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“Let go,” I command, fingers dipping to rub the swollen nub between her thighs. “Let go, Little Bird–fly.”

Lavinia’s jaw slacks and that line of worry on her forehead eases away as the orgasm rushes through her. She falls apart, using my body as support and I hold her, ignoring the pain that happens when I wrap my arms around her. I just want to feel her–all of her–when I pump inside. Her pussy, still throbbing, milks me, clenching around my cock until we’re nothing but a sweaty mess.

Looking up at her, I can’t keep the grin from tugging at my mouth.

“You look awfully proud of yourself.”

“Maybe I am.” I brush back a strand of teal hair and cup her cheek.

I don’t say why. She can think what she wants, but I know the truth.

Nothingcan stop Pretty Nick Bruin from getting what he wants.

Not even a bullet.

Lavinia

I’m pushinga stack of bracelets over my wrist when the loft elevator chimes. When the doors slide open, Kaz is standing in the entrance.

“Hey,” I give him an apologetic smile. “It’s taking a bit longer than planned but we should be ready to go in about ten minutes. If you need to go without us–”

“Sorry Duch–” he frowns. “Shit. You’re not the Duchess anymore. Should I call you Queen? Or…”

“You can call me, Lavinia, Kaz. Stop being a weirdo.”

He nods, but still looks uncomfortable. “Okay, anyway, we’re under strict orders to escort everyone to the gym. Since it’s Nick’s first time at a public event since the shooting, we want to make sure he gets there safely.” I nod, appreciating the fact they’re taking the attempt on Nick’s life seriously. Oakfield may be gone, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t others out there looking to finish the job. “But that’s not why I’m here.” He holds up a black envelope. “You got mail.”

I frown, taking it from him. “The postman?”

“Nope. Courier.”

I stare down at the script on the front. It’s addressed to King Simon Perilini & Queen Lavinia Lucia, then on the line below,Mr. Remington Maddox, and Mr. Nicholas Bruin. Flipping it over to the back I swallow when I see the symbol of a pentagram.

“What the fuck is this?” I mutter, but a sinking feeling in my gut is an indicator that I already know.

“No clue, but you have fun with whatever cobwebs and voodoo is in there.” He takes a step back into the waiting elevator. “I’ll be downstairs with the car when you’re ready.”

The door closes and I carry the envelope back into the living room.

“Sy,” I call out. “I need you to come see something.”

He steps out of the bedroom and I suck in a breath. He’s in tight black jeans leaving little to the imagination about what he’s packing down there, a black, untucked button-down, and a loose black leather jacket. Well, fuck me. Sy isn’t one to dress up, but when he puts a little effort in, it hits me like Kryptonite.

“They should be out in a minute,” he says, running his fingers through his dark, curly hair. “Assuming they can stop arguing over who gets the mirror.”

“Are they fighting again?” I ask, holding back a laugh.

“Their combined vanity knows no bounds.” He walks over and pulls me to him, his wide hand sliding down my backside to cup my butt. “Fuck you look good.” He inhales deeply. “Smell good, too.”

“You look pretty handsome yourself.” I run my hands over the sleeves of his jacket. “I love this jacket.”

“Remy picked it out. He’s been making me spend some of the money Saul left to,” he makes finger quotes, “look the part of a King.’ Which apparently involves jeans so tight they’re at risk of crushing my balls and vegan leather.”

“Please don’t crush your balls in the name of fashion.”

He grimaces and adjusts himself. “I’ll do my best. Now, what did you want to show me? And please don’t tell me Archie pukedup the plant he won’t stop eating again, because I’ve already cleaned it up three times this week.”

“I moved the plant downstairs.” I work the envelope between us so he can see it, “This came for you–us.”