Dukes of Peril (Dark College Bully Romance): Royals of Forsyth U (Royals of Forsyth University Book 6)
Dukes of Peril: Chapter 24

I spend the wait turning the ring over in my palm, not daring to slip it onto my finger just yet.

Every Kingdom only has two rings–that much I know. One is for the King, the other is for his heir. I wonder which one my father wore, but that much is obvious. It’s on Saul’s finger. He didn’t take West End for the purpose of a fresh start. He took it because he wanted to conquer it.

I’m taking a sip of Saul’s scotch when the door to his top-floor office opens.

“We’re two weeks out from the playoffs. Make sure the media has our new rankings and—” The words abruptly stop, his alert gaze falling on me. “I’ll call you back.” Lowering his phone, Saul’s eyes dart suspiciously around the room. “I wasn’t expecting guests.”

Hearing this, Neon pushes past him and lunges at me. Since my mama raised me right, I make sure the glass of scotch is firmly on the table before he arrives, yanking me to my feet. Although, let’s face it. I rise on my own more than he lifts me, holding my arms out for what I know is coming.

Neon’s narrow eyes hold my stare as he frisks me, hands patting my armpits, sides, back. Pausing, he quickly removes the black pistol tucked against the small of my back, throwing Saul a look as he removes the magazine, emptying the chamber.

Saul commands, “All the way, Neon.”

Neon continues patting me down, stilling when he reaches my crotch. I see the look in his eye, like he’s trying to decide if the rumors are true. Is that bulge in my pants my cock or a gun? I arch an eyebrow. “Keep your hand there any longer and you’re going to need to buy me a drink.”

At the last second, he pulls back, tossing Saul a nod. “He’s clean.”

“Simon,” Saul says, not looking any more at ease. “This is a surprise.”

“Well,” I retrieve my glass of scotch, “I know how much you love an ambush meeting, so I figured I’d play by your rules.”

He gestures to the seat I’d been occupying. “Sit down and tell me what’s on your mind.” More harshly, he adds, “And for once, it’d better not be your Duchess’ pussy.”

“I can’t promise that,” I admit, taking a sip of the amber liquid. “I’m here for two reasons, and one is to ask you to back off Lavinia. She’s done everything you’ve asked. If you’re just using her to get back at Nick, then maybe what I’m about to say can lead us to a suitable agreement.”

Saul leans against his obnoxiously rugged desk, arms crossed. “Shoot your shot, kid.”

I twist the glass in my hand, voice measured. “If you leave her alone, I’ll handle Nick.”

“Is that so?” His chuckle is full of mocking spite. “I doubt our ideas on how to handle Nicholas align.”

My jaw tightens as I look up, meeting his gaze. “You made your point yesterday, Saul. You won. You’re the victor.”

There’s not a DKS alive that doesn’t feel a rush when those words are said, not even Saul Cartwright. I can see the spark of satisfaction in his eyes now, and I can even imagine what he’s thinking.

Two Bruins down.

“And what about the Oakfields?” he says, chest expanding arrogantly. “They’re an important family–integral to our ammunition supply. Bruce is feeling… underappreciated.”

I’m not good at this part of it. The pretense. The acting. Luckily, I don’t have to pretend when my teeth clench. “What are you saying?”

Saul pushes off the desk, his stride to the window lackadaisical. “I think it’d be best if you asked your brother to step down and give Bruce his rightful spot.”

My eyes track him carefully. “Step down. As in, leave DKS.”

Linking his hands behind him, Saul gazes out at the field below. “Yes.”

“He’s the heir,” I point out. “No one has the right to ask him to do that.”

He twists to meet my gaze. “Yet, I suspect he would. For her. For you.”

I pretend to think about it, staring thoughtfully into my glass. Saul lets me mull it over, his goon watching with shrewd eyes. I hedge, “So if I make this happen…”

“I’ll let Nicholas live,” he assures, tugging a cigar from his jacket pocket. “Just not in West End.”

