The moment Nick steps out of Saul’s office, he transforms. I’m not sure which I prefer; the murderous man with the inferno eyes or this.
The soldier.
He marches up to the receptionist’s desk and evenly asks, “Where is he?”
The woman barely looks up from her phone. “I’m sorry, who?”
“Ewing,” Nick presses, spurring me into motion. He can’t kill Saul, but one of his henchmen is open season, and right now that’s what Nick wants.
When the burly guy showed up to my class and told me to come to the athletic director’s office, I knew something was up. I couldn’t say no—not as Duchess. Saul is my King and refusing would have caused bigger problems. Maybe not just for me, but for the guys as well. Maybe even the whole frat. So I cooperated, following him across campus, and it was fine, until he made me go in the elevator.
“Nick,” I hiss, tugging at his arm. “We’re not doing this!”
The frozen, empty look he gives me makes my blood turn to ice. “Wait outside.”
There was a time that the void of humanity in his eyes terrified me, and I fight back a shiver at it now. Only it’s not the same. Not since that day in the shower, when I cleansed him of Perez’s blood. Some part of me knows now that Nick’s true nature isn’t to kill.
“No.” I stand my ground, even though I feel frayed and shaken, exhausted and sore. “I don’t know where the stairs are and I can’t get into that elevator again.” The humiliation of it burns almost as hotly as it did watching that video of me being violated. “Don’t leave me alone here,” I say, willing to beg if it means leaving this place with both of us whole.
There’s a long moment where he just braces his palms against the reception desk, eyes fixed on his white knuckles, and I wait with bated breath. It’s not until I reach out, gently touching his shoulder, that he finally moves.
He jerks his head toward the exit sign at the end of the hall, signaling the staircase. “Let’s go.”
“Thank you.” The compromise helps with my nerves, but not the humiliation, burning at my cheeks. I’m familiar with panic attacks. I tried to manage this one, but the instant the doors of that elevator closed it was like my heart was caught in a vise. My chest tightened and my pulse raced. Sweat coated my skin, and I struggled to breathe.
The worst part though, was revealing my weakness. I hate looking weak. I hate not being able to control my body. My fears.
Now Saul holds all of them in the palm of his hand.
Nick pushes open the stairwell door and pulls me with him. Once I’m in the stairwell, he slams the door behind me. “I’ll kill him,” he says, and I know from the darkness in his eyes, fists flexing, that he isn’t talking about Ewing.
He’s talking about Saul.
I say the obvious. “You can’t. If the Lords find out what you did–”
“I’ll talk to Killian,”Nick says, eyes wild. “Make him see that I was doing the right thing.”
I flinch at the descriptor–the right thing–as if breaking into my room and attacking me was some incredible act of valiance.
Nick sees my reaction. I can tell by the way he goes eerily still, the tattoo on his temple puckering with his grimace. Suddenly, he whirls, kicking the door with the toe of his boot. “Fuck!” he shouts, letting the word echo up and down the cement tunnel.
“They protect what’s theirs, Nick.” I keep my voice quiet and calm, even though my guts feel twisted into a braid. “And at that point, I belonged to them. Even if they wanted to spare you, they couldn’t. How would that look?”
“You’re not going to do that,” he insists, thrusting a finger at me. “You’re not Saul’s fucking stripper, you’re–”
“I’m yours,” I say, intending for it to be reassuring.
But it falls flat.
From the coldness of Nick’s stare, we’re both remembering how I became his. It’d be a lie to say that seeing that video hasn’t rubbed the old wound raw, but the truth is, it’s pointless. What’s done is done.
Nick looks helpless, eyes lost. “I just wanted to get you out of there.”
“I know.”
More intensely, he adds, “You said it yourself. They protect what’s theirs. It’s not like I could just walk in there and ask Killer to give me his asset.”
“I know.”
From the way his eyes flash, he’s expecting an argument. “It was the safest way to get you here–to West End–to us.”
I explode, “I fucking know!” but the anger burns itself out before it can grow into anything he deserves. What’s left is an exhausted sense of sadness. I meet Nick’s eyes, knowing it must shine through. “Please don’t make me defend what you did to me.”
