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Lex’s lips twitch, which is my first clue that he’s not serious.

Ashby doesn’t know that, though. His face transforms into ugly, sharp edges. “Under no circumstances,” he grinds out, “are you to name my heir after a fucking Baron King.”

“He’s not your heir,” I snap, “and we’ll name him what we like. Maybe Clive.” Eyes narrowing, I add, “Or maybe Davis. After Davis Bruin, you know? That’s the closest thing to a patriarch I’ve ever had.”

I’m expecting all three of my Princes to pull a face, but to my surprise, none of them do.

“Clive Davis has a ring to it,” Wicker says, caressing my belly. “What do you think, Red? Should we hyphenate? Kayes-Sinclaire?”

Ashby roars, “Enough!” His restraints are pulled taut, the tendon in his neck bulging. “That’smyblood. My heir!” He collapses back, exhausted. “I know you think you’re in control, but I’m not alone. Danner?—”

“Is locked upstairs,” Wicker says cooly.

“Thaddius—”

“Is dead.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t believe it. He escaped.”

“He did,” Wick agrees, “but the network of PNZ alumni stretches far and wide. You saw to that. We contracted one to handle Thaddius.” He tilts his head. “Would you like to see pictures?”

I’ve known for a long while now that Rufus Ashby is crazy, but I’m somehow still stunned at the depth of his obsession. Is this East End’s true creation? I look at my Princes and wonder how long this obligation—this fanatical drive to breed—has been beaten into them. Is it just the Royalty, or is it the whole frat?

And why?

But these aren’t the questions I need the answer to yet. I only need the answer to one. “Tell me where Stella is.” Before he can argue, I offer, “Tell me, and I’ll let you touch him.” I rest my hand atop Wicker’s, watching as Ashby’s eyes grow impossibly more crazed. “I’ll let you feel him kick.”

“If these are the questions you’re asking,” he says, voice rough as gravel, “then I’m not worried. Obviously, none of you are prepared to lead a kingdom.” He looks away, that same haughty demeanor taking over. “I’ll get my heir, one way or another.”

2

Verity

Even hours later,the memory of our father’s gaze on my body makes my stomach churn. Worse than that were his words, because in a way, he’s right. We’re not prepared to lead his kingdom. The frat thinks Ashby is away on business until further notice. The only people privy to the knowledge he’s currently sitting in his own dungeon are limited to rival royalty—the Dukes, the Baron King, and the Lords.

And, of course, my mother.

I’m rummaging through my bathroom drawer, looking for a tube of lipstick, when I hear a knock on the outer door. “Come in,” I call, not hiding my frustration. “Where the hell did you go?”

I grab a handful of cosmetics and dump them on the counter.

“Should you be doing that?”

“Don’t worry,” I glance up at Ballsack’s reflection in the mirror. “All of this is under ten pounds.”

It’s hard not to let my gaze linger on him. I’ve known Ballsack since he first pledged, just a scrawny little freshman with a sparkof that wild, West End youth in his eyes. He’s bigger now, having trained with the Dukes. More muscular and solid, maybe even bordering on imposing if one didn’t know him. The soft cut of his jaw has given way to sharper angles and careless stubble. Every time he goes back to West End, he seems to return with another tattoo.

And he’s quieter.

“I hear you’ve been cleared for tonight,” he says, eyeing the pile of makeup. He’d always been one of the more easygoing recruits, just happy to have found a group that accepted him—a family. Losing Laura was hard enough. But Stella too? It’s enough to break a lesser man. Eugene isn’t weak, but heisangry, and that energy runs just beneath the surface. I’m scared. Not of him, but for him.

Desperate men and all that.

“Yes,” I grunt. “Which is why I’m looking for my dusty rose lipstick.”

I spin, turning to cross the bathroom back into the bedroom. I grab my school bag off of the desk chair and continue my search. Didn’t I wear that shade for Sy’s and Lex’s graduation?

Ballsack follows, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyeing me warily. “Exactly why is this important?”