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Pace looks at me the same no matter the circumstances.

Like I belong to him.

12

Pace

“Thought you’d be into this,”Wicker says, taking a long sip from a glass of something amber. Bourbon, probably. Through the dim, smoky ambiance of the Gentlemen’s Chamber, I can tell his grin is full of displeasure. “Watching, but never touching. Isn’t that your bag?”

From our leather booth, we watch the PNZ members cheer at the stage, Tommy Wright flinging a dollar bill at a lithe, big-tittied dancer. Another guy puts a bill in his mouth, making a ‘come and get it’ gesture.

“Here I thoughtyou’dbe into this,” I mutter, turning back to my phone screen.

Wicker scoffs, downing another gulp. “Water, water everywhere, and not a cunt to drink. Might as well put a starving man in front of a steak dinner he can’t have.”

I flick my narrowed eyes toward him. “Yeah, you’re real starved.”

It doesn’t even really bother me that he broke the pact. Wicker was the only thing standing between us and Verity’s pussy, and now that’s pretty much null and void. In another circumstance, he would have come to us to fess up, accepting the ribbing he deserves for being unable to control his dick.

The problem is that he keeps lying.

“Damn right, I’m starved,” he says, eyeing a passing dancer hungrily. “It’s been two months. You telling me you aren’t about to jump out of your skin, too?”

“Some of us,” I remind him, “have gone a lot longer than two months without pussy.” Quieter, I add, “And some of us have gone a lot less…”

He pulls a face at my mention of prison but nods in concession. “Still can’t believe you went all that time without at least chasing some hot felon ass. A hole’s a hole. I would have found myself a nice, pretty little bitch ASAP.”

On the screen, Verity is leaning her hair back for what looks like a scalp massage. “I already had a nice, pretty little bitch.”

In my periphery, I see Wicker frown and then lean over the table between us to catch a peek at my screen. He instantly groans, flopping back into the booth seat. “Christ, can’t you give it a rest? The whole point of this party is to forget about our own girls for a few hours.”

Driving home this point, a raucous celebration happens in the middle of the room, one of the younger guys getting a lap dance from a tall, leggy blonde. We’re in Father’s club, but the frat is throwing the celebration. Happens to every set of successful Princes. While the Princess gets pampered with the girlfriends of the frat members, the guys escape for a night of liquor, cigars, and ridiculous debauchery.Tradition, tradition. They’ve probably been planning it since the throning ceremony, panting like dogs at the thought of a break from their women.

Every guy in this room has their balls in a vise, but only a select few have the guts to realize it.

My lip curls in distaste. “Not interested.”

“The fuck has gotten into everyone lately?” Wicker asks, knocking back the last of his drink. “We used to have fun, you know. All three of us. Now, Lex is hiding in the back, making phone calls about lab results, and you’re too busy stalking our ball and chain to notice the premium ass shaking in your face.” His voice turns strained, pleading. “Come on, Pace. Can’t we have one night where shit is normal?”

Distractedly, I reply, “It’s my job.”

It’s not a total lie. Father has made it clear that if anything happens to her, we’re accountable. This is an easier excuse than the truth, which is that every second I’m not watching her, I’m throwing away a valuable opportunity.

Today most of all.

“It’s bullshit,” Wick insists, scowling. “She’s just getting her ass licked by the Real Housewives of Golden Row. It’s not like she’s in any danger.”

I slump against the booth, lips twitching. “We’ll see.”

East End bitches are a rare breed. Not because they’ll smile in your face while hiding a knife behind their backs, but because they’re so convincing while doing it. I watched them all receive the Princess with their smiles and bland praise. I saw the way Verity tried to be honest and authentic, really buying into Wicker’s advice to lead them. She’s not used to dealing with our kind. She’s treating them like cutsluts when they’re sharks out for blood.

And when she comes back home with her hurt feelings and wounded pride, guess who’s going to be there to dab the tears away?

Wicker slams his glass down suddenly, biting out, “You know what? Fuck this.” He shoots to his feet, hovering over the table like a storm cloud. “Since all anyone around here seems to care about isher,” the resentment is palpable, “you can just fucking—”

“Wait.” I straighten, watching the screen as Heather pulls a large bottle from her bag. It’s only now that I realize Verity has fallen asleep, her body lax as she lays back in the chair, hair wet. There’s no staff around. That’s the first thing that sends my hackles up.

The second is the devious, hateful look Heather shoots at the other smirking girls as she approachesmine.