Page 175

Lex is the one to turn to me, his full focus swinging from the sight of Verity, naked and being plugged up with Pace’s cum, to my face. “Yeah,” he says slowly–carefully. Then, his eyes narrow. “What about it?”

Wordlessly, I hold his gaze.

Lex snaps upright. “No.” His response is hard, immediate.

The November before Pace got sent away, Father ordered the three of us to fill a time-sensitive contract for Lionel Lucia. His daughter–hisheir–had gone missing, and North Side’s King was on an absolute fucking tear to find intel as to her whereabouts. There were a lot of casualties in the path of his quest to find her, foremost being his youngest daughter, who now commands West End as Simon Perilini’s Queen.

Another was Molly Wallis.

Pace’s preliminary digging revealed nothing but a petty property dispute from more than a decade ago, but the blood was bad between them. We were to toss her in the dungeon, strap her down, and go through all the beats. Hot, sharp, blunt, sensory, the whole shebang. Whatever it took to get the information out of her.

But Molly Wallis was an 88-year-old war widow.

The three of us only entertained the idea for a split second before devising a way out of it, and that’s exactly what we did.

Although, the results weren’t exactly ideal.

Raking my fingers through my hair, I tug hard at the roots. “I need to get out of this, Lex.”

“We said we’d never do that again!” He gestures to our brother. “Pace still walks funny!”

It’s the only job we ever ‘failed’. As far as Father is concerned, we were jumped on the way to North Side by a pack of ex-Kappa’s looking to protect their neighbor.

Unofficially, the three of us stood in an alleyway after a few strategic punches, drew our tactically low-caliber pistols, and aimed the barrels at the least medically emergent location. Pace got the outside of his thigh. I took a round to my ass cheek. Lex, his bicep.

Pace swivels around in his chair to gawk at me. “What kind of fucked up job is he sending you on that you’re willing to risk doing that again?”

“It’s not the job,” I say. The lie doesn’t come naturally. In fact, getting the words out with a straight face is roughly similar to willing an organ to stop working. There’s nothing I haven’t told my brothers.

But if for some reason I can’t get out of this and they find out what I've done?

I’d rather string myself up from the rafters than live with that. Than live withmyself.

Instead of saying this, my shoulders sink in defeat. “Man, I’m fucking exhausted. I can’t do another dinner party with another horny socialite. It’s fucking killing me.”

Lex’s eyebrows slam together. “That’s it? Dinner parties and horny bitches?” The anger in his eyes brings me up short. “That’s what you’re willing to risk serious physical harm to avoid?Dancing?And the consequences of getting caught, which won’t even be aimed at you–how about that?”

Wincing, I have to admit it sounds bad when it’s put like that. “I’ll keep you out of it. I figured this was really more of a job for Pace, anyway.”

Pace, who’s watching me thoughtfully, because he’d probably lop off his own arm if it meant an end to my whoring days. “What kind of job?” he asks uneasily.

Leaning forward, I keep my voice a low, urgent hush. “Just break something–maybe my leg. Bang me around a little. Make it look legit, we can blame it on the Counts, or–”

“What?!” His face transforms to enraged horror. “I’m not breaking your fucking leg! Are you insane?”

Desperately, I beg, “Please?”

“No way!” Pace spins back to the monitors, shutting me down. “We’re playing Northridge tomorrow anyway, and there’s definitely no way you’re getting out of that.”

Sighing, Lex suggests, “Just take the Princess with you again. That helped last time, didn’t it?”

Just the thought of it makes me flinch back. I get this image of Verity sitting there between me and Mrs. Moore as we watch the stage. I imagine the look on her face as she realizes what’s happening–what I’m doing.

I know it’ll never happen, but just the mere suggestion is enough to make another surge of bile rise to my throat.

“Never mind,” I say, springing to my feet. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

As I storm out of the room, Lex calls, “Wicker, don’t do anything stupid!”