“Lavinia…” His face falls, and I don’t know what’s worse. Me having to defend it, or seeing that flare of guilt in his eyes for doing it.
“Stop,” I demand, before the plea can even leave his mouth. I won’t be made to feel this creeping sense of urgency to forgive the unforgivable.
Nick, being the irascible martyr he is, raises his chin to add, “The elevator.”
My hands shake, but not in fear. It’s more like a release for getting somewhere private and finally letting it all rush out. “When that guy came to get me, I should’ve called Sy. Or said no. I just didn’t want to make a scene and didn’t realize what was happening until I was away from the class—’
“Do not fucking apologize.” He rakes his hand through hair, mouth a tight, angry line. “I’m the one that did this to you. I made your claustrophobia a million times worse.”
His admission stuns me, and I grip the railing that looks over the stairwell, like it can hold me up. My issues didn’t start with Nick, but he’s right. He made them worse.
His eyes roam over me, before he finally snaps, barreling forward to frame my face in his large hands. “Tell me what you want me to do, baby.” There’s a desperation in his eyes that guts me, because despite how I wanted to use him all those weeks ago, I can’t be this for Nick. His compass. His general. His Daniel. “If you want me to kill him–either of them–I’ll do it. I’ll burn this whole fucking building to the ground. Maybe the video goes with it.” He tips his forehead to mine, breath soft on my lips. “Anything,” he promises, tilting his head. My heart thrums as he leans in, mouth meeting mine.
But it can never be that easy. I see that now. “Take me home,” I answer, because for all this strife, for all the wrongs and hurts caused along the way, this is what Nick has given me.
A home.
Nick and I go hand in hand as he leads me down each stair, through the doors, silent and spent. Thankfully, there’s no sight of Ewing as we step into the lobby.
But there is the elevator.
I stare at it, hard-pressed to remember what I must have looked like stepping into it an hour ago. I’d thought to myself that I was going to be brave. I was going to put on an act. I was going to be a Lucia. A Duchess.
And I fell apart the second the door closed.
Nick pauses, looking back at me, and then follows my gaze to the metal doors. I feel more than see him step close, his fingers tucking a lock of hair gently behind my ear. “I didn’t know about you then, Little Bird,” he says, voice soft as a whisper. “I’d never make you get in there again.”
I open my mouth to speak, but the words are caught. It’s like I’m in the chest, or one of those nights in bed, when the nightmares paralyze my muscles. Recognition flickers in his eyes, like he doesn’t see me, but sees what I’m going through, and his fingers inch behind my neck, massaging the tense muscles.
“Hey,” he says, soft and coaxing. “I won’t ever let anyone put you somewhere like that again. Understand?”
I look into his blue eyes, the certainty falling upon me like a new, tougher skin. “I know what I want you to do.” At his questioning look, I add, “All of you.”
“Thanks for coming early,” I say, fidgeting in front of the group. “I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.”
It’s an hour earlier than we usually meet to set up for Family Dinner. I’d called Verity and asked for the best way to reach out to the cutsluts. Three seconds later, she added me to the group chat, announcing that everyone needed to be at the gym early for a meeting. Now, we’re all here, and I’m standing in front of two dozen women sitting at the tables that will be filled with hungry frat boys in a few hours.
I’ve never spoken to a group like this before—a group of women who may or may not like me. That was something my sister was groomed to do. Not me. I got the vibe after Nick turned me into my father that most of them had my back. Most, not all, I think, eyeing the woman I caught sucking Remy’s dick.
Haley is front and center, slinked back in her seat with her arms crossed over her chest.
I’ve been dreading coming face-to-face with her all day. She’s pretty, I’ll give her that. Her tits are bigger than mine and her lips are fuller. She’s not a natural blonde, cool highlights scattered throughout her curled locks, but I can tell she takes a lot of care with it. She’s the kind of girl who spends an hour or more in front of the mirror every day, making every part of herself flawless and beautiful. Just like Leticia.
It takes everything in me not to smack that smug smile off her mouth.
Family Dinner should probably change its name to Family Drama.
This meeting isn’t about Haley or Remy, though. It’s about setting the groundwork to make this alumni event as painless as possible. So, I avoid eye contact with Haley and start by announcing, “Nick and I had a meeting with Saul yesterday, and he explained that one of our obligations is to… uh,” I stumble over the phrasing, eventually settling on, “act as host and hostess of the annual alumni poker game after the fall festival.”