“And if I don’t, you’ll kill him.” The thought is so laughable that I struggle to keep a straight face. In no universe could Saul beat my brother.

Saul shrugs, saying, “It’s quite simple, really. A Bruin and a Cartwright can’t coexist here.” He sets his sights on the couch opposite me, strolling toward it. “Do you know why I didn’t kill Davis twenty-five-years ago?”

I watch as Saul takes a seat, puffing his cigar to a bright ember. “Because he left of his own accord. You didn’t need to spill blood unnecessarily.” The next words taste like acid on my tongue. “I’ve always held a strong respect for that.”

Glancing at Neon, Saul barks a laugh. “How precious is this kid?” He gives me a patronizing smile, like I’m far dimmer than he expected. “Just because I hate something doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to ignore it. Fact is, the Bruin name means something here.” Face darkening, he inspects the end of his cigar. “I can kill every man it belongs to–eradicate his whole fucking bloodline–but I can never kill that. The name. The legacy. The reputation. All I can do is give them time to kill it themselves.” Bringing the cigar to his mouth, he chuckles. “They almost did, too. Nick going to South Side was damn near perfect. Sullied the name in a single year, and I didn’t even have to lift a finger.” Pausing, he adds, “Well, not much of one.”

Confused, I wonder, “So why bother letting him in the belfry again? Why give him a chance to earn their loyalty?”

“Because I knew he wouldn’t,” Saul snaps, eyes sparking dangerously. “When your enemy’s a fuck-up like Nick Bruin, the best place to put him is front-and-center. Let everyone see that the Bruin name is just as useless as the man it’s attached to.” He leans back, some of the tight fury smoothing from his features. “But don’t think I haven’t appreciated the strain that’s put on you, Simon. Your brother’s return has done nothing but ignite chaos in the tower. First the girl, then Perez, now the embarrassment at the poker game.” He looks me up and down, contemplative. “You’re a much more capable leader.”

Funny. Saul really is DKS. He’d come to the same decision as the rest of the frat. He just didn’t realize to what end. Not yet.

I throw the last of my drink back, slamming the empty glass on the table. “Then I accept your terms.”

He raises an eyebrow. Someone ‘precious’ might think he’s surprised that selling my brother out was that easy, but I see the understanding in his eyes. To him, power is the strongest allure of all, and that little comment was a message.

Remove Nick, and he’ll make me the figurehead of the Dukes.

I add, “With one request,” and he tips his head back, assessing me closely.

“I’m guessing I’ll need a drink for this,” he says, gesturing to Neon, who immediately approaches the little bar by the desk. “Let’s hear it, Perilini. Name your stipulations.”

I wait until he’s holding his drink, looking perfectly at ease, to say, “I want to know the truth about Tate.”

There it is.

It’s subtle, I’ll give him that. The glass doesn’t pause on the way to his lips so much as his movement stutters. He plays it off well enough, brows pulling together. “Who?”

Shaking my head, I say, “Don’t insult me, Saul. We already know she was doing some work for you.”

“Ah, you mean that rowdy girl you used to run around with?” He waves his hand. “Sure, she did some work for me, nothing consequential.”

“Then you can tell me about it. What kind of work?” It takes him a childishly long stretch of time to swallow his mouthful of scotch. It’s almost amusing–a man as powerful as Saul using toddler-tier tactics. Sighing, I lean forward, elbows propped on my knees as I pretend to level with him. “Look, Saul, I’m here to make things smoother for us, not worse. The time for revenge has already come and gone. Remy and I…” I look down at my hands, fingers lacing together. “We just want to move on, and we can’t do that until we understand what went wrong.”

I’ve chosen these words intentionally. Went wrong. There’s a lack of blame in the implication something could have been accidental or incidental.

And from the way Saul looks at me, sucking the scotch from his teeth, he takes the bait. “In truth, it was a clusterfuck. All she had to do was get the Lucia girl in position.”

