The dream is warm and weightless.
I can feel a throb somewhere between my legs, but it’s distant, thrumming in the background of my awareness. Beyond it is the frozen sense of time. I don’t know where I am, but I know I’m safe here. Comfortable. Protected. Something inside me has been wound tight, and I know it has, because now it’s gone. I’m free of the worry, the razor-sharp thoughts, the hyper-aware tick of my brain wiped away by the whooshing rhythm in my ears.
Dimitri’s breaths.
I’m resting on his chest, I realize, groggy eyes blinking open. The first thing I see is the ‘S’ carved in the center of it, and then hands. So many of them. Tristian’s, reaching over Dimitri to touch me. Killian’s resting on my arm as he curls around me from behind.
I spend a long moment soaking it in, knowing they’re still sleeping. Killian’s skin is hot against my back, and I feel his hardness slotted up against the source of my ache. One shift of my thighs makes it clear I’m going to be feeling that for a couple of days.
Dimitri’s head is turned, puffing shallow, even breaths into the crown of my head as he sleeps, and there’s no blanket to cover him. Every inch of his body is on full display.
As is Tristian’s.
He’s almost too much to look at, in sleep. Tristian’s hair is messy, but in just the right way. His eyes shift behind his lids, as if he’s dreaming, too, and I spend a long time wondering what of. My knee is wedged between Dimitri’s, slotting his thigh right up against my center.
I catalogue all these things—the skin and the infinitesimal movements that make up their sleep—before even remembering where we are.
That awareness comes rudely.
And loudly.
“Lucifer’s hairy scrotum.” There’s a sharp crack that makes me flinch, and then Ms. Crane’s shrill voice. “Get the hell out of the den, you goddamn sickos!”
I feel Killian startle awake, and then watch Tristian bolt upright, but I’m too busy trying to futilely cover myself to catch their expressions. I remember now, last night, Killian unfolding the mattress from the sleeper sofa near the fireplace. It’d been so warm and cozy and—
Well, truthfully, I could barely get my legs to work enough to carry me to the bathroom, let alone up a flight of stairs.
So we’d finished the bottle of champagne and curled up here, in front of the fire.
Ms. Crane’s irate glare passes over the four of us. “A dozen fucking bedrooms in this place, and here you are with your ball sacks hanging out! Twenty-dollar tricks have more couth than this. Get up, get up!”
Dimitri, who’s slept through the whole ruckus, barely stirs when the pair of jeans she lobs smacks him right in the chin.
I snatch them up to cover my breasts, mortified. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Crane! We didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Killian flops back down onto the flimsy mattress, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. “Oh, I absolutely meant to fall asleep.”
Tristian props himself up on his elbows, looking unbothered by his general state of nudity. “I could have stayed up a couple more hours, if I’m being honest.”
Dimitri’s rough, sleep-thick voice rings out, even though he hasn’t bothered to open his eyes. “Chill the fuck out, mommy dearest. You’re harshing my afterglow.”
“Mommy dearest?!” Ms. Crane’s eyes narrow into slits. “If I were your mother, I’d poison your breakfast to spare myself the embarrassment!”
Tristian smiles serenely. “If you were my mother, I’d eat it.”
She bends to pick up a sweater off the floor, pitching it across the distance. “You have ten minutes to cover your asses and clean up your mess. I don’t get paid enough to see your limp dicks at six in the fucking morning.”
“First of all,” Killian argues, “you definitely get paid enough to see that.”
Tristian follows, “Second of all, there’s not a limp dick in this room.” He punctuates this by shooting me a quick, unapologetic wink.
Dimitri mutters, “Well, there is now,” and reaches down to cover himself, finally opening his eyes. In a loud, droll voice, he assures, “We’ll take care of it, Delores.”
“You’d fucking better.”
I wait until she’s left the room to bury my face in my hands. “Oh, my god. I can never look her in the eye again.”
Someone’s hand—Dimitri’s, going by the precision of his fingertips—comes up to rub gently against my back. “Come on, that woman’s probably seen more orgies than the Kings combined. Don’t sweat it, baby.”
Despite that frankly disturbing assurance, I still jump off the mattress, wincing at the ache between my legs, and begin plucking clothes from the floor. The guys are predictably a lot less urgent about it. Each time I glance back, I catch someone falling asleep again.
“Get up!” I hiss, tugging Dimitri’s faded black shirt over my head. When that doesn’t work, Tristian tucking his hands behind his head and flexing his thighs, I stand there with my hands on my hips, watching them.
