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“Oh, god.” Lavinia lifts their joined hands to her lips, brushing a kiss to his inked knuckles. “Does it hurt? Are youhurting him?”

I’m saving him, I want to snap back.

I don’t.

Nick’s eyes cut to mine, and I don’t even need words to understand the command in them. They’re saying, “Yes, this hurts like a motherfucker.” And they’re also saying, “Keep going.”

Bruin’s lost a lot of blood. It took every unit from his family—can’t say he and Sy’s father don’t share blood now—plus a few other donations. That much blood loss can cause all manner of brain damage. So, I begin asking him questions. “Today’s date is July ninth. Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

He blinks once.

“You used to work for Rufus Ashby.”

Two blinks.

“You worked for Daniel Payne.”

One blink.

The Duchess takes the next one, leaning over him with an agonized expression. “My father’s dog, the night you broke in…” She swallows. “His name is Angus.”

Two blinks.

She exhales, relieved.

But I keep pressing. “The mayor of Forsyth is Kenneth Strong. Thumb up or down.” Slowly, Bruin lifts the hand Lavinia isn’t clutching like a lifeline, twitching his thumb up. I glance at it before asking, “You suck at finding cover from active gunfire.”

Nick raises a finger, but it’s not his thumb.

My lips twitch at being flipped off. Seems like he’s fine, so I tell him what I’m doing, ignoring the anguished chuckles of his family. “I’m tying off the last suture now, then I’ll close up your neck. I know a surgeon in Northridge with decent facilities. I’ll call him in the morning and see if he can take you for a few days?—”

“Like fuck you will,” Remy says. He never washed the blood off of himself, and right now, he’s caked in it, elbow to fingertips,all down the front of his shirt. “Nicky stays in West End. With us. With DKS.” He waits until I look up, catching his gaze, to add, “With you.”

I pause, glancing at Bruin. He looks sluggish, but that spark of life in his eyes hasn’t dimmed. Still, I wonder, “Why?” I’m looking into this guy’s neck. One wrong move and I could end it all. Why trust me with the life of a legacy like Bruin?

Remy gives me this look, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and then points to the counter, where all my supplies are littering the surface. “Because you got the blue bag.”

I follow his gaze, confused and yet… strangely not. The blue bag has stuff like the heart monitor, O2 meter, and diagnostics. These supplies aren’t just for keeping someone breathingfor now. These are the kinds of things I wouldn’t bother bringing down into the dungeon.

“Because you saved him,” the Duchess concludes, drawing my gaze to hers.

Sy nods toward the bedroom, adding, “Because she’s our family, and you’re her family.” He dips his chin in a grim nod. “Family is the only thing we trust.”

Dragging in a deep breath, I reach for another suture kit and a bundle of gauze. “Yeah,” I mutter, getting ready to finish this up. If there’s anything I can understand about the Dukes, it’s that. “Yeah, okay.”

Dawn bleedsover West End like a slowly leaking puncture, the sky flowing from black to orange. Outside, there’s a sour moisture in the air, smog mingling with summer, and the streets are quickening with buses on their early morning routes. I dodge one as I cross the street toward the corner store, stepping insidewith an exhale. The air conditioning is on full blast, even at half past six, and I’m already feeling the sticky sweat clinging to my neck evaporate as I wrench open the back freezer.

It isn’t until I reach the counter, sliding the carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream toward the cashier, that I realize I’ve forgotten my wallet.

“No worries,” the haggard man behind the register says. He gestures out the window. “Word on the streets this morning is that the visiting Prince is to be treated like Royalty today.” He slides the pint of ice cream back, eyeing the smear of blood over my white tee. “To the victor, my friend.”

So it’s with an odd sense of confusion that I wander back onto the streets of West End, pointing myself toward the old newspaper building. I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours, but it’s more than the exhaustion wearing me down.

When I return to Royal Ink, Ballsack, Remy, and Pace are waiting just outside the door, sharing a thick blunt. “I found him,” Pace says, only hesitating briefly before offering me the blunt. “Oakfield’s hiding out in a building that borders South Side.”

I take the blunt dazedly, giving the glowing cherry a long look before attempting a drag. It feels like fire going down, burning my lungs. I’m not sure I like it.

“You’re going now?” I ask.