Every cell in my body becomes alert. “Lavinia?” But no. That’s not right. “Leticia,” I realize. Nick and Lavinia had it right. Tate was never the target.

Saul shrugs, flicking the ash from the end of his cigar. “Leticia wasn’t the Lucia we got, but she was the one we wanted.” His eyes flash lustfully, but I’m too focused on that word–we–to process the grossness of it. “Lionel Lucia’s precious, pure little viper.”

“Pure?” I don’t hold back my sneer. “I didn’t actually know her, but from what I hear, ‘pure’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe Leticia Lucia.”

He leans forward, licking his lips. “Oh, but she was, you see. Leticia played for our team,” he taps his temple, “which is something you replace out when you run Forsyth’s best whorehouse.”

My pulse quickens at the implication of who else is included in that ‘we’. “Daniel Payne wanted her, too.”

Saul nods, eyebrows rising. From the look on his face, someone might think he was sharing a particularly juicy piece of gossip with an old friend. “Well, when his own daughter cut and ran, we were left with a bit of a vacancy.” He shrugs, as if he’s shaking off an unpleasant notion. “Leticia was better than Killian’s slut, anyway. Royal blood. That golden hair. Real haughty, too–just the kind of spoiled little whore you’d love to see put in her place.” Shaking his head, he adds, “It was a shame when we got Lavinia. Next to her sister, she just seemed so… disappointing.”

My fist curls so hard that, for a second, I don’t even want to hide it. I want to fly over the distance between us and slam it into his face until I see blood and bone.

Instead, I ask, “What does any of that have to do with Tate?”

As if such a thing should be obvious, he extends a palm. “A girl with Tate’s attributes can cross boundaries, move around in places that were out of reach for someone like me.” Sniffing pompously, he finally cuts to the chase. “I paid her to get close to the Lucia girl.”

“To seduce her,” I realize, stomach dropping. “To help you and Daniel take her.”

Goddamn it.

God-fucking-damn it.

There have been a lot of times over the years that I’ve wished for Tate back, but this is the first time it’s been because I wanted to shake her. Ask her what the fuck she was thinking. Tell her that it wasn’t worth it. Beg her to explain to me why.

Saul continues in a pensive voice. “I actually liked Tatum quite a bit. I knew when I found her running around with you three that she’d have a lot of potential.” His mouth presses into a tight line. “Unfortunately, your friend got a little closer than intended. Not that I couldn’t understand the physical appeal, but honestly. All that nonsense about being in love.” Saul pulls a face, like such a thing is downright baffling.

“She fell for her.” A dismal smile springs to my lips, my heart aching. Of course. Tate might have been tempted by the money, but she only would have gotten in this deep for something real.

“Enough to double cross her King,” Saul says, voice growing serious. “Simon, you need to understand that I wanted things to go smoother that night. I was going to give her a chance to make it right–to give Leticia up then and there.” He leans back, mouth pinching unhappily. “But then Remington showed up, so determined to be a hero.” The ember of the cigar waves through the air as Saul gestures in frustration. “He pulled a gun on me, you know! Shot out the back window of my favorite truck.”

“It was Nick’s gun.” The words are mechanical, my mind caught up in envisioning them there on that cliff, Remy trying to save our friend. Even knowing at that point what Tate was hiding–Leticia Lucia–he still stood by her. “What happened next?” I ask, trying to resurface from the fog.

But Saul has gone eerily still, his beady eyes observing me. “It wouldn’t do you any good to hear the gory details, would it?”

Realizing my posture has sunk, I square my shoulders. “I can take it.”

Saul looks skeptical. I don’t really understand at first why he glances at Neon. Not until Saul finally answers, his tone cold and business-like. “I disarmed him and then shot her in the head.” There’s a pause where he waits, like he’s expecting me to react badly to the bluntness of it.

I don’t. “I see.”

