Page 13

Pace shrugs, raising his chin. “Yeah, so?”

Pauly has always been a no-nonsense sort of guy, so he meets Pace’s challenging stare with one of his own. “So with reflexes like that, you don’t need to mess with blades.” The older man chews on his bottom lip, then jerks his chin. “Get over here. I’ll show you.”

My heart thunders as Pace remains frozen. This could go badly. Pauly is a good guy, a solid trainer and medic, but Pace isn’t one of his DKS.

To my surprise, Pace takes the step onto the mat.

“Holy crap,” I mutter, twisting my way out of Lav’s grip. I don’t plan on interrupting but I do move closer. Just in case. “This is going to be a mess.”

Lav follows, her voice low. “I don’t think so. Pauly has a disarming way about him.”

“Tell me,” Pauly says, waving both Grant and Dillon off the mat as we get close enough to hear. “Why’d you pull the knife on Maddox during the Fury?”

“Because,” Pace’s smirk is jagged and mean, “he was being an obnoxious prick.”

The trainer snorts. “Is that what you’re telling yourself?”

Pace’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“You’re fast,” Pauly says casually. “Obviously your reflexes are good, and everyone knows a hockey player can give and take a punch?—”

“Get to the point, old man.”

He fixes the Prince with a look. “You’re used to wearing all those pads. How much weight does that add? Ten? Fifteen pounds?”

“Fifteen to twenty-five,” Pace admits smugly.

“Damn,” Pauly whistles, “it’s like you’re used to fighting underwater, which out on the ice, makes sense. It gives you balance, but in here?” He spreads his arms across the blue mat. “I bet everything feels slightly off. You get sloppy. Desperate.”

Pace’s jaw hardens. “I’m not sloppy.”

The trainer shifts, his body moving into a fighter’s stance. “Then prove it.”

The gym has grown quieter, and as I glance around, I realize DKS—and the Dukes—are watching. Waiting to see what Pacewill do. There are a lot of expressions in the ranks. Some look amused. Curious. Hostile. The last thing we need is some impromptu Fury breaking out.

So when Pace reaches for his waistband, smoothly drawing his gun, my stomach jumps into my throat. But he just releases the clip, jerking his chin. “Hey, Ballsack.”

Ballsack is uncharacteristically alone, sitting on the steps leading up to the catwalk. But his gaze rises at the sound of his name, and he doesn’t hesitate to rise to his feet, crossing the distance to take Pace’s gun.

Pace meets my eyes, faltering. “Will you?—”

“Don’t worry,” Ballsack says. “I’ll watch her.”

An odd feeling washes over me as Ballsy slides up on the table next to me and Lavinia, my Prince assuming a fighting stance. He looks up at Pauly and says, “Okay, old man, show me what you’ve got.”

Uneasily,Pace says, “We should get going.”

“Just a few minutes, okay?” I drag him up the metal staircase, pretending I don’t feel his hand on my hip steadying me.

“Should you be climbing these?” he asks. And then, when the railing jiggles, “Shouldanyonebe climbing these?”

“I’m not lifting anything,” I reply, reaching for the knob of the door the stairs have led us to. “And Lex said some sun is good for me.”

That’s exactly what we find when we step out onto the roof of the gym. The sun is a harsh glare in the western sky, slowly dipping into the horizon. I take Pace’s hand and lead him over to a bench that faces the sunset. I sense him scanning the area for any potential threat, but there’s nothing up here except theother warehouse roofs that make up West End. The clock tower rises in the distance, the hands announcing the time as 8:17. On the other side of the roof, the raised boxes filled with dark, leafy green plants shoot upward.

“The Dukes growing weed up here?” Pace asks, nodding over at the plants. “Oh wait, those leaves don’t look right.”

“That was my vegetable garden, although Mama’s taken over while I’ve been gone.” I sit and pat the bench. We put the bench up here a few years back. It’s comfortable, with a back to lean into and a soft cushion on the seat. He takes another sweeping glance around the rooftops before he’s satisfied, and sits next to me, pulling me into his side. He smells warm and musky—a little like sweat from training in the ring. After being holed up in the palace for weeks, my senses are on overload. “That tomato sauce from the lasagna? That was from last summer’s crop. These will come in over the next few weeks and we’ll start canning.” I look over at the beds, remembering the summer we built it. “Well, I guess she’ll do the canning alone this year.”