Page 139

“Good.” I squeeze out a glob of the white cream.

“He said something interesting.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, my eyes flicking to the screen. One of the women dancing on the stage has on a pair of garters. My cock thickens, remembering ripping off those fishnets. I lean forward and skip to the next screen. Verity’s room.

My post-fuck gift for her is still sitting on her pillow, untouched.

“He thanked me for the tip,” he continues, flinching as I smooth the cream over the worst wound. “Said they’d be dealing with the ‘sire’ soon. Any idea what that’s about?”

Mouth ticking up, I confess, “I may have let it slip to the Barons that Daddy Oakfield’s been spreading rumors about Kayes.”

My gaze goes back to the screen. As far as I know, she’s been down in the solarium all day. There’s no camera down there, at Father’s insistence. Some bullshit about how he doesn’t want Michael’s resting place sullied by modern technology. “He needs to be dealt with, but I’m not sure we need to be the ones to do it. I figured whoever’s wearing that mask probably doesn’t want it out there either.”

One of the live screens on the second monitor catches movement. A SUV pulls up to the front door. Wicker, in a suit and unknotted tie, gets out. I don’t miss the time. 12:01. He missed his window. It’s Lex’s day.

“How many deposits did he make before he left?” Lex asks, reading my mind.

“Just the one.”

Lex cranes his neck, looking back at me. “You’re kidding?”

“Nope. I reviewed all the streams, and Verity even mentioned it earlier. You saw him last night downing all that whiskey after we left West End. He was fucked up and passed out—hard.”

He nods. “You were both gone when I woke up.”

“Coach made us jog up the trails to the cliffs. Six times.” My legs still ache. Aside from our drills and the resulting misery, Father sent Wicker out to an event at the botanical garden for the evening. “Father called on the way home about Wick needing to escort someone for a fundraiser. He showered and left.”

The camera follows Wicker into the foyer, and up the stairs.

“I bet he’s pissed his day got ruined,” Lex says, sighing.

“And about humping old ladies’ legs,” I scowl, smoothing a bit of cream over another angry looking wound. Sometimes I think Wicker has it worst of all of us, and this is one of them. Considering I’m staring at Lex’s back, that’s saying a lot.

I gently squeeze his shoulder. “Okay, all done.”

“Thanks.” He straightens, forehead wrinkled in worry. “Do you think he’s backed off for me? To keep his numbers lower?”

I consider it. “Maybe, but down to one? Unlikely. But…”

“But what?”

I choose my words carefully. “But it’s all the more reason to take him up on his offer. Let him help you out, fill a few vials. No one will know.”

“I’llknow.” He reaches for his shirt, frowning. “I can fix this.”

“How?” I ask, voice raising. “Nothing’s worked yet. Not porn. Not watching Wick fuck Verity six times a day. Not father beating you within an inch of your life. What’s the solution to this other than getting back on the Scratch?”

He opens his mouth, but from the doorway, Wicker speaks first.

“Over my dead fucking body.” My brothers share a look.Thelook. It’s the reminder that there’s shit they went through together while I was in lockup. “Don’t you even suggest it. You weren’t here when he went through withdrawals.”

“Insomnia. Nausea. Even some hallucinations.” Lex exhales, sweeping his hair back. “The nights were the worst. If I could sleep, I’d wake up in a pool of sweat, and if I couldn’t, I felt like my skin was on fire.”

“Irritable as fuck, too,” Wick says, then winks. “Like that’s any different.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” I should have been. If I were, Lex never would have gotten on the shit in the first place.

“You know,” Wicker says, eyes flashing, “there is another answer to this.”