Saul gives this slimy little laugh, tucking the cigar between his teeth. “Crazy little fucker, isn’t he? Before I could even turn the gun on him, he and the Lucia girl were already diving right off the edge of the cliff.”

I blink down at my knuckles. “Yeah, he does that.”

“He really doesn’t remember?” Saul asks, forehead wrinkling. “To be honest, every time I was face to face with that kid, I’d wonder if he was pretending.”

Shaking my head, I shift to the side. “Remy doesn’t pretend.” My father’s pistol is tucked securely between the chair cushion, and I raise it between us, barrel pointing at Saul’s head. “But I do.”

Even though a split second of alarm sparks in his eyes, Saul vibrates with a low, sinister laugh. “What, you think you came in here to play me or something? You really are precious, aren’t you?” He looks at his goon, tipping his head in my direction. “You could do a better job of impersonating security next time, Neon.”

Neon looks him right in the eye, not moving a muscle. “Actually, I think I did a pretty good job of impersonating security this time.” Neon shifts his gaze to me. “What do you think?”

I give a chilly grin. “I bought it. Although, the grope was a bit excessive.”

“Sorry, boss.” Neon’s lips twitch. “I’ll buy you that drink later.” Not for the first time, I feel grateful that Nick had been able to suss out Saul’s least loyal man. Apparently, working for an egomaniac who doesn’t even pay well fosters a bit of resentment.

Saul looks between us, angrily stubbing out his cigar. “What the hell is this?”

“By democratic order of Delta Kappa Sigma, your reign is terminated on death.” I rise to my feet, cocking the hammer on the pistol. “The votes have been cast. West End has spoken.”

Saul shoots to his feet, face twisted in outrage. “You’re lying!” But his eyes zero in on the pistol and suddenly he’s whipping his head around. “Come out, you shit! Where is he? If anything happens to me, that video is going straight to Payne and–”

“The video’s gone,” I say, tilting my head toward Neon, who helped a competent junior DKS gain entry to the system. The Princes aren’t the only ones collecting Forsyth’s best and brightest. “And Nick’s not here.”

His face is turning red as he shoots another glare at Neon, who’s casually plugging his ears. Saul whirls back to me to snarl, “He has to kill me himself to take my Kingdom!”

“He would,” I concede, “if he’d been the one they voted for.”

I thought the moment it settled in would be satisfying. Poetic. It’s not that it isn’t, Saul’s face going an abrupt, pasty-white as he realizes I’m the new King of West End.

It’s just that it pisses me off more than anything.

He raises his palms. “Simon, just hear me–”

The shot cracks through the room like lightning, Saul’s head snapping back. Before he crumples to the floor like a sack of meat, I see the hole in the middle of his forehead; the life draining from his eyes, the slackness of his jaw as he goes down.

Across the room, Neon unplugs his ears, looking perfectly composed as he plucks up the bin next to Saul’s desk and extracts the trash bag from within. Like me, he steps forward and kneels, only whereas I’m yanking the ring from Saul’s finger, Neon is quickly slipping the bag around his bleeding head.

“Thanks,” I say to Neon as I rise, wondering how many times my brother has gone through these motions.

He looks up, offering me his fist. “To the victor.”

I bump my knuckles into his before sweeping out of the office, sliding the ring onto my finger.

The rest of the spoils will have to wait.

As much as I want to go home and curl up in bed with my woman, my night isn’t over.

Instead, I replace myself being patted down for the second time that night. It’s not Neon, but instead a two hundred and fifty-pound former Forsyth linebacker manning the Hideaway’s entrance.

The only time I’ve been to the brothel is through the basement window–the night we completed our initiation. One look at the half-naked women situated around the living room, the pulsing music coming from the back patio, and the fully stocked bar, explains a lot about why my brother spent so much time here. This is a place where a man–fuck, or a woman–could get lost.

But I don’t have the time or interest in getting lost in the sins of this place.