They really are a sight like this. Three strapping, naked, gorgeous men, all sprawled out before me like something an erotic Renaissance painter dreamed up. Killian’s ink is on full display, and in places I don’t often see. He’s laying on his side, his back to me, and I take a second to appreciate the tattoos before my eyes wander to Dimitri. He’s the personification of indulgence, stretched out laconically. His hair has gotten longer over the winter and it’s flopped forward to one side, covering one of his closed eyes. It’s impossible to not look down at his cock and remember where it’s been, what he’s done with it. My attention wanders to Tristian next, but his attention is fixed on me. He’s not even tired. He was probably awake an hour ago.
“The last one of you to get up,” I tell them, eyebrow raised, “isn’t invited to my shower.” With that, I turn on my heel, sweeping out of the room.
When I hear the sudden, frantic flurry of movement behind me, my lips curve into a smirk.
But before I even reach the door, my phone goes off, making me freeze. A tight ball of anxiety forms in the back of my throat. It’s a holiday. Seven in the morning. I just had a public appearance, followed by something interesting and sexually new to me.
If Ted were going to make contact, this is when he’d do it.
It’s the only reason I pad over to my discarded pair of shorts, bending down to fish my phone from the pocket. From my periphery, I see the guys all watching, waiting.
When I see the name on the screen, I release a hard breath, shoulders deflating. “It’s my mom,” I tell the guys, answering.
“Storybook!” my mother greets, sounding bright eyed and annoyingly bushy tailed. “I was afraid it’d be too early for you to answer. Did you have a fun New Year’s Eve?”
I look over at my men in various states of undress, Dimitri hopping into what I’m pretty sure are Killian’s boxers. “Uh. Yeah, I definitely had a good time.”
“I know you’re in college now, so I won’t ask what antics you got up to.” In the background, I hear movement, shuffling, the jingle of keys. “I hated the thought of waking you, but I wanted to catch this New Year’s sale downtown. I just need you to ask your brother a quick question for me.”
I wince at the word. “Killian?” His head snaps up at the sound of his name, gaze locking to mine.
Mom explains, “It’s just that Daniel hasn’t told me a thing. I need to know how formal this banquet is. Is it a black-tie affair, or something more casual? I’m heading out now—the doors open at eight sharp—and I thought it’d be a good opportunity to buy something nice.”
I don’t suppress my eye roll. Undoubtedly, my mother already owns an extensive wardrobe. I cover the speaker and lift my chin at Killian. “Mom wants to know the dress code for the banquet.”
“Nothing,” is his answer, eyebrows crouched low. “I already told him I wasn’t going”
“Well, she thinks they are.”
The room falls silent as Dimitri and Tristian both wait for his response. Killian’s gaze holds mine, jaw going sharp and tense, and I almost wish I could turn the clock back nine hours. It’s taken a single minute for it to all come flooding back. South Side. Ted. Football. Injuries. And that’s only the stuff I know about.
“Story?” Mom asks. “Are you still there?”
I sigh, looking away from Killian’s tense face. “Put away your fur, Mom. Killian’s skipping the banquet.”
“Skipping?” She gives a sharp, incredulous scoff. “That’s ridiculous. He’s the guest of honor!”
“He already told Daniel he’s not going,” I explain, finding my panties wedged beneath a cushion. “I guess he forgot to tell you. Sorry.”
I can sense the disappointment on the other side of the phone. My mother would probably love nothing more than to get dressed up and ride the coat-tails of her successful stepson. She may be the last one to figure out those days are rapidly ending.
Her sigh is long and forlorn, as if she’s expecting him to change his mind in the time it takes to empty her lungs. “Well, I guess I won’t bother with a new dress.”
A pang of sympathy runs through me. She didn’t get invited to the Mercer party, and now she’s not going to the banquet. The opportunity to attend formal social functions seems to be dwindling for the Payne household.
Primly, I reason, “You know what? You should buy one anyway. Go find something fancy and pretty. That way, if something comes up last minute, you have a solid choice.”
This seems to perk her up. “Maybe you could come out with me! The campus is on the way.”
“Oh, gosh, Mom. I’d love to go shopping with you this morning.” I pull a face that makes Tristian bury a laugh into his fist. “It’s just that I’m… well. Super hungover?”
“Oh, Story.” She probably tries to sound disapproving, but she misses the mark. “I’ll send you a recipe for the perfect hangover remedy. Hydrate and get some sleep.”
“I will. Bye!” Before she can go on, I hang up, giving Killian a pleading look. “Are you sure you won’t at least consider—”
“I think you promised us a shower,” he says, giving me a look that says to drop it. “Even Rath got up.”
I relent, partially because I know it’s pointless to argue with Killian about this.
But also I just really, really want that shower.
The first day back at school is easier than I’m expecting.
Part of that is being unburdened with the worry of how I’m going to pay for it. Part of it is the three men always meeting me around campus, and the way we fit so much more seamlessly now than we have before.