A few girls share dark, foreboding looks, and it hits me.
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “You’re familiar with it?”
One of the older girls, Kathleen, raises her hand. “We always act as servers at the poker game.”
But another girl, Laura, rolls her eyes. “Among other things…”
I look between them, wondering, “What does that mean?”
Verity is the one to speak up, shifting uncomfortably. “The alumni are important, so sometimes… some of us will… I mean, not all of us, obviously–”
“We fuck them for money,” Haley says, eyes full of challenge.
I’m caught, tangled between abject horror and absolute fury that she has the guts to talk to me like that. I focus on the first emotion, eyes roving around the table. “Wait. You’re telling me Saul whores you out?”
Wilting, Verity says, “It’s not like that. We’re asked to serve, and when the alumni get a little handsy… some of the girls don’t mind making a little extra cash.”
For a long moment, I’m stunned speechless. This is some South Side nonsense, through and through. If my time at the Crane Motel and the Velvet Hideaway has taught me anything, it’s that the kind of men who’d buy a warm hole to satisfy themselves aren’t always in the habit of treating women kindly. That’s one reason I quietly ask, “Do they… hurt you?”
But the other reason is purely selfish.
Are they going to hurt me?
It’s a ridiculous thought, anyway. The Dukes will be my security, and Nick alone would sooner die himself than watch someone hurt me.
This much, I have complete confidence in.
“They’re married dudes, trapped in sexless marriages, who are willing to pay for some young college pussy,” another girl says. “It’s not like they’re whipping us.”
Kathleen mutters, “Spanking sometimes,” and looks distinctly unhappy about it.
Laura, who has always seemed pretty nice, is suddenly glaring at me. “Is that a problem? I thought if anyone could understand, it’d be you. Didn’t you spend a lot of time at that brothel in South Side?”
“Yeah,” another girl adds, looking offended. “What’s it to you, anyway? This pays a whole semester of tuition for some of us, you know. We aren’t Royal heirs.”
Haley snorts a laugh, looking so infuriatingly satisfied that I have to stop myself from flying over the table and bashing her head against it. I hold my hands up instead. “Look, if you want to make some extra money riding their dicks, then that’s not my business. I’m not judging.” Several expressions around the table show how unconvincing that statement is. Yet again, Haley’s eyes roll. “I just want to make sure it’s something you’re choosing and not something you’re forced to do. So.” I square my shoulders, raising my voice. “How many of you don’t want to be put in that situation?”
Slowly, hands begin rising up, beginning with Verity. One by one, at least half the girls follow, some looking guiltily at the girls who don’t. Briefly, I wonder if the cutsluts were ever asked.
I nod, meeting each of their gazes. “You’re all off the hook. Don’t come.”
“But,” Katheleen says, looking worried, “it’s required. If we don’t attend, then we could lose our position. We earned these spots. Someone else will happily replace us.”
More calmly than I feel, I say, “Not anymore. That’s your Duchess’ order, Kathleen. Any consequences arise, and I’ll answer to Saul myself. Understood?” At their reluctant agreement, I look right at Laura. “And as you so kindly pointed out? Yes, I am familiar with the workings of a brothel. So I can tell you right now that less girls flouncing around half-naked means anyone interested in making this a business pursuit can raise their worth.”
“Really?” Laura asks, shooting an eager look at the girl beside her. “Uh… by how much, you think?”
I falter for a moment, not expecting to be asked such a question. As if my time spent locked inside a whorehouse grants me some supreme wisdom on the matter of selling one’s body. Shrugging, I answer, “Honestly? At least twice. If these guys are really as loaded as you say, then they can afford it.”
Laura’s face spreads into an excited grin. “Hell yeah!”
Verity gives me an impressed nod. “Nice thinking, Duchess.”
Still tense, but relieved both halves of the group seem satisfied, I go on. “I’ll be honest, though. I’m going to have to rely on your expertise on how to pull this off, because I have no fucking clue what to do.”