Augustine, wiping down the bar, watches me as I approach. She makes no effort to hide the look of curiosity on her face as she sets a shot glass in front of me. “The Perilini men don’t usually come down here. That’s more your brother’s thing, and even then, it’s usually…” Comprehension dances in her eyes. “…work.”

I point to the bottle of whiskey behind her. Not quite the caliber of Saul’s stash, but it’ll do. “Yeah, well, tonight I’m the one with some business. Is Payne here?”

“I can replace out.” She grabs the bottle and fills my glass halfway.

“To the top.” I watch the level rise. “Thank you.”

I swallow it in one gulp while Auggie heads through the door behind the bar. She’s not gone two minutes when she returns, Killian Payne towering behind her.

He looks confused. “I haven’t seen your brother, if that’s why you’re here.”

Sliding the glass away, I say, “This isn’t about Nick. We need to talk.” Killian weighs it, like he’d rather be doing anything else. Fair. I feel the same. “I’ve got something you’re going to want to hear, and I’d like it to be from me.”

He stares at me for a long beat, eyes locked in on mine. There’s an intensity that almost makes me run, but I made a promise when those guys gave me their pins, and I’m not about to fail them now. He flattens his palm on the door and pushes it back open, jerking his chin for me to follow.

I stand, reaching into my back pocket and pulling out my wallet. Fishing out a fifty-dollar bill, I push it toward Auggie. “Oh,” I say, snapping my fingers. “Remy gives his thanks for teaching Lavinia to dance.”

Her eyebrows hike upward. “No shit. She gave him a show?”

I pause. “Of sorts.”

That fucking pole dance saved all of our lives. I’m about to replace out if that just delayed the inevitable.

I step in the back hall just in time to see Killian disappear through a doorway. When I get there, he’s already seated at his desk, gesturing to the chair on the other side. I take it, watching him reach beneath the desk and pull out a nicer brand of liquor and one glass. Filling it to the top, he pushes it toward me, face stony.

“What’s that for?” I stare down at it.

“The look in your eye,” he explains, watching me a little too closely. “I’ve seen it before.”

Can he really tell? Is there blood on my shirt? My neck? Are my hands still shaking? Suspiciously, I ask, “Yeah, and what look is that?”

He leans back in his seat. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Exhaling, I give the words the weight they deserve, holding Killer’s stare. “Saul Cartwight is dead.”

Killian blinks. “Nick killed him.”

“I killed him.” I reach for that glass, the ring drawing Killian’s puzzled gaze when I raise it to my mouth. The burn of the liquor cuts through the numbness in my chest. “We went through our channels. Voted. I did what I was called to do.”

His face goes slack as it finally sinks in. “Son of a–” The rest is a silent swear. “I didn’t see this coming.”

I set the glass down slowly. “Saul dying? I figured you’ve been wanting that for a long time.”

He waves a hand. “No, that Bruin would give up his spot–and that you’d take it.” He reaches for a second glass and fills it, this time swallowing it down himself. “Fuck. Fucking fuck.”

It’s wrong to let my guard down here in another King’s domain, but I replace my muscles easing. “I know it’s not what you really wanted. Saul was a prick, but he was right about some things. The Bruin name means something here.” Shifting restlessly, I insist, “But I’m committed. The guys are committed. We’re in this. For life.”

Killian nods, taking a silent moment to process everything. “How?”

I frown. “How what?”

“How did you kill him?”

Oh. “A shot to the head. He didn’t deserve anything else.”

“Fucking asshole.” He shakes his head. “I wish I could have been there. What he did to our Lady…” Killian looks instantly murderous, and briefly, I start to reassess my need to be here.

But I’m stronger than that. “I know. He came for the Duchess, too.”

Killian gives an abrupt laugh. “That’s what it was about? Saul’s downfall was his dick?” He pauses. “Actually, I can believe that.”

