Sleeping with Remy is like trying to find rest in a hurricane. He’s not very touchy once he falls asleep, but his presence—the thrumming energy of him—keeps my subconscious just alert enough to avoid sinking too deep. He’s a restless sleeper. Always moving, it seems. It probably helps that I’m always naked when I’m in his bed. Either way, I’m always being pulled back from the edge with him. It’s not a bad sleep. If anything, it might be some of the best rest I’ve ever gotten.
Sleeping with Sy was like falling—if falling was more about the landing than the flight. It’s no wonder he and Remy are such good friends. Sy is some kind of black hole. I didn’t understand it at first, but now that I’m lying here in the dark, my brain running like a hamster on a wheel, it’s all I can think about. Sy is a goddamn sponge. It’s like his mere presence has a way of drawing out energy.
Which sucks for me, because I was somehow able to reach a depth of sleep that was… problematic. To say the least.
Sleeping with Nick is something else.
After the hand job, he pulled me half on top of him, hitched my leg over his hips, and instantly nodded off. But Nick doesn’t sleep like Remy or Sy do. Where Remy is chaos and Sy is a vacuum, Nick is inertly wary. He never loses the tension he carries throughout the day, and even though his breathing is even, chest rising and falling in a measured rhythm, the hand he has clamped around my thigh never loses its grip.
Nick sleeps like a man who’s trying to hold the world together.
In any case, he’s warm and still, and even though he’s clutching me like a toy he’s reluctant to let go of, he’s not holding me down.
My lips are still sore and bruised from his kisses.
It’s my first time seeing Nick in repose, and I can’t help but map the lines of his face, forehead creased even in sleep. His love might not be real, but he thinks it is, and I know enough about our world to understand that’s probably the best a woman around here could hope for. He’s handsome and strong—and fuck, let’s face it—hot as hell. If I were a little better about lying to myself, I could even see myself giving in. Path of least resistance. It probably wouldn’t even be bad—not all the time. The sex would be explosive. I know that much from the way he kisses me, touches me, surges into me like a wave hitting a shoreline. He’d make it feel so fucking good. He’d protect me like a prized possession. Maybe the more I gave in—the more I relented, stopped fighting—the nicer he’d be.
But I’d never have a choice.
Not really.
Because Nick was right. This thing we’re doing is a Royal game. A King’s game. Owning, dominating, consuming—it’s all a Royal man knows. The bartering thing we do… it’s just a thin veneer of control for me. He does it because it makes it better for him, not for me. I can’t forget that. Being possessed, being dominated, being consumed—it’s all a Royal woman knows.
And I’m sick—so goddamn sick—of being locked in a cage.
If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that there’s always a box. It might be a chest at the end of my bed. It might be a metal elevator. It could be a closet. It could be a trunk. It’s a big world out there, full of little nooks for girls who haven’t learned their place yet, and for men like Nick?
They’re tools.
With my brain running as it is, I self-indulgently imagine being free. It’d be much like being up in the belfry. Clear skies. A wide landscape. Nothing but air and empty space between me and the rest of the world. With the loss of my awareness before nodding off, hand loose against his tattooed chest, I imagine Nick is there in front of me, standing between me and the world. Is he keeping me away from the world, or is he keeping the world away from me?
I choose to believe the latter.
If I can’t feel free, then at least I can feel safe.
Eight days.
The bang startles me.
My head snaps up. I look down at the living area from my loft and realize Nick’s returned. It’s only nine in the morning, but I’ve been up since dawn, having realized his side of the bed was vacant and cold.
It threw me for a loop, because I’d been fretting about how waking up beside him might go. Another demand for a blow job? An offer for full-on sex? Or maybe, like his brother, he wouldn’t have bothered with the pretense. Maybe he would have just woken up hard and pinned me down, made me take it.
Instead, he left me there in bed, alone.
Remy and Sy came out of their bedrooms not long after I climbed the spiral staircase, pulling out the books and clock diagrams that have held my attention these last few days. Remy’s on the couch with a sketchpad on his knee. Sy has been making him come out of his room a little more since I told him about the arm slashing incident. I don’t know if it’s that Sy wants to keep an eye on him, or that being alone in his head isn’t exactly the best place for Remy to be. Either way, he seems a little more grounded, pausing his sketch to look at Nick.
Nick, who’s shucking off his leather jacket and dropping onto the couch beside his brother. He nods toward the big metal box he’d just dropped onto the coffee table. “Special delivery,” he says, watching as I descend the stairs. I’m still wearing the shirt he’d given me to wear the night before, and his eyes drop to the way it hangs on me, pupils dilating.
Walking to the table, I ask, “Is this…?”
He unlatches it and swings it open, presenting it like a gift. “Sufficient?”
I answer by dropping immediately into his lap, not even having to be ordered. A spark of shocked satisfaction fills his eyes, but I’m too busy inspecting a hammer to care much. “This is perfect,” I say, peering at the contents of the metal box. There are wrenches, screwdrivers, pliers, all kinds of bits and cutters.
“I know how you can show some gratitude,” he says, eyes flicking to my mouth.
