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Without even thinking about it, my face spreads into a smile. “God, could you imagine that? He’d join all the mommy groups.”

Remy adds, “Bully all the baby’s doctors.”

“Teach it how to hit people.”

Remy laughs with me, all quiet and secret, but that softness never leaves his eyes. “I can imagine it, Vinny. That’s what I’m saying. All that bullshit with Archie and wanting to keep his balls…” He brushes my hair away from my cheek. “I know it pisses you off, but it’s not really about Archie.”

Blinking, I try to follow his meaning. “Oh.” Now that I think about it, spring was around the time Verity began coming to stay here, her belly growing with the baby.

“He’s a King.” This gravelly voice belongs to Nick, who suddenly fills the doorway beside Remy. He’s not like either of his brothers, who both wake up sleepy-soft and pliant. Nick always wakes up with a plan and his finger on a trigger. “And being a King means needing an heir. Because as much as the East End motto grosses out our poor West End sensibilities, they kind of have a point.”

Grimacing, Remy agrees, “That last little soul makes his rein complete.”

My stomach swoops dangerously. “Did he say something to you two?”

Remy shakes his head. “I just wanted to make sure you got it. That you weren’t blindsided when hedoessay something.”

“Because someday he will.” Nick reaches up to scratch his jaw, his bitten-off fingernails rasping against stubble. “Not now, but maybe in the next couple years.”

“You and me,” Remy pins me with a stony stare, “we aren’t like Nicky and Sy. We don’t know what good parents look like, and we need… more.”

“More time,” I agree, biting on my lip, “to figure out what we want.”

“Yeah.”

Giving Nick a dubious look, I wonder, “Have you figured out whatyouwant?” I ask this because I can’t imagine Nick being okay with another man’s baby inside me.

But to my shock, Nick just smirks, tugging me into the warm breadth of his chest. “Half my genetic material, Little Bird.” His words are delivered in a husky breath, right into the patch of skin below my ear. “I’ll give you the other half later.”

I shiver violently, turning to brush my lips against the scar on his throat. It wasn’t too long ago that the four of us were faced with the possibility of losing a soul. The memory of Nick’s limp, bleeding body on that table has sunk into my bones like an agonized etch. Some nights, when he and I are laying in bed—when I can hold him down and make him be still—I stare at him like a woman obsessed, wanting to take every part of him into me. To hold it. Keep it safe and whole.

Maybe that’s just a glimpse of how he feels about me.

Who would want to bring a child into that storm?

The whole discussion is ridiculous. I still have two more years of college, and then I have to decide if this pre-med thing is going to grow into something more. Sy needs to secure his place with the Forsyth elite. Nick needs to find out where he can fit in that, professionally. Remy needs to finish Royal Ink, grow it like a seed.

But on this long path to us becoming a family—giving Sy an heir—there’s one very crucial first step.

“Excuse me,” I say, raising my chin in defiance. “I have a point to make.”

Nick and Remy share a look. “That can’t be good.”

But I’m already marching to our bed, big and wide and mussed from a long night of taking first Nick, and then Remy, and then Sy, who’d laid me flat on my stomach to fuck me from behind. The memory of his large body pinning me down as he surged into me, spreading me wide, stretching and filling, still sends a quiver to my thighs.

And when I jump on him, straddling his warm, naked hips, I’m rewarded with his sleepy ‘oof!’. “We’re going to have a bout,” I announce.

His blue eyes flutter open and immediately lock with mine, a divot forming between his brows. “Yeah?” he hums, a large, warm palm coming to rest on my outer thigh. Eyes darkening, he bucks into me, the hardness beneath the sheets obscenely obvious. “Yeah. Just give me a second to?—”

“I’m not talking about sex.” Well, I sort of am. But mostly not. “I’m talking about you and me on Screw Years Eve. A fury and her fist. To the victor go the spoils.” Sy’s mouth parts, the argument gathering on an inhale, but I press my palm over it. “You’re not going to throw the fight because that’d be insulting to me. And yes, you’re going to have to hit me, but you know I can take it.” Bending down, I slide my palm away to brush a kiss against the tense seam of his mouth. “When you lose—and you will—you won’t take it personally or sulk around about it. You’ll be happy, because I’ll be your Queen in more than just name.”

When I pull back, he’s watching me, searching my eyes. “Why is this so important to you?”

“Because it’s important toyou,” I answer, delighting in the slow, warm circuit his hand is making on my thigh. “You were never expecting to be voted King, but you love it. I see how seriously you take the responsibility. I watch you out there every day, determined to build this town into something worth calling yours.” I push his hair back, willing him to see the truth in myeyes. “I want to do that—and not just behind you, or beside you. I want to do itwithyou.”

My fingers card through his hair, and he exhales, eyes softening. “Baby, I don’t want to hurt you.”

I snort. “Yes, you do.”