I scratch my neck. “That was the final straw maybe, but to be honest, it’s been a long time coming. He pushed us to this point.” I look down at the ring on my finger, feeling the responsibility that comes with. “I wanted you to know first. Before it’s public knowledge.”

Killian looks unsurprised. “So I have your back with the Kings.”

Rubbing my forehead, I admit, “I won’t deny I’m going to need help–the same way you needed Nick’s help when you took over your father’s Kingdom.”

His eyes narrow at the following silence. “Why do I feel like there’s something else?”

“Because there is. And to be clear, there’s no existing evidence to prove what I’m about to tell you. That’s been handled.” I waver for a moment, asking, “Got any more of that booze?” Killian’s face is lined with the bad kind of anticipation, but he slides me the bottle, looking wary when I use it to fill his glass, not my own.

Finally, there’s no more stalling.

“Nicky, Remy, and I…” I look him in the eye, steeling myself. “We were the Dukes who broke into the basement and assaulted Lavinia.”

Slowly, Killian lowers his glass, eyes hardening. “Excuse me?”

“It was our Duke initiation,” I explain, the confession settling hot in my gut. “Saul’s orders.”

I’ve never needed to question how he got his nickname, Killer Payne, but right now, the murderous look in his eyes amplifies it. “So when your brother came in here afterward, pretending like he was doing my bidding, Nick was actually playing me.”

“Honestly?” Sighing, I give him a nod. “Yeah, he was. I’m not going to sugarcoat it.”

“He betrayed me,” Killian says, voice low and full of uncomfortable intensity. “He betrayed us.”

I lean forward, tired but determined. “It was just for her, Killian. He wanted to get her out. It was never about pulling one over on the Lords. You need to–”

He snaps, “Do you know half of my girls wouldn’t sleep here after that night?” Tendons straining, he bares his teeth. “Do you know what it did to Story, thinking she was responsible for some other girl getting raped?” He slams his fist down on the table. “She was fucking hysterical!”

With a heavy nod, I point out, “They’re friends now. Lavinia and Story–the girls who love us. Good friends.” Maybe it’s a little manipulative, but it’s true. It’s hard for girls like them to replace friends, let alone friends across the boundaries of territories.

And I can see in Killian’s eyes that it means something to her.

Therefore, it means something to him.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He tips back in his seat, dragging a palm over his face. “When this gets out, South Side will expect me to–”

“It won’t get out,” I promise. “Saul was using the proof to blackmail us. That’s why I had to kill him and destroy it, for good.”

He throws his hands in the air. “Then why tell me at all?”

Fervently, I insist, “Because I don’t want to start my reign like that, Killian. Dozens of Kings before us have played that game, and to be honest, I’m not interested. Your house–your brothers, your Lady–you’ve been good to us. Maybe that’s all political. Maybe you really did just want to put a Bruin in the belfry because it was a threat to Saul. Maybe Nick’s been your puppet just as much as you were his.” Raising my eyebrows, I add, “Or maybe we can break the fucking chain here. We’re a new Generation, Killer. It doesn’t need to be like it was in our fathers’ days.”

Inhaling deep, he pushes his fingers into his eyes, hissing, “Shit.”

“If you choose to retaliate there’s nothing I can do but assure you that we’ll fight back.” It’ll be a bloodbath, and it’s likely neither frat will come away unscathed. “But I wouldn’t like it, and neither would Nick or Remy. I just need you to know that.”

He watches me for a long beat, the anger in his eyes replaced with something annoyed. “Your house has been a real pain in my dick, you know that?”

I grimace. “We’re trying.”

It takes a while for that stormy look in Killian’s eyes to grow somewhat quieter–pensive. Finally, he grumbles, “Maybe there’s an alternative.”

My answer is immediate. “Name your price.”

“We could use some guns,” he says, which is bullshit. The Lords are the second most armed house in Forsyth.

But I’m not in a position to argue. “Sure. We’ll do you up right.”