“So do I.” I give him a sharp, sarcastic grin. “I did it last night. The only one with a debt here is you.” In my periphery, I see Sy’s head rise, feeling the weight of his gaze on me.
I can see Nick remembering that he’d promised to steal something for me last night, eyes narrowing. “I don’t think edging a guy from his nut just to get a promise out of him would stand up in the court of human decency. But that’s alright, Little Bird.” he reaches out, fingering a lock of my hair. “I keep my word. As you can plainly see.”
I look from him to the toolbox, considering that it really is a nice set. We’re still playing the game. The Royal game. He wasn’t wrong before about his bedroom. If he had something personal in there, I might be able to figure out its importance. I might gain something to hold over him. Luckily for him, there’s not a single morsel of insight to be gained from his room.
Nothing, except for his own words.
Without thinking too hard about it, I twist, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. The instant I pull back, I consider that this is a rocky path to go down, because there’s a stunned, delighted gleam in his eyes and a slackness to his mouth, and fuck, Nick Bruin is easy. But he’s easy for a reason and that can turn on a dime. Today, I’m good, but what happens when I piss him off?
Sy suddenly stands up, drawing our attention. “I’m going to get ready,” he says in this curt tone, as if I’ve somehow managed to annoy him.
Clearing my throat, I pick up a wrench, giving it a couple taps against my palm. “I don’t know what’s wrong with the clock, but I assume it hasn’t had any maintenance in years.” I look between Nick and Remy. “Since it isn’t a weapon and doesn’t have a pussy between its legs, I can see how it got neglected.”
Nick, having rearranged his expression into something carefully blank, gives my waist a squeeze. “I’m sure you can kick it into submission.”
“So,” I say, picking up a coil of wire and inspecting it. “I’m thinking Simon and I can do our morning jog, but instead of going to the library, I come back here and get to work.” It’ll be a shame to miss out on all those books, but spending a large block of alone time with Sy isn’t worth the reading material. He’s barely said two words to me since I stormed out of his bedroom the other night, and god knows I’m not saying anything to him.
But Nick says, “What morning jog?” and when Sy emerges from his room, he’s not in his running clothes.
He’s wearing a fucking suit.
I’m so caught off guard that I gape openly, because Sy is fucking hot. The notion slams into me like a linebacker, throwing me off-kilter. Of course, I knew he was attractive. He has those pretty genetics, and the ripped physique, plus the warm, brown skin. His handsomeness just always has the open hostility wrapped around it. But now, he’s standing there raking his fingers through his curls and glaring at my shirt, and I just think… wow. Who knew Sy could be such a stunner? The jacket is draped over his arm, and he’s wearing a tie and everything. I look a little too hard at the way his white shirt strains around his bicep and chest, sputtering, “I thought…”
Nick touches my chin, slowly turning my face away from the sight of his brother. “It’s Friday Night Fury, Little Bird. None of us have class on Friday. We have to prep.”
“But…” I know I haven’t quite regained my footing yet when I blurt, “I wanted to see the kitten.”
Remy’s distracted voice chimes out, “Kitten?”
“Yeah, uh—” My eyes dart to Sy’s, unnerved by the way he’s looking at me. “On our last jog through the East End. Some asshole threw their kitten out on the balcony. I just wanted to see if it’s still there. Maybe I can go check on it alone. Remember last night? You said—”
“You’ve got a full day ahead, too,” Nick says, cutting me off. “All of us need to prep for the fight.”
Remy leans forward, agreeing, “It’s your first official Fury as Duchess. You probably have just as much to do as Sy.”
I start to argue, but there’s a knock on the door. Simon opens it and Verity stands on the other side, all smiling and chipper. “Good morning!”
“Hey, Ver,” Simon says, features softening when he sees her. “Just in time.”
“Just in time for what?” I look at Nick.
Nick’s fingers dig into my ribs when he stands, lifting me from his lap. “You’ll be riding to the gym with her. She’s helping you get ready for tonight. Mama B sent her over.”
Sy buttons his sleeve cuff. “So you don’t embarrass yourself, or us, like you did yesterday,” he says, only sparing me a brief, narrow-eyed glance.
Verity gives me a sympathetic look, but I see the awkwardness underneath it. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
I roll my eyes, but I shouldn’t be surprised. I showed my ignorance about my role as Duchess and this is Mama’s way of putting me in my place. Verity never would have made such an error if she’d been chosen. “Okay, but I was really hoping to check on that kitten…”
Sy finally looks at me—really looks at me, for the first time in two days—and hotly explodes, “For fuck’s sake! Get me tools, bring me books, break into my house, get me some clothes, take me to the East End, eat my cunt.” He says the last part right into my face, flinging off the hand Nick presses to his chest. “Christ, I bet that piece of junk clock is less maintenance than you!”
I press a hand to my chest, mocking, “Aw, I’m sorry! Are all the tasks associated with keeping a slave inconvenient for you?”
“Oh, that’d make you feel better, wouldn’t it?” he says, eyes bugging out. “Poor little Lucia. Such a victim. Look around you, sweetheart!” He flings a hand toward the toolbox. “You give my brother your pussy in exchange for goods and services. You’re not a slave. You’re his whore!”