That gets a few laughs and my shoulders ease. Verity catches my eye and I gesture for her to stand. “There’s a notebook in Mama B’s office that should be helpful,” she says. “It’ll have information about where to rent everything, from the tables and chairs to the poker table tops. The girls who have worked the event before will know the drill.”
“What’s the drill exactly?” I already know the worst part of my role, but I can’t just spend all night topless for these guys.
God, I hope I don’t have to.
“It varies,” she says. “Girls will have different assignments, like serving drinks and getting them liquored up to bid higher, or drink more. We’re just there to get them to spend more money, which is the goal since it all goes to charity.”
“Oh!” a girl breaks in, “Remember how that one year the girls all dressed up like devils? They looked so sexy.”
“I saw pictures where everyone wore showgirl outfits,” Laura adds. “They had these huge feather headdresses. Last year, we were nurses.” The face she pulls tells me her opinion on that particular theme. “So many testicular exam jokes.”
Verity nods. “We always dress the part—whatever it takes to part these guys with their cash.”
“Right,” I say, my mind spinning with anxiety. Apparently my ultimate act of degradation will come dressed in a themed costume. Just fucking great. “Okay, why don’t we come up with some suggestions in the group chat over the next week, and put them to a vote?” I’ve tried to avoid putting much thought into what I’ll be doing that night. It’s a ways off, and the last thing I need to do is dwell on it uselessly. Nick and I agreed that when it comes to Sy and Remy, that same logic applies. We haven’t told them–partly to avoid any undue outbursts, and partly because neither of us are sure where Remy’s head is at right now.
“All right, ladies!” Mama B calls from the kitchen doorway. “We’ve got an hour to set up before a bunch of hungry cubs roll in.”
The girls hop up, pushing chairs under the tables. I hear a few of the girls eagerly discussing ideas for the poker game. Their energy–the excitement of people who actually get a choice–makes me chafe inside.
It’s not the stripping that bothers me. It’s been a very long time since modesty was a luxury I had any claim to. It’s the purpose of it–the fact that these alumni want to see me debased, sullied. I spent two years under Daniel’s watchful eye, dreading the day something like this would come for me. Foolishly, I’ve begun feeling a sense of security as Duchess, the knowledge that I may have to do uncomfortable things, but never that.
“Thanks,” I say to Verity as I walk toward the kitchen. “I’ll get that notebook from your mom after dinner.”
She gives me a relieved grin. “Seriously? Thank you. Some of us have really been dreading this, you know. You’re doing us a huge favor.” More hesitantly, she adds, “I’m happy to help, even if that means you need me there. I don’t mind taking one for the team.”
There are times I feel bad for Verity. She was born and raised for the position of Duchess but had been overlooked when Nick set his sights on me and decided to claim his position. I can’t help but relate to the fact her whole life was turned upside down by one man’s decision. Nick’s decision. But no matter how helpful or willing she is to assist the Dukes, I have to think she dodged a bullet. I’m not saying my Royal blood makes me stronger, but I do think it prepared me for the position. I’m not sure Verity is up to it.
“Don’t sweat it.” I shake my head, trying my best to hide my own dread. “If the only real impact I can have as Duchess is making sure the cutsluts are treated with respect, then that’s all I need.”
Passing by us, Laura overhears this, turning to give me a pleased smile. “That’s really cool of you, Lavinia.”
It’s the first time any of these girls, besides Verity, have referred to me as anything but ‘Duchess.’ It cuts through the grim tension I’ve been carrying ever since that meeting with Saul, and despite the fact I’m forced to share a space with Haley, I actually find myself feeling lighter, settled in a way I’m not expecting. As we prepare dinner, I can’t help but feel as though I have a place here, a new synergy emerging between me and the cutsluts as we pass dishes and stack utensils.
Slowly the guys roll in, pushing through the gym doors and filling the seats. I keep an eye on the door through the corner of my eye. Although I can’t put a name to the feeling that surges through me when my Dukes walk in, I also can’t deny its presence.
Anticipation? Relief? Pride?
Their eyes search for me instantly, Nick’s shoulders losing some of their tension when our gazes lock. All three of them greet the DKS boys first, slapping palms, bumping fists. Nick has his arms on display despite the cooler weather, his short-sleeved shirt pulled tight over his chest. Sy’s dressed in a navy button-down, untucked over a dark pair of jeans, and has his hair pulled back the same way he wore it the night of our date. Remy is in a denim jacket, fists shoved into his pockets as he edges into the fray.
