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To my shock and deep concern, Wicker springs up to bump it. “To the fucking victor, baby! Now deal me in.”

I give Lex a dubious glance, but ultimately deal the hand.

Thirty minutes and five hands later, Wicker is going on a slurred diatribe about the thing he loves most. “No, no, no, North Side has the best pussy—or they used to. But West End has the best dick. That’s a cop-milent.” His pronunciation leaves a lot to be desired.

And the more I think about it, so does his conclusion.

Ballsack humors him with a wary nod. “Thank you?”

Wicker puts his hand on his heart, eyelids slumping. “You’re very welcome.”

“Hey, Wick?” Lex says, coaxing but obviously fed up. “You don’t think you might wanna head to bed?”

Wicker immediately waves this off. “Bed’s not where the pussy’s at. I mean, it’s there, but it’s not for me. It’s for you. But not for me.” He twists to look at his other brother, camped out at the window, still hidden beneath his hood. “It’s for Pace. But not for me.” He brings a hand down on the table. “Deal me in.”

I palm my face. “Good grief.”

Stella politely clears her throat, rising from her seat. “I’m actually pretty tired.” She badly fakes a yawn.

Ballsack rises with her, agreeing, “It’s late. We should rest. Be alert in case there are any more incidents.”

From his perch at the window, Pace throws a lazy salute, not looking away from the rain-soaked grounds.

“Oh.” Wicker frowns, but seems to bounce back pretty easily. “Okay then. Far be it from me to keep you from fucking like rabbits.” He gives them a sloppy, lewd grin. “Wrap it up, kids. Don’t wanna find yourselves shackled down to a glorified parasite, do you?”

No one shares his bitter, wheezed laughter.

At least he seems to settle down a bit after they’ve left, fidgeting with the cards as his demeanor deflates. Despite obviously being three sheets to the wind, he expertly shuffles them in one of those fancy, showy ways that has always eluded my fine motor skills.

I don’t know how tonight works. It’s my last night in East End. Tomorrow, I’ll be ferried back to the territory lines, traded to the Dukes for another case of weapons. It’s Wicker’s week, but one sniff of him makes it clear I won’t be able to stomach it. Already, I’m feeling queasy. And while Pace has slept with us for the past three nights, I hardly expect him to now, given how pissed he is at me.

The silence stretches on, and I’m just about to give Lex a pleading look when his quiet voice rings out. “He got the lab results today.” Pace glances at him, his eyes tired and hard, and Lex clarifies, “Father.”

“Which ones?” Pace asks, turning more fully.

Wicker gives the deck another flourished shuffle.

“Paternity,” Lex answers, tipping his head back against the chair. He massages the bridge of his nose. “Sex.”

My stomach is suddenly in my throat, although it strikes me how useless such a reaction is. “He’s not going to tell us,” I guess.

Lex’s eyes drop to mine, his amber stare dark through his eyelashes. “Paternity? Not until the birth. But the sex?”

Pace makes a low, disgusted sound. “He’s already setting up for the gender reveal party when you get back to East End. All the streamers, balloons, and ego that can fit into the ballroom.”

“So we’ll find out then,” I say, sighing. “When everyone else does.”

Pace and I share a look, and I hear his words seeping through my head like venom.

This is it for us, Rosi. All of us.

Wicker shuffles again.

“Fuck that.” It takes me a second to figure out who said it, the words so quiet and sharp. But then Lex jerks up, scrubbing his palms over his face. “Let’s find out now.”

Wicker chuckles darkly. “What are you gonna do? Break into his office? Hack his files? You’d have an easier time storming Fort Knox. Probably get off lighter, too.” It’s the first sign he’s even been listening to the conversation.

But Lex’s eyes are clear, locking on mine. “Father won’t be home from his trip for another hour.” His eyes flick to Pace. “I’ve got the ultrasound machine downstairs.”