s pitch. They lapped it up, Nick. They were all too happy to see West End in his hands, however bloody they might become. They wanted the firepower.”
“More than that,” Pops raises his chin, “they wanted the war.”
The words ring with a frightening clarity, because it all makes perfect sense. The Barons wanted the business. The Lords would have wanted to build their own arsenal to protect their land and women. The Counts would have needed the enforcement. And the Princes…
They wouldn’t have settled for anything less than the best of the best.
“Well,” my laugh is clipped and full of bitterness, “they got it.”
Some of the fire bleeds from Nick’s eyes, but he doesn’t look any less tense about the revelation. “Even if we wanted to walk, we don’t have that option,” he says, turning his focus to the dishes. Steam runs from the hot water, but he runs his hands underneath anyway, his fists clenching at the burn.
Remy snaps the lid on a glass container and admits, “He’s got us by the balls.”
Nick and I shoot him a glare. “Dammit, Rem–”
But it’s too late.
“I see,” Dad says, and it’s clear from his expression that he does. They both do. They don’t have to know the specifics of the video to understand that Saul has leverage on us, and that’s why there’s no walking away from this one.
“You don’t need to say you told us so.” I ball the towel up and toss it on the counter. “Again.”
They don’t have to. It rings in the air. This is what they were always warning us about. Living this life… the danger was never about how it would hurt us. That’s not how people like Saul come at fighters like us. It’s always about how it will hurt the people we love. People like mom.
Like Lavinia.
But that’s the thing about the belfry. Our fathers wouldn’t understand it, because they never had it. We’re not fractured like they were. We’re three Dukes and a Duchess, the way grandpop always knew it had to be. DKS finally has someone to get behind. The Bruin in the belfry finally has a house he can count on.
And if the Kings want a war, we’ll give them one.