Part of it is that I keep passing LDZ guys and getting the true Royal treatment.
When we run into two of them at the end of the day, I hear a loud hoot, and then, “Wrestling Queen!” Grant Patel curls his arm, flexing his bicep.
Jordan Hashford holds the door for me as we exit the student center, sweeping out an arm in a low bow. “My Lady.”
Fighting down my smile, I give both of them a thumbs up. “Thanks, guys!”
“Well, aren’t you a celebrity?” Tristian says, narrowing his eyes at Jordan as we pass. It takes me a second to realize why: Holding doors for me is usually his thing.
“Stop,” I say, even though my cheeks heat. “They’re just having fun.”
What I don’t say is that I’m having fun. Things are far too tense and dangerous to let it go to my head, but it’s been a nice fantasy, walking around campus and being greeted like someone who’s important. I’m no fool. I know it’s flimsy and fleeting, built with something that barely resembles respect.
“Let our girl enjoy the fame.” Dimitri pulls me a little closer to his side. “Those other Royal bitches are constantly getting the campus glory. It’s our time.”
“They’re just excited it put LDZ in the lead.” Killian glares at another passing group of guys over his shoulder. “But if those Beta Rho fuckers don’t stop looking at your ass, I’m going to stab their eyes out.”
I touch his lower back, fingertips idly pressing into the skin above his waistband. His jealousy streak seems worse lately, but I know my stepbrother now. A few soft touches can settle him, if I place them just right.
We’re almost to the truck, chatting about a party the Barons are throwing over the weekend, when Killian freezes. I almost run into his back, but Dimitri stops me, pulling me up short.
“No fucking way,” Killian says, voice low and tight. “No fucking way he’s here right now.”
It isn’t until he begins marching forward that I see it: a man leaning casually against his truck, arms crossed, face tipped up toward the afternoon sun.
Nick.
When Killian reaches him, he takes a fistful of his shirt and jerks him upright, hissing, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Nick’s eyes flick down to Killian’s hand, but he looks distinctly unimpressed. “Obviously, I came to see you and yours.”
“Here?!” Killian’s narrow eyes ping around the parking lot. “You can’t be here, motherfucker. You stick out like a sore thumb!” He flicks the tattoo inked into Nick’s temple, but Nick shrugs him off.
“Where else am I supposed to catch you?” His eyes find Dimitri, and then Tristian. “You never reply to texts during class. No one ever answers at your house, and you stopped coming to South Side when you buried a bullet into your old man. Turns out, hiding under a rock like a giant pussy kind of makes it hard to conduct business.”
Killian plants his fist into Nick’s shoulder, knocking him back into his truck’s door. “No one here needs your commentary on shit you know nothing about.” They stare at each other down in that way guys always do—the one that looks like they’re about to kiss. The thought would make me laugh if seeing Nick here, in this world—our world—didn’t make my stomach churn nervously.
Nick’s the first to break their staring contest, abandoning Killian’s glower to look at Dimitri. He thrusts his chin up. “It’s your business I’m here about, anyway. Got a minute, or what?”
Dimitri steps forward, but I grab his arm. “What kind of business?”
Nick barely spares me a glance. “South Side business. None of yours.”
“Fuck that.” Tristian shakes his head. “Any business you have with him, you’ve got with all of us.”
“This doesn’t concern either of you.” His blue eyes flick to each of the Lords before stopping on me. “And it definitely doesn’t concern your piece of ass. So why don’t you just—” Nick’s words cut off when Killian’s hand shoots out, clamping hard around his throat.
“If you like having a tongue,” he sneers, knuckles going white, “then you want to watch how you’re speaking to us.” He leans in closer, voice turning deadly. “And if you like having something between your legs, then you really want to watch how you’re talking to her.”
My big brother has been quick-tempered all week. I’m not sure if it’s because of his birthday—the banquet—coming up and the fact he’s officially quitting football to dedicate his life to South Side, or something else, but it’s like he’s dialed up every impatient and threatening part of his personality to eleven.
I begrudgingly decide to intervene. “Killian, stop.”
Nick reaches up to pry Killian’s fingers from his throat. “You don’t scare me, baby Payne. But relax, alright? I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Mouth pressed into an annoyed slant, Dimitri says, “Just tell me what the fuck, Bruin.”
But now Nick’s the one looking shifty, glancing around the lot. “Not here. You got room for one more in there, or what?” He nods to the truck and Killian makes a sour face at the suggestion. Nick gives him a cold smirk. “What’s wrong? Afraid the smell of South Side will rub off on the leather?”
“Just get in,” Killian growls, wrenching the back door open. Dimitri climbs in after Nick, but when I go to follow, Killian grabs my elbow, nudging me toward the front. “Up here. With me.”
Christ, it’s like having a guard dog.
