Page 26

Felix

That had gone much better than Felix had been anticipating. He slid his door shut and headed for his sister’s chamber. It had started out awkward. Well, he’d started out awkward. Thorne had walked—no, barged —into Felix’s chamber and had been his typical insouciant self.

Did nothing faze that man? Felix had been standing there, nerves crawling through him like an infestation of ants, and Thorne had just…

been as cavalier as ever. Like facing a man you’ve been very naked with was a common occurrence.

He stumbled a step. Was that a common occurrence for Thorne?

Some men did live more freely, especially those who had the advantage of anonymity.

Not that Felix cared, of course.

The man had called Felix out on falling into imperious aristocrat.

Felix’s default , Thorne had said. It was.

Though Thorne had said it was because Felix was affected by him.

That was only part of the truth. The facade was Felix’s armor.

He’d seen his father wear it, how men would straighten and defer when Father walked in a room, bending instinctively to his air of command.

So, yes, Felix hid behind it when he grew uncomfortable.

It was safe.

Didn’t everyone deserve to feel safe? Was that so much to ask? Felix walked through a world that had already decided: he didn’t belong in it. So, yes, he fell into control and cold superiority.

But apparently his armor didn’t work on Thorne.

The verdict was still out on how he felt about that.

Vulnerability was a feeling Felix had spent years avoiding.

It was a quick way to send him sweating through his skin, teetering on the edge of panic.

Yet here he was…not panicking, instead put at ease by the man’s shameless tongue.

Oh God. That was not the best phrasing, Felix.

This was ridiculous. Thorne was ridiculous. He tossed out rude remarks without a care. Humble was obviously a word he’d never learned, and he waltzed through life in a completely unconcerned manner that Felix would never be able to wrap his head around.

It was as though the man wasn’t worried about anything.

He’d bluntly accused Felix of being jealous over him.

The man had been right, which only made it all the more annoying, but one didn’t just come out and say things like that.

Especially a servant. There was a level of professionalism and deference expected.

That was how the world worked. Even in the Bentley household, where servants were much closer to family, his staff would never address Felix or his mother and siblings so informally, or so brazenly.

Thorne tended to act more like he was an aristocrat himself, now that Felix thought about it. The man had said he and the Duke were close—like brothers—so perhaps he’d never had to truly act as a servant ought. Felix paused in front of his sister’s chamber and knocked.

He gave himself a mental shake. Stop thinking about a troublesome and tempting valet. He had important issues to address. Like determining what in the bloody hell Flick was thinking, running off, and what had spurred that display down in the Duke’s study earlier.

Felix frowned at the door. No response. He couldn’t imagine Felicity was anywhere else. A muffled groan filtered through the oak, and Felix’s chin jerked in. A male groan. His brows slammed together, and he pushed into the room.

“Flick, is everything all right?” he said as the door swung open. “I heard—”

Then the world detonated.

“What the bloody fuck! Get off my sister!” Fire erupted in his veins. His heartbeat thundered in a murderous rhythm. Because that— that —was the bloody fucking Duke, trousers down, prick out, Felix’s sister on her knees .

With a roar, he lunged. “I’ll kill you!”

He couldn’t see.

He couldn’t hear.

No sight. No sound. Just rage.

The Duke was a fucking dead man.

“It’s not what it looks like,” the Duke scrambled to say.

It wasn't what it bloody looked like? The man was stuffing his cock back in his breeches. It was definitely what it bloody looked like!

Felix’s hand wrapped around the man’s throat, and he cocked his arm.

Then let it fly, fueled by every fucking ounce of outrage hurtling through his frame.

The Duke’s head snapped to the side, and Felix’s heart gave a joyful thump.

He was distantly aware of a scream, but he was already shaking out his hand, ready to launch another blow.

A heavy weight dropped on his arm. He turned a glare on—his sister—and bared his teeth. He shook her off, and she stumbled backward. He latched onto the man’s throat with both hands.

“You bastard,” he hissed.

He squeezed tighter, and the perverted man wheezed. Good, the man didn’t deserve to breathe. Preying on his little sister?

The man frantically pulled at Felix’s hands, eyes bugging, face turning a satisfying shade of purple.