I don’t even really think about it—it’s an automatic impulse that drives my arm back.
My palm meets his cheek with a sharp, resounding crack.
Sy’s head twitches to the side, but other than that, the slap barely seems to touch him. Except for that way, he’s eerily still, frozen in place as the smack echoes. The whole room goes silent enough that I can practically hear everyone’s intake of breath.
And then everything happens very fast.
Sy lunges at me, but Nick darts between us, bodily shoving him back. “Leave it!” he barks.
Remy springs off the couch and catches me around the waist, saying, “You don’t want to go there, Vinny. Trust me. Trust me!”
But I’m seeing red and glaring right into Sy’s furious eyes as I thrash against his hold. “So I’m a whore? Is that right? Then where’s my fucking payment for two nights ago, Simon? Or for the locker room? I don’t remember you paying me anything for what happened at the Hideaway!”
He snarls, “I should knock that goddamn look off your face!” I watch as Sy’s fists flex, body coiled so tightly that even Nick struggles to hold him back.
I spread my arms out, bursting, “What a fucking shocker! You want to hit me? You want to fuck me? You want to punish me for not being the perfect little robot girl?” I feel a bitter, dark laugh bubble in my throat. “All that shit you were spouting at the library about you being special? It’s a lie. There are fourteen other Royal douchebags out there, just like you. They’re just as mean, just as selfish, just as fucking full of themselves.” Scoffing, I throw in one last barb. “The only thing that’s special about you is between your legs.”
I’m fully expecting him to throw it back at me. Something really snappy, like, “I guess that makes two of us.” It wouldn’t even be a lie. I grew up in this system. I know what women are in this town.
Instead, he just stares at me with this tense, numb expression.
His muscles uncoil so gradually that I don’t even notice it. Not until Remy has let me go, bending down to pick up his discarded marker. I watch idly as he tucks it behind his ear and struts over to a frozen Verity. He leans down and her eyes widen, like she’s not sure what he’s doing, but he just whispers something in her ear. When he tips back to meet her gaze, he asks, “Can you do that for me?”
“Y-yeah. Sure.”
He looks up and raises his chin, the heat of his scowl piercing through my anger. “Verity’s going to drive by the kitten on the way to the gym. Nick, you and I are going to take Sy.” He looks between us—Nick, Sy, and me—and pins us with his green eyes. “And if anyone else feels like throwing hands, then they’re going to catch some of mine. We should be saving this shit for the Barons, not each other.” His gaze stops on me. “Is that clear?”
Nick, Simon and I all stare at him for a moment. Sometimes it’s hard to remember he’s clued into anything happening in the room, but the look he’s giving me right now says it all.
If I’m drawing a line, then he’s going to choose Sy.
“Crystal,” I say, feeling strangely wrung out by the outburst, as if I’d had a flame inside me and now I’ve doused the room with it, leaving a cold, empty space.
Nick gives Sy a long look before saying, “Good, it’s settled.”
The trip down the stairs moments later feels longer than usual. Nick’s at my back, but I can’t tell if he’s herding me or protecting me. On one turn of the staircase, I glance over my shoulder and catch a peek of Sy, who’s looking straight ahead, brows crouched low and troubled-looking.
When we get to the street, Sy and Remy go one way, and Verity and I go the other.
Nick follows me, leading me to a shiny blue Mustang sitting at the curb. It’s Verity’s, I realize, when she walks around the driver’s side. I reach for the passenger door, but Nick darts in front of me, opening it himself. If he’s trying to make a chivalrous gesture, then it’s dampened by the way he’s blocking me from entering.
“Look,” he starts, so close that I can smell him, spicy and warm. “This is a big fight for Sy tonight. A rematch with this Baron fucker is going to earn us points in the all-frat competition. Whatever your beef is, this isn’t just about him. It’s about all of us—and that includes you now. That means your job is to look sexy and supportive.” When I don’t respond, he ducks his head, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You don’t ever want to square up with Sy, Little Bird. I can’t always be here to protect you. He’d fucking cream you, and then I’d have to kill him, and then my parents would kill me, assuming Remy didn’t get there first.” He reaches out, thumb brushing my lower lip, and I fight back a shiver at the darkness in his eyes. “You should leave the fighting to me.”
Suddenly, I’m hit with the memory of falling asleep last night. The notion of having the whole world in front of me, and Nick standing between me and it. The reminder that he’s not always keeping me away from the world. Sometimes, he’s just keeping it away from me.
I know I’m getting soft when the idea strikes me as sort of…
Sweet.
Before I do something impulsive, like give him another kiss on the cheek, I get in the car, avoiding his eyes as he slams the door. He leans down for a second to nod at Verity before patting the hood, sending us off.
“Jesus,” Verity says, cranking the engine with a powerful roar, “it’s just not fair that he’s that good-looking.”
As she speeds off, I don’t tell her that Nick’s pretty looks aren’t what draws me in. It’s everything else—all the bad stuff, the ugliness lurking under the surface, the all-consuming need to survive in the darkest of places.
It’s the parts of him that remind me of myself.