I settle in the front with him while Dimitri and Tristian bracket Nick in the back. It’s comical, the three of them crammed back there, elbows fighting for dominance. The first thing I see when I glance back is Nick’s knee, jutting out of a hole in his jeans. For the first time, I wonder who he is. Where does he live? What does he do for Daniel? Why is it his brother, Simon, is all clean cut and on the road to academic excellence and Duke’s royalty, and Nick is a thug?
He doesn’t start talking until Killian has steered us off campus, the hum of the engine the only noise in the cab. “Word came down last night, Rath. Got another job.” He makes a rolling motion with his hand. “Well, an extension of the last.”
“No.” I look back to see Dimitri shake his head. “My debt to Daniel is paid. I’m done.”
“Wait.” I turn in my seat, looking between them. “What’s he talking about? What job? What debt?” From the tight set of Killian’s jaw and Tristian’s cold gaze, they at least have an inkling of what’s behind this visit.
Dimitri gives me a shuttered look. “Baby, it’s just some old shit. Nothing to worry about.”
Raising my eyebrows, I say, “There’s no such thing as ‘old shit’ when it comes to Daniel. You know that.”
Nick’s unsettling gaze stares me down. “At least your Lady’s more than tits and fists. You should listen to her.”
“That’s it,” Killian says, hand slamming down on the turn signal.
“Dude, chill,” Tristian says before he can pull over. “Tell us what the job is so we can drop your ass off on the nearest street corner.” …where you belong. He doesn’t say it, but I see it in the curl of his sneer.
Nick turns his head, meeting Dimitri’s gaze. “Daniel’s merchandise needs moving again. As you know, it’s a two-man job.” There’s a crack in his armor when he looks away, something worn and weary falling over his eyes. “Jesus, sometimes I think it’s a three-man job.”
My stomach fills with dread as I look at Dimitri. “What kind of merchandise? He doesn’t have you running drugs or something, does he? Because you can tell him no. You should tell him no.”
Dimitri gives me a long, blank stare. “It’s not drugs,” he says, but no other information is forthcoming.
I look at Tristian, who’s avoiding my gaze, and then Killian, whose attention is pointedly fixed on the road ahead. The only one who’ll actually look me in the eye is Nick, who lets out this ominous little laugh.
“Man, you guys haven’t told her shit, have you?”
Killian snaps, “She’s none of your goddamn business.”
But I am, and Nick makes this clear when he jerks his chin at me. “I was supposed to fuck you that night in the pit, but Romeo over here couldn’t handle it, so he paid Daddy Payne a fat stack to take my place.” Sniffing arrogantly, Nick lifts a shoulder. “But you know Daniel. Money’s never enough for him. He wanted something else.”
I glance at Dimitri, my stomach sinking. “What did he want?”
“Officially? A favor. Unofficially?” Nick barely reacts to the elbow Dimitri jabs into his ribs. “Leverage, probably. He’s had all of you by the balls, in one way or another, for as long as I’ve known him.” He glances at Dimitri, and if I had to decipher the expression on his face, I’d say he looks resentfully impressed. “Except for your boy here. That’s a plus to being born and bred in South Side, I guess. Everyone already expects the worst of you.”
That can’t be true. The whole reason I agreed to the show in the pit in the first place was to protect myself and him.
But Dimitri doesn’t know that.
A tight ball of anxiety winds in my chest as I stare at him. “What did you do?”
The expression on my face must say enough, because he looks away, setting his jaw. “Daniel has another… asset.” He runs his fingers through his hair. It’s a sharp frustrated gesture, made all the more apparent by the flat line of his mouth. “When he couldn’t pin you down back in high school, the Kings found a ‘Plan B’. He was keeping her out in Ms. Crane’s old Avenue slums, but the Barons needed—”
“Asset.” My voice feels flimsy and indistinct, but I know he hears me. He won’t even meet my gaze. “You mean another girl. A prisoner.” The tension in the cab of the truck is so thick that it stalls out in my lungs.
No one says anything.
Killian parks the truck, but I don’t even think to wonder where he’s taken us. Not until I wrench the door open to a large, empty parking lot in the warehouse district.
Dimitri exits the truck next, reaching for me. “Story,” he begins, but I flinch away.
“And you’re moving her around like merchandise? You know what that is, right?” My eyes must be an inferno when Dimitri finally looks at me. “That’s human trafficking. You’re a fucking trafficker, Rath!”
His head snaps back at the use of his nickname. “Don’t fucking judge me, Sweet Cherry.” There’s a sharpness to his sneer that anyone else would call cruel. But I know him well enough to hear the stung, wounded thing within it. “I had no idea what I was getting into when he told me to do it, and I didn’t have a choice.” He throws his arms out wide. “Debts get paid! The fuck do you want me to do?!”