I try not to look at him too much.
Sy’s the first to approach me. I’m carrying a heavy pot of meatballs to the table when he walks up, taking it from me. “Hey,” he says, eyes cutting to the group before he dips down to give me a kiss. It’s quick but no less scorching, his tongue licking out to greet mine. He tastes like mint gum, and I let the frisson of want that’s been lingering ever since that night up in my loft pass through me like a bolt of electricity.
“How was the meeting?” he asks. From the pink tinge of his ears, I’m guessing he’s noticed some of the people looking at us. Most of the DKS boys know about what Sy did to me. God, a lot of them actually witnessed what Sy did to me.
Now I’m the one whose face is heating. “Good. The girls seem on board.”
Nick stalks our way just as Sy’s placing the pot on the table, and I give him a smile that feels uncertain.
Nick didn’t come to my loft last night.
It was the first night since the river house that he hasn’t, and although I waited, I also felt relieved when I drifted off without the intensity of his presence beside me. Watching that video dragged up a lot of feelings that need Olympian levels of compartmentalization.
But if I’m expecting reluctance from Nick, then I’m an idiot. He saunters right up to me, hooks his hand beneath my chin, and takes my mouth in a kiss so obscene and unexpected that I stumble back a step. I make a startled sound, but when he steadies me, wrenching my body up against his, I wind my arms around his neck, welcoming the zeal. Sometimes, my feelings for Nick are so complicated that I forget just how simple the man who causes them actually is.
Nick wants me. That’s the beginning and end with him. The blessing and the curse. The rights and the wrongs.
He makes a low, gritty sound when he pulls back–not very far. “Nice dress,” he says, eyes dipping down to my chest. “I’ll take it off of you tonight.” Beneath the devious grin he gives me is a statement I hear loud and clear.
One night apart is his limit.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re not coming anywhere near this dress tonight.” Beneath my eye roll is a statement I hope he hears loud and clear. “It’s my only nice Family Dinner dress.”
I won’t turn you away.
“Oh well.” He squeezes my hips tight, getting the message. “You look better without it.”
Sy turns to say, “There’s garlic bread, right?”
Noticing the hopeful gleam in his eyes, I extricate myself from his handsy brother. “Of course. This isn’t my first rodeo with you animals.”
I feel their eyes on me as I stroll to the kitchen, but still take a quick peek over my shoulder to see both of their blue-eyed gazes glued firmly to my ass.
The garlic bread is made in batches throughout dinner. Otherwise, as Mama B has made quite clear, the boys would feast on nothing else. As a result, I’m fully anticipating being cub-piled the moment I walk out with it.
But before I even get that far, I hear a voice.
Haley’s voice. “This whole thing is such a joke.” Her and Laura are lingering just outside. Through the crack in the door, I catch a peek of Haley’s arm as she passes Laura a vape pen.
“What’s a joke?” Laura asks, hitting the vape. “The poker game?”
“No,” Haley says, scoffing. “Her. The Duchess. She’s the worst person to lead the cutsluts.” Haley snatches the vape pen back, voice sharp and bitter. “I don’t care what anyone says, she’s not one of us. She’s a fucking viper, not a bruin.”
“I think she’s nice.” There’s a short, awkward pause before Laura warns, “And you better not let the guys hear you say that. Dillon said there was a whole dust-up during that meeting because Bruce questioned her loyalty.”
She flips her hair back. “Please. That’s all Nick and his obsessive personality. A chance at owning some Count cunt was the only thing in this town off-limits to him. He just wants what he can’t have.” She hits the vape pen, nodding confidently. “Once he’s gotten her out of his system, he’ll come back to us. She obviously has no idea how to please a man.” My hands are already shaking with rage before the next sentence comes spewing out of her smirking mouth. “Else Remy wouldn’t have come to me after the match.”
White-hot fury surges through me, and even if I wanted to hold back, I couldn’t. I storm through the door. The sound makes them both jump, whirling around to gape at me.
