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But I’m only met with the unimpressed curl of a perfect, dark eyebrow. “As if you could,” he sighs, glancing around the dusty space with the air of someone who’s horrifically bored. “I know corpses with better situational awareness. You’ve gotten far too comfortable in this district for a viper. Back in my cub days, we would have razed this whole block looking for a poor, defenseless Lucia.” Rolling his eyes, his head tips back and I gasp again.

His throat has a thick, gnarled scar. It’s nothing like Nick’s, which is puckered and rough, but even though the sight of it always makes my gut twist with the phantom memory of him almost dying, it’s downright tiny in comparison tothis.

This Baron’s scar, thick and stark, stretches from ear to ear.

“What are you doing here?” I snap, keeping a stance that makes it clear I’m anything but defenseless.

Fortunately, Nick takes that moment to march into the lobby.

Or maybeunfortunately.

He has his gun drawn instantly, the barrel pointed toward the Baron’s head, and even stalking closer from yards away, I know he’d make his mark. “DK. You’re gonna want to take two-hundred and thirty-seven steps away from my woman.”

Beneath his gray eyes and aloof expression, the man—DK—looks vaguely amused. “Mayhem? Seems a bit overboard considering I just walked right into your new bear den. Feels like anyone’s welcome.”

“I always knew Barons had a death wish, but you coming through my doors is next level suicidal.” This voice belongs to Sy, low and full of such threat that even I shiver as he approaches me from behind, his breath like dragon fire against the crown of my head. “You lost the privilege of being on my streets the second you pledged to the wicked path, sowhat,” he snarls, “do you want?”

I lean into my King’s body, giving DK a dubious once-over. He has strangely hollow cheeks, which throw his sharp features into full relief. His cheekbones could cut glass–and not just because of the silver stud adorning each of his cheeks.

Ididn’t even knowyou could pierce a cheek.

“I want what’s owed to me,” DK says, jaw tight as he straightens. Perhaps the biggest offense of his entire visit is what he does next.

Twisting, he turns his back to them as if he doesn’t have a care in the world for the gun Nick’s got trained on him. And maybe he doesn’t.

Nick and Sy both tense, but just as Remy waltzes into the lobby, DK reveals something that makes all of us pause in shared bafflement.

A pet carrier.

“Remington,” DK begins, setting the carrier between us, “I think you know that I’ve been feeding the feral colony next door since freshman year.”

I glance at Remy, confused. “Freshman year?”

Remy frowns at the carrier, offhandedly explaining, “We roomed together for a bit back when Damon was a pledge.”

My eyes bug out, glancing from my Dukes to him. “You used to be DKS?”

“Pledge,” DK corrects, shrugging. “Never got my paw.”

Sy answers with a growl, “Now he’s just DK.”

DK releases a low, lazy chuckle. “You blood West Enders take shit so personally, don’t you? Saul wasn’t a King I wanted to follow. Evidently, neither did you.”

Sy raises his chin, blue eyes scalding. “But only one of us turned our back on the mission.”

All the mirth floods from DK’s expression, leaving hardened, dark eyes. “I never turned my back on the mission. I’m just fighting for it on a different front.” The crackle of resentful tension is shattered by the long, mournful cry of the creature in the cage. DK’s eyes drop to the carrier and he straightens his lapels. “No use in dwelling on mixed loyalties. Like I said, I’m here to get what’s owed to me.”

Nick’s lips curl in disgust. “Some mangy black cat? Go ahead and take him.”

“She’s a ‘her.’” DK’s correction is laced with impatience. “And I don’t need your permission to take her, Bruin. In fact, I’ve beenfeeding and trapping them for years now. Getting them fixed and then releasing them. Nine, so far.”

Taken aback, a single question escapes me. “Why?” Barons don’t care aboutcats. As far as I’ve always been able to tell, Barons don’t care about anything. They aren’t made to care. They’re made to follow. To worship. To fix.

To clean up Forsyth’s ugliest messes.

DK’s unsettling eyes land on mine, and for a second, something electric and unhinged flows through them. “It took me a long time to trap this one,” he says, smoothly turning to Remy. “She’s suspicious. Feral. Barely a year old.”

It takes me a long moment to realize he’s just ignoring me.