“What does he want you to do?! He won’t stop. You know he won’t! Which means you’re involved with trafficking some poor girl for whatever Daniel has planned for her, and he has proof of it!” I press my fists into my stomach, a wave of nausea rolling over me. “I can’t believe you’d do something like this.”
“Story,” Killian says, meeting us around the front of the truck, “This isn’t just some random chick we’re talking about. It’s Lavinia Lucia. Do you know who she is?”
“Lucia.” I blandly repeat the name, a memory sparking in mind.
Killian nods. “The King of the Counts, Lionel Lucia. She’s his daughter.”
I gawk at him. “That makes it worse! He’ll come after us!”
“You don’t understand,” Tristian says, slamming his door. “He knows. He’s involved. All those fuckers are involved. There are some parts of this game you have to play, regardless of who gets hurt.”
“Really?” My face screws up in disbelief. “That’s all women are to you? Collateral damage in your bullshit game? Is that all I was when he put me in the pit?”
“Don’t be dense,” Killian snaps, fisting his keys until his knuckles turn white. He thrusts a finger at Dimitri. “Rath fought for you! I put a fucking bullet in my father for you! We take care of our own.”
“And this girl? Lavinia?” My horrified gaze passes between them. “Who takes care of her?”
“I do.” Nick slams the truck door, stalking forward with a hard expression.
“You?” I bark an incredulous laugh. “The guy who was going to fuck an unwilling girl in front of a hundred strangers, just because his boss gave him the order? Yeah, you’re a prize. She must feel so reassured.”
Dimitri shakes his head. “Story, she’s not our problem. And in case you missed it, we have plenty of our own.”
“Correction,” Nick says, shooting Dimitri a look. “She’s your problem. At least until we get her moved into the Hideaway.”
Disgust roils in my gut so sharply that I stagger back, voice cracking. “The Hideaway? They’re imprisoning her in Daniel’s whorehouse?”
I always knew he wanted me for something nefarious and perverse, but seeing it so tangibly laid out in front of me is like a slap to my face. That’s what he wanted me to be. A little doll to lock away, ready to be used and exploited.
The steel veneer over Dimitri’s expression crumbles at whatever he sees in my eyes. “Baby, come on.”
I let him drag me into his chest because I’m weak. I breathe in the scent of him, cool against his leather jacket, and am selfish enough to let it soothe away the jagged edge of betrayal. “She’s there because I’m not,” I whisper, begging him to understand. If I hadn’t run—if I’d let Daniel take me, have me—then maybe this girl would be living a nice, normal life. Maybe I’ve set something into motion. Something terrible. Something unconscionable.
“She’s there because her father made the choice.” He touches the back of my head, pressing me close. “This isn’t on you.”
But it is. I feel it in my bones. “We could get her out, couldn’t we?”
Killian is the one who answers, voice sounding closer than I expect. “If it were just my dad, then maybe we could. But, Story…”
“It’s the Kings,” Tristian says, and I know when I feel a flutter against my neck, it’s his fingers, sweeping my hair back. “All of them, combined. They’re too big.”
Of course, they’re right. Daniel and Saul Cartwright are the only Kings I’ve met, but even facing down the two of them at once seems a daunting task. All five Kings, with their combined power and influence? It isn’t just David and Goliath. It’s David and MechaGoliath.
Grabbing onto Dimitri’s jacket, I beg, “Please don’t do this.”
His chest swells with a stilted inhale. “Who would you rather be there? Me or some other asshole? You know I’m not out to hurt this chick.” He rubs my back, ducking down to speak close to my ear. “I can’t say the same for anyone else Daniel would send. Guys like Ugly Nick are a dime a dozen.”
He has a point. It’s just difficult to acknowledge it. “Then promise me after this, you won’t deal with him anymore. Any of you.”
Killian sighs. “It’s not that easy.”
“Because he’s your dad?” I turn my head to peer at him above Dimitri’s arm wound around my neck. “That hasn’t mattered in a long time.”
“It’s not that.” He huffs, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Look, he gave me a deadline, okay? To figure out who contracted Ugly Nick and killed Vivienne. That day we went to see him, he told us…” He holds my gaze, finishing reluctantly, “Story, he thinks it’s you. All of it. Ted, that guy back in Colorado, the threats, Viv…”
“What?!” I tear myself away from Dimitri, lava sparking in my blood. “He thinks I’ve been stalking myself for the last three years?”
“It’s just convenient for him,” is what Tristian says, looking almost as angry as I feel at the accusation. “If you’re the person behind this, then it solves all his problems.”