“And your DKS boys are good fighters,” he says, tapping a rhythm onto the desk. “We could use some more security around here overnight. Make the girls feel… safer.” I don’t miss the way he’s glaring at me, the implication that it’s due to my own actions.

Still, I clarify, “You want my fighters to protect your whorehouse?”

He warns, “I’d pay them fairly, if not handsomely.”

“Dude, are you kidding me?” I think of Kaz and Porterfield, Ballsack and Grant. “They’d do that for free.”

Killian deflates, grabbing for the bottle of liquor. “Then I think we can consider this a new, mutually beneficial slate.”

He holds up his glass and raises it, saying, “May you keep what’s yours.”

Our glasses clink, and an emotion unfurls in my chest. Getting the guys’ vote was one thing, killing Saul another, but the approval of my peer locks this all in place. For the first time in months, I realize that what I feel is hope.

They’ve waited up for me.

I know it the second I see the glowing clock face visible in the skyscape to the west, but I feel it like a hum when I take the elevator up to the top, wrung out and buzzing.

When the doors slide open, the first thing I hone in on are her wide, worried eyes. The second thing is Remy’s arm, hooked around her chest, chin resting on the top of her head. Last, but never least, is my brother, who’s yanking the gate open with a grunt.

“Well?” Nick asks, giving me that patented devil-may-care stare down.

I step toward them–my brothers, my girl, my family. “It’s done.”

Lavinia springs into my arms with a relieved gasp, her lips pressing into my neck. “Are you okay? Did he–”

“I’m fine.” Cupping her cheeks in my palms, I pull her back, unable to restrain my smile. “Everything went as planned. Nick’s not the only one here with good aim, you know.”

Remy jumps on me next, pulling me into a full-bodied hug. Partway through it, he catches the insult, burying a fist into my shoulder. “Hey, I have fucking fantastic aim.”

Lavinia and I share a look. “Might want to say that to the only person in this place who hasn’t cleaned the toilet.”

Nick, who’s standing off to the side, raises a hand. “That’d be me.”

My stomach sinks at the distance between us, dimming the pride in my chest. I only just got my brother back. The thought of losing him again is unbearable. “Are you pissed?” I asked, wishing he’d just hit me and get it over with.

He pins me with a scowl. “Goddamn right, I’m pissed. I spent months trying to be all reasonable and responsible for nothing.” When I just stand there, trying to replace the right words to say, he rolls his eyes, stomping forward to pull me into a tight, aggressive hug. He speaks gruffly into my ear. “I was trying to avoid saying this in front of Lavinia, shithead, but fine. The second those pins started dropping in front of you, I was trying so hard not to laugh, I think I pulled a muscle. It’s such a fucking relief.” Pulling back, he glances at Lav. “I would have done it for you, Little Bird.” He looks at Remy, then at me. “For all of you. Maybe I even would have been good at it eventually, but if you want the truth? I would have been fucking miserable.”

Lavinia’s face falls, hands digging into her back pockets. “I’m sorry.”

Nick gives my arm a slap, snorting. “Yeah, how dare you think so highly of me that you’d suggest I be ambitious.” He pushes his tattooed knuckles beneath her chin, forcing her gaze up. “You thinking I should be King was worth more to me than actually being King.”

I grip my brother affectionately on the neck, understanding that completely.

Remy brings his hands together. “So? How are we going to celebrate?”

“We’ll celebrate,” I promise, taking the gun from my waistband. This was always going to be the hard part, and I replace the excitement and thrill leaving me in a staggering wave. “But first I need to tell you something. All of you.”

Apprehension shutters in their eyes, and I wonder how long it’ll be like this, jumping from one crisis to another, always anticipating the next shoe drop.

I know it won’t stop yet.

Not until they know the truth.

“Before I killed him, Saul told me what happened that night.” Meeting their gazes, I set the gun down. “I know how Tate and Leticia died.”