“You would need a dick in your mouth, wouldn’t you, Haley?” I fist the tray, heart pumping like an inferno. “Apparently that and my sloppy seconds are the only things that keep it from flapping.”
Haley’s eyes flash angrily, even though she laughs, straightening her shoulders. “Don’t you mean my sloppy seconds? Or have you forgotten who had him first? What can I say? When it comes to pleasing your boys, I’m the Royal.”
“At what?” I snap, “Taking advantage of guys who are sick and wasted? I guess that’s the only way you can get it.”
Haley plants her hands on her hips. “Is that what you call it, sweetie? Wasted? Because he was ‘wasted’ all over my tongue until you walked in.”
I throw the tray of bread aside, the clatter ringing noisily enough that I know all eyes in the room are swinging on us. “My foot is about to be wasted all over your face.”
The room falls to a silent hush.
She surges forward, arms out. “Try me, snake! I’m not some pampered little North Side bitch.”
Over the sound of scraping chairs and girls rushing forward, I say, “No. You’re just a bottom-feeding slut who doesn’t know her place.” And then I slam my palm into her shoulder.
Eyes filling with fire, Haley’s hand jerks back and flings out, slapping me hard.
Across the tit.
A sharp sting of pain runs along my nerves.
Laura gasps, “Haley! What the–”
But I’m already lunging at her, hand grabbing a thick fistful of her hair, and yanking hard enough that she stumbles. I jam my knee into her crotch, filled with a sick sense of satisfaction at the resulting yelp.
The other girls rush around us, screaming as the fight escalates. Louder, male voices–half of them amused–grow closer.
“Oh, shit!”
“Chick fight!”
“Anyone got their phone to record this shit?!”
“Kick her ass, Duchess!”
Soon we’re surrounded, but my eyes are focused on the bitch in front of me. “You don’t get to touch my man—ever. I’m the Duchess.”
She shoves me back. “He didn’t care you were his Duchess when he stuck his dick in my mouth.” Her lips curve upward. “I’ve tasted all your men, and one day they’ll all come back for more.”
This time when I go for her, I don’t hold back, slamming full force into her. She falls back, crashing into the table. Her arms flail out, nails sharp, slicing down my cheek. I growl and reach for her throat, but don’t make it before I’m yanked back against a hard, solid chest.
The height gives me just the leverage I need to plant my heel into her jaw.
“Ah!” she cries, hands flying up to cover her chin. “Fucking cunt!” Before Haley can lunge back toward me, Ballsack grabs her, wrenching her away.
I don’t need to look over my shoulder to know Nick’s the one holding me. I can smell his warm scent, see the tattoos on his knuckles, the flash of his gold ring.
“Easy there, beautiful,” he says, arms like manacles.
When I do look at him, he’s got a small smile on his lips. Of course, he’s loving this. I jab him in the gut, trying to work out of his grip.
“Let me fucking go!”
“Can’t, Little Bird,” he says, tightening his arms. “Haley will rip your goddamn eyes out.”
My eyes bug out. I can’t even imagine how crazed I must look. “You’re worried about me? You better be fucking worried about her!” In my struggle, my ass brushes against his crotch and I freeze, shooting him an incredulous look. Is that a–?
Fucking Nick, I swear to God….
“That’s enough!” Sy shouts, standing between us. I spot Remy, the cause of this fight, standing a few feet away. He’s running both hands through his hair, raking hard, eyes tense and halfway to wild. Sy says, “This isn’t how we handle our problems!”
“Oh, bullshit, Perilini.” Someone barks out a laugh. All eyes look over to who would interrupt Sy. It’s Bruce. “A fist fight is exactly how we’d handle this. Or are you just sexist? Only guys can fight, not chicks?”
Bruce is being Bruce, stirring the fucking pot. But my heart pounds, because all I want to do is show this little cunt exactly why I’m the Duchess.
Sy’s eyes flick to mine and I plead silently. I need to show these women I can lead them. That we can work together, not tear each other apart. We had a good moment before, all of us on the same page, until she ruined it.
Haley needs to be put down, and I have to be the one who does it.
Recognition flares in Sy’s eyes, and he gives me a nod. “Fine. But Dukes don’t fight on the fucking dinner table.” His eyes flick over my shoulder, across the gym. “We settle it in the ring.”