“That’s convenient for us,” Dimitri says, shooting him a brash look. “We need to face it. Shit looks bad from where he’s sitting.” To me, he carefully adds, “Think about it, baby. You’re the only one who’s ever talked to this guy. He waits until you’re alone to make contact. You were gone when Viv was murdered. You were the only one home when you found that finger in the hallway.” When my jaw drops, he lifts a hand, stopping me. “I know it’s not you. I’m just saying, it seems like this guy is hoping we’ll think it is.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Killian cuts in. “My dad thinks it’s her, so he’s not looking for the real motherfucker. It’s up to us.”
Suddenly, my body feels too heavy to carry. Unthinkingly, I drop to perch on the concrete parking bumper behind me, dragging my palms down my face. “When’s this deadline?”
Killian gives me a wary look. “Saturday.” Right. His birthday. Probably another reason he doesn’t want to go to that banquet. He insists, “I’m not worried about it. If he comes for you—”
“If?” Nick interjects, looking bored. “There’s no ‘if’ here, Payne. Your father is pissed. He’s out for blood.” He gestures at me. “Her blood. He would’ve made her pay it off on her back if you three hadn’t pissed all over her, but that ship has sailed.”
Killian locks his jaw. “Bruin, I swear to Christ—”
Nick doesn’t back down, even though Killian looks like he may actually break his spine. He steps forward and says in a low voice, “You need to listen to me. It doesn’t matter if you prove who really did it. It doesn’t matter if you find a smoking-fucking-gun. The dirt he’s got on your Lady will bury her six feet under.” He looks at me, a hint of pity in his eyes. “I’ve seen the file he has on you. So have your boys here. It’s so thick, it’s bulletproof.”
“Then we don’t actually need to bring him a suspect,” Dimitri says. “We just need to get all the dirt he has on her, and destroy it. Buy us some time.”
Nick barks a sharp laugh. “Not a chance. It’s in his highly fortified office building. Locked in the secret compartment in his desk. There’s so many locks and security measures between you and it, you’re better off finding a mole.”
Killian’s eyes flick to the other Lords. Something I can’t interpret passes between them.
Nick takes the lull as a chance to leave, turning away from the truck. “Rathbone, meet me at ten. You know the place. Lady, stay safe.” He spins on his heel and walks off like he doesn’t feel the fire of three dragons breathing down his neck.
“Well.” Tristian speaks first. “I guess we know what we have to do.”
“Get the dirt.” Dimitri shrugs like such a suggestion is easy.
“Nick is right.” Killian rubs his temple. “There’s no breaking into that office, guys. Trust me on that.”
“That’s the beauty of it,” Tristian says, clapping Killian on the shoulder. “Maybe we won’t technically need to.”
His grin is full of a malevolence that sends a shiver down my spine. I don’t know what it’s about, but I know whatever it is, I’m either going to hate it or love it.
I have this bad habit.
I never seem to leave anywhere with my hands clean. The trail of incriminating bullshit I leave in my wake…
It’s not intentional, but Nick was right. It’s enough to bury me. I’m surprised it’s taken him this long to gather it all up into a weapon jammed beneath my chin. It’s the only reason I don’t object to the plan they come up with—even though it’s completely insane—and I’m betting they realize it. It’s what I’m thinking about later that night, sitting on the front stoop. Because I’m waiting.
Waiting is all I ever do these days.
The door opens behind me, but I don’t need to turn to see who it is.
It’s almost ten.
“Colder than a witch’s tit out here,” Dimitri mutters, shrugging on his leather jacket. There’s a crinkle and a ‘shnick’, and then the glow of the flame as he lights the cigarette hanging from his lips. “You should go inside. Tris or Killer can warm you up.” When I don’t answer, he exhales a plume of smoke, his dark eyes fixed to me. In the shadow of night, he looks like a wraith, nothing but a sharp slice of distant headlights to make out the curve of his jaw. “Or you can go upstairs. Sleep in my bed.”
I tighten my arms around my middle. “Do they hurt her?”
The question makes him pause—only for a split second. “I don’t think so. Supposedly, that’s why I’m the one on the job. No one’s supposed to touch her. Kings’ orders.” He makes a small scoffing sound, reaching up to rub his chest. “Honestly, she’s a bit of a bruiser. Kicked the shit out of me.” Quieter, he adds, “I think they’re saving her for something. It’s like she’s just…” The ember on his cigarette makes a zig and a zag with the flick of his wrist. “…being kept. For now.”
“I know.” Finally, I look up, meeting his gaze. “I know exactly what they’re keeping her for.”
It’s always the same thing. It’s not even surprising or original. It’s the reason Daniel was so interested in me in the first place. It’s the reason his son, raised on his own bullshit ideals, was so obsessed with it. It’s the reason Daniel isn’t interested in me anymore, since I’m unable to be an ‘asset’ to him.
“It’s because she’s a virgin.”
