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Sighing, I extricate myself painfully. It doesn’t escape my notice that he’s said nothing aboutnotfucking her. Just not against the car. So instead of humping her like a dog, I play the part of the perfect fucking gentleman, wrenching the door open for her, helping her inside.

“What was all that about?” I ask Lex, nudging my chin in the Dukes’ direction.

Lex follows my gaze, shrugging. “I saved Nick Bruin’s life.”

“Oh.” My nose wrinkles as I shut the door behind Verity, desperately trying to ignore the sight of her thighs pressing together. “Why?”

Lex gives me a look. “Can’t have you being the prettiest man in Forsyth, can I?”

I balk, jaw dropped in outrage. “Dead or alive, in no universe is he prettier than me.”

Lex doesn’t argue—really, how could he?—but he does grab my arm, fixing me with a seriousness I’m not expecting. “Hey. You good?” We’ve kept in constant contact, of course. Daily video calls with Pace. Nightly check-ins about Father. Morning meetings about construction and the frat.

One thing rings true. “It’s been a long month,” I answer, feeling confusingly frayed about it all. Having too much time on my hands, I’ve now learned, is not all it’s cracked up to be.

Lex shakes his head. “You aren’t lying.”

I clap his shoulder, voice thick with sarcasm. “Glad to be coming home?”

“Weirdly?” He reaches up to scratch his freshly shaved chin. “I think I am.”

Well, that’s not the answer I was expecting. “How is she?”

The question comes on the crest of a wave of doubt. This new thing where she hugs me and brings me treats is only slightly less weird than that flash of warm excitement I saw in her eyes as she did it.

Since when is Red excited to seeme?

Lex rolls his eyes. “Yes, she can have sex again, Wick.”

“That’s not what I—” But I clamp down on the protest, unable to really express this unease curling through my belly.

Whatever Lex sees in my expression, it makes his soften. “I think it did her good, seeing them for a while.” Reaching up, he rubs his eyes. “She’s still sleeping like shit.”

Scrutinizing him, I decide to keep the news of the envelope in my pocket to myself. For now. “Who isn’t?”

Getting into the car, I think to myself that it just fucking figures.

I’ve spent all month doggedly ignoring the pressing, desperate need to do something.

In the end, it found me.

The message cameby courier yesterday, a black envelope with two names written across the front in gold ink.

Whitaker Kayes Ashby & Verity Sinclaire

Inside, in the same pretentious script, is an address written on a thick black card. On the back, a brass skeleton key is attached, with a delicate number engraved into the metal.

237.

“A mausoleum number in the cemetery?” she asks, shifting her scrutiny to the key. “Seems a little macabre.”

Verity sits in the passenger seat and studies the thick black card as if there’s another, hidden message that she can’t see. She’s wearing a cream-colored, summery dress that criss-crosses over her chest, making her tits look like two overripe melons. There’s a tantalizing little tie above her hip. One little yank and the whole thing would fall off.

“Seems on brand to me.” I roll my eyes and adjust the semi I’ve been sporting since she threw herself at me in that parking lot. Sometimes, it barely even matters that I haven’t had a good, hard fuck in months. Other times, like right now, it barrels into me like a goddamn tornado, sweat springing up on my forehead.

It gets worse when she’s near, smelling so damn good, her body all round and inviting. Any other time, I would have taken her right there in the car, on the way home. It should say something really fucking significant that I didn’t, waiting until she and Lex settled in before dragging her away with the promise of a evening frolic into Baron territory.

I can’t spend another night alone in that fucking solarium.