Page 10

Well, that does it.

Remy’s eyes harden, and he pushes off the wall, the muscles in his shoulders flexing. “You better start watching your tongue, Ashby, or someone might feel inclined to take it from you.”

“Oh, now you want my tongue?” Wicker parts his lips, licking them lasciviously.

“Wick,” I warn. It wouldn’t be the first time my brother’s antagonistic flirting has gotten him into a scrap. Annoyed, I ask Remy, “And what do you care what we do to her? It’s not like she was ever yours.”

“Yeah, we popped her cherry on our own dicks.” Wicker makes an obnoxious popping sound with his lips. “It was bloody, but deliciously tight.” Suddenly, it hits me what Wicker is doing. He’s trying to see how much the Dukes know—how much Verity has divulged to them. She lost her hymen on the throne—all Princesses do.

If the Dukes knew that, they’d never let us live it down.

But to my surprise, Remy doesn’t call out the lie.

He does, however, stalk forward, stopping right in front of Wicker’s seated form. “Maybe West End’s tired of seeing its girls used as Royal fodder.”

Wicker chuckles up at him, tipping his head back. “Then maybe West End should do a better job of protecting them.”

“That’s the thing aboutourgirls, you see. They’re red and purple, born to fight.” Remy leans over, slamming his palms on the armrests. “All we gotta do is give them the weapons.”

Wicker spreads out, looking entirely unconcerned by the display. “Load her up all you want, Maddox, because she’s got our baby inside her.” His mouth tips up into an icy grin. “She’s our bitch for life.”

Remy rears up, fists clenching.

Rath tsks. “Boys, boys, boys.” The silver blade of the knife in his hand gleams as he waves it. “Don’t make me turn this hostile negotiation around.” Rath twirls the knife skillfully. “I’m here to prevent a murder or avenge one. Your choice.”

Remy twists to glance at him, nose flaring in frustration. “Come on,” he sighs. “Just a little murder?”

Rath gives him a stern look. “You’ve got murder at home, Maddox. You didn’t even finish the last one.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Cash Mallis is still alive, after all.”

I snort without meaning to, the sound snapping back inside at the sudden rattle of the knob behind Rath.

The double doors swing open, a stone-faced Danner stepping aside to allow Killian to exit first. “Thank you for your service today, King,” Danner says, voice a hoarse whisper.

With a tight grimace on his face, Killian simply nods at Rath, and they fall into step, taking the long hallway to the main foyer.

Perilini comes out next, face pulled into a tired frown. Remy straightens and looks over his head, eyes pinging. “Everything okay?”

“We’ll discuss it at home.” He follows the Lords out without a glance spared at me or Wick.

Verity steps out next, and I rip my eyes away. That’s the hard part. Just looking at her is enough to cause an avalanche of infuriatingly overwhelmingwant. It’s like all those months of being unable to get my dick hard have rushed in on a tidal wave. Even worse? The memory of her bitter lips on mine a couple of hours ago, the way it made my cock swell, the sight of her green eyes as she pulled my hair…

It’s nothing compared to the knowledge of what’s happening in her womb.

Her mother exits right behind her, sidling up to Verity with a dark scowl. It’s impossible not to see the similarities. Her mother’s hair is darker, but still a lush, vibrant red. They share the same mouths, and both have a faint spattering of freckles over the bridge of their noses. Not to mention the ball-breaking attitude.

But for the first time, I see the ridge of her brow, the fairness of her complexion, and her eyes. Bottle-glass green. I don’t need to glance down the hallway to confirm what I already know. I’ve seen the portrait so many times that even without any talent, I could probably reproduce it with enough paint.

She has Michael Ashby’s eyes.

I feel like a goddamn fool for not noticing the line of genetics. Being adopted, you get used to not looking like anyone in the family. There are no pieces to put in place. No matching eye color. No comparative body shape. In a way, it’s freeing. Pace’s dark complexion never mattered any more than Wicker’s sharp cheekbones. The bonds that tie us together—that make us brothers—are forged in nurture, not nature. In our household, that revolves around shared experiences, not DNA sequencing.

But still, there’s a tightness in my chest that feels dangerously close to jealousy when I look at Verity standing next to Father. She’s the one thing we could never be.

His blood.

“Ashby,” Mama B says, sliding him a vicious look. “It’s been a displeasure doing business with you.”

Father gets that look on his face that’s never fun to see, lax and sleazy. “Come now, Libby, you know that’s not true.” He grins. “We’ve had a couple of pleasurable moments, don’t you think?”