In a way, that’s good. It buys us time. Daniel is far too busy right now to capitalize on it, and even though I have no idea what the other Kings want from her, I’m betting Daniel’s endeavor comes first. That means she’s safe.
For now.
Sighing, Rath bends down to peck me on the lips, fingertips cold on my cheek. “Don’t wait up for me.”
“Thank you,” I blurt, grabbing his jacket before he can move away. “I don’t think I ever said that, but…thank you. For what you did for me in the pit. For giving Daniel all that money. For protecting me.”
He crouches, eyes searching my face, and then reaches out to tuck my hair behind an ear. “You don’t need to thank me for that. It wasn’t exactly a choice.”
I nod, understanding. It wasn’t exactly a choice to agree to it, either. “Still.” I tip forward to kiss him again—this time slow, full of a weight that we don’t have nearly enough time to get into.
He must sense it, too, because he pulls away with a sigh, thumbing my jaw. “Chin up, baby girl. It’ll all work out. You’ll see.”
“Be careful,” I say, trying on a smile that feels just as fake as it is.
He answers, “Be in my bed when I get home.” I watch him walk away—the shape of his body, the lazy rhythm of his gait—and decide to take his advice.
I find Killian in his bedroom, curled over his desk as he jabs the keyboard. Killian always types like he’s engaged in a battle to the death with his laptop. It used to drive me crazy in high school, because I could hear his aggressive fingertip-punches through the wall like a semi-automatic going off.
Without looking up, he asks, “He leave?”
Nodding, I lean against the doorjamb, tugging the ends of my sleeves over my fists. “You know it’s a King, don’t you?” I wait until Killian looks up, a confused crease pinched in his brow to clarify, “Ted.”
Killian leans back in his chair, holding my stare. “The possibility had occurred to me.”
I enter the room, dawdling in front of his dresser. “It all makes sense now that I know what Daniel wanted me for. Or, at least, who he wanted me for.” I turn to him, smiling unhappily. “That just makes everything a lot harder, doesn’t it?”
He gives me a slow nod. “Maybe.”
If it is a King, Saul Cartwright or one of the others, that means evidence will be hard to come by, and even if we somehow find any, Daniel will either not believe us, or look the other way.
“I should be the one to go tomorrow,” I decide, thinking of the plan they’d worked up earlier. “It should be me.”
His brows crouch low, a dangerous expression crossing his face. “How the fuck do you figure?”
“You’re closest to the Kings because of your dad. We need to protect you from suspicion.” Shrugging, I fiddle with the change on his dresser, arranging it into a flower. “But no one knows about us. I mean, your dad, obviously. But other than him?” I glance at him through the mirror. “No one knows we’re…” I struggle to find a word that fits, settling lamely for, “together.”
He frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“Dimitri and Tristian,” I explain, turning. “They take me places. They treat me like their girlfriend. Everyone’s seen us together. Kissing. Touching. But you aren’t like that. I mean…” I look away, irritated that this isn’t coming out right. “When we’re at home, you are. But you’re not public about it. I’m just saying, if I do something, almost no one would suspect that you’re connected.”
I immediately regret saying it, because it digs at something raw and tender inside my chest to catalogue all the touches he hasn’t made. The good luck kiss he never gave me before the Screw Year’s Eve match. The way he looks at me at parties, over the press of the crowd, never pulling me close. It isn’t a big deal. It’s not like I need another leg lifted to piss on me.
“Well, I can’t just…” There’s a long beat of silence before Killian speaks again. When he does, the words are awkward—quiet, like a secret. “Story. People think you’re my sister.”
My eyes jerk up to his. “People think I’m a whore.” It comes out more sharply than I’m intending, but I don’t regret it. “That doesn’t stop me from walking with the three of you. I’m not so cowardly that I let what people think stand between me and something I want.” I watch the words hit his eyes, tightening at the corners. It makes my stomach sink, because the last thing I want tonight is another fight.
“You’re right,” he says, surprising me. When he reaches out, tucking his finger into the belt loop on my jeans, I let him tug me closer. “I’m a coward.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.” He pulls me into his lap, straddling him, hands firm on my hips. It’s rare anymore that we’re this close—not like this. Alone. Not fighting. From here, I can see the freckle on his temple. The sweep of his eyelashes. The texture above the dark circles settled beneath his eyes. “Rath thinks he’s dumb because of all his bullshit reading problems, but you want to know the truth? He’s the smartest person I know.” He tucks his thumbs beneath my shirt, hitching me closer. “It’s not book smarts. It’s the useful smart. You know he only needs to listen to a song three times before he can play it?” Killian shakes his head. “Rath will always be good at what he does. And Tristian…” His eyes drop to my chest, finger hooking in the neck of my shirt. He tugs it down just enough to expose the ‘T’ carved there. “He’ll always be a big deal around here, because he’s a Mercer.” One of his eyebrows arches. “And because he’s a fucking psycho.”
I breathe a laugh, winding my arms around his neck. “Just a little.”
He palms the small of my back, continuing, “Having him at your side will open doors for you, whether you want them or not. But I’m not worth tying around your neck. Not like that. Not anymore.”
I watch that dull glimmer pass through his eyes—this thing he feels is truth—and lean in to speak against his lips. “Bullshit.”
The kiss is the strangest thing.
It’s slow and sweet, completely void of the sting I’m used to with Killian. Even when he grabs a thick handful of my ass and drags me up over the bulge in his lap, it’s without the usual hostility. That doesn’t make it any less gut wrenching, a sharp, white heat settling between my legs as I rock against him.
He grabs me by the back of the head, breaking away to mouth at a patch of skin below my jaw. Gruffly, he whispers, “I’ve been saving it,” and then bucks up into me, swallowing my gasp with quick lips and an invasive tongue. “Come to bed with me and I’ll give it to you,” he says, chasing my mouth when I rear back.
“I can’t.” Despite the protest, I lift his shirt over his head, exposing the hard expanse of his tattooed chest. It’s habit now to let my gaze skip over the face on his arm. “I told Dimitri I’d sleep in his bed tonight.”
A dark, frustrated look passes over his face. “Then I’ll come with you. He won’t care.”
“I can’t,” I repeat, reaching for the zipper on his pants. I dip my hand inside and grasp his cock, and even though I’m kissing him, I’m still saying it. “I can’t, I can’t. Give it to me now. Please?”
The edge of his jaw is tight beneath my lips when I descend, indulging in the coarseness of his stubble.
“You want it?” he asks, hot and heavy in my palm. “Tell me.”
I wait until my mouth moves toward his ear, making sure he hears me clearly. “I want you to come inside me, big brother.”
He makes a soft, rough sound before wrenching us both upright. The flurry of movement disorients me until I feel the hard edge of the dresser digging into my backside. Killian rucks up my shirt, lifts my arms, and then rips it over my head. There’s a brief moment where his mouth is on me, tongue flicking my pebbled nipple, before he’s spinning me around.
It all happens so fast then. I watch his reflection in the mirror as he shoves down his pants, taking out his cock, and then I’m doing the same thing. I claw at the button to my jeans, but he’s the one to drag them down my hips, hands so eager that my body jostles with the force. He plants a hand into the middle of my back and pushes me down, and then he’s shifting his feet, lining himself up, and shoving his dick into me.
I cry out, sounding more shocked than I should be. He feels hot and so hard, thick and right. He doesn’t take it slow. Maybe I could have had that, if I’d let him sleep beside me. Maybe he would have waited until I was quiet and still, and then he might have peppered me with kisses and made love to me. Maybe he would have been sweet and tender and quiet.
The alternative isn’t exactly a disappointment.
He digs his fingertips into my hip bones and fucks me. There’s no other term for the way he slams into me, over and over, face frozen into a stony, urgent frown. I grab the dresser and hang on, bouncing back into him with every thrust. The force and rhythm might be punishing, but it doesn’t feel like punishment at all.
It just feels like desperation.
The dresser cracks against the wall—bang, bang, bang—but it’s not even the loudest thing in the room. That’d be me and the sharp, strained squawks clawing their way from my chest. Killian responds to them with low, ragged grunts. It’s a language only we can speak.
It doesn’t last long.
My orgasm arrives with an abruptness that staggers me. I slap my hand onto the nearest surface for leverage—the cold, smooth glass of the mirror—and grind back into the wild punches of his hips, shuddering out his name as it takes me.
His thrusts get harder, more pointed, and then he’s stumbling into me with a final slam into my body. The best part of this is that I can feel it. His cock swelling inside me. The way it pulses as it pumps me full of him, hot and so unbelievably slick. Killian curls over my back, growling with his surge against me, muscles all coiled tight as he crushes us together, seizing through the vestiges of it.
After that, it’s breathless panting and the sweep of his palm over my breast.
Maybe it could have been tender and sweet.
But this was exactly what I needed.
“Story.”
I look up when he says my name, meeting his eyes through the reflection in the mirror. Ten minutes ago, I wanted to sting him. I wanted to tell him how incredibly fucked it was that he gets off on me being his stepsister, but then has the gall to be embarrassed by it in public. I wanted to tell him the real reason I can’t sleep beside him anymore. I wanted to tell him that I refuse to be some secret midnight fuck he can hide away.
Now, I just want to make sure his cum stays inside me.
“I was wondering,” he says, giving me a meaningful look, “Do you still have that green dress?”