“Is this why you broke the betrothal? To take part in your own sick perversion?” he spat. He pulled the Duke back and slammed him back against the bedpost. A strangled noise erupted from the swell. “I’ll kill you for what you’ve done. And I. Will. Relish it.”

In the next breath, Felix was ripped off of the Duke. Fingers wrapped around his shoulder, his waist, like iron bands. They dug in like knives, but Felix didn’t feel pain. Murder. That was all he cared about. Murder. He growled and thrashed against the infuriating obstacle holding him back.

“Felix, get yourself under fucking control!” Felicity screamed, her voice rife with panic.

But control no longer existed. No one touched his family. No one debased his family. No one harmed his family.

His back collided with the wall, and the breath exploded from his lungs. His gaze flew to a glittering black one, and he recognized what stared back at him. Recognized it because it mirrored the vitriolic storm swirling violently inside him.

The intent to harm.

But when the owner of those eyes spoke, his words were jarringly emotionless. “You need to calm yourself, my lord . You touch His Grace again, and I’ll break your face, lord or not.”

Felix snarled and thrashed in Thorne’s grip. He’d like to see the man try to break his face. Go ahead. Try me, Thorne . Thorne’s jaw clenched. The man saw the challenge there, but he held firm, held himself calmly, no retaliation. A barricade.

“Mr. Thorne, take my brother to his chamber now.” Felicity thrust a finger at Felix. “You will go, Felix. And you will behave yourself,” she bit out. “I will join you momentarily. Compose yourself and stop acting like a bloody barbarian.”

Felix ceased struggling, chest heaving while snorting, enraged breaths discharged from him. A semblance of awareness trickled in. Fuck. You can’t actually murder a duke. But he could severely fucking injure one.

“I will see you at dawn,” he gritted out, and then allowed Thorne to push him from the room.

As soon as they were out in the hall, Felix tried to shake Thorne off, but the man’s grip was unrelenting.

“Get your bloody hands off me,” he snapped.

All he received in response was a set of flaring nostrils.

So, Felix leaned away and then hurled his shoulder into Thorne’s.

“ Fucking hell! ”

Felix fisted the front of the man’s waistcoat and slammed him into the wall. “I said, don’t fucking touch me. You do not want to cross me, Thorne.” He shoved off Thorne and raked a disgusted look down the man.

“I don’t want to cross you? ” the man said icily. “You attacked the most important person in my life. I’m not the one who should be worried.” He glared right back at Felix, jaw ticking, white-knuckled fists balled tight.

Something warred in that black gaze. Like if landing a blow would be worth the consequences.

And right now? God, Felix hoped Thorne’d take the chance.

Because he was fucking itching for a fight.

But the man didn’t move, eerily still, the stillness of a man trying with all his might to restrain himself.

Felix scoffed and spun on his heel. “Coward,” he muttered under his breath.

He strode the few paces to his door, but as soon as he crossed the threshold, he was yanked backward and immediately thrust face-first into his bedchamber wall.

A grunt burst from him. Some unhinged part of himself deep inside cheered.

The one that wanted to fight, wanted to rage, wanted to let out two bloody decades of anger.

No, more than that. Because it wasn’t even William Minton anymore. It was the whole fucking world.

“You have no bloody right to be angry,” he bit out, cheek flattened against cool stone. He drew in a deep breath and then shoved off the wall. He didn’t get far, but it was enough to knock Thorne off balance.

“That man had his fucking cock down my little sister’s throat. He deserved everything I gave him,” he growled. “And. More.”

“Clearly, your sister wanted it.”

Felix’s vision dotted over. His entire body shook violently with tension, with repressed bloodlust. He lunged for the ox, his fury exploding in a shout. He changed his mind. Forget the fucking Duke. Thorne needed to die.

“ No one touches my family.”

They clashed again, both struggling for the upper hand. Thorne won and shoved Felix into the wall.

“God, you’re insane,” he spat. “Your sister is a blasted grown woman. Do you know her at all? No one can make that woman do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

Felix slipped out of Thorne’s hold and spun, then shoved into Thorne so the man was now where Felix had just stood. Pinned. Felix snarled. He didn’t bloody care what the man had just said was true.

“So that means the Duke should just take advantage of her? Where is his honor? His principles? That’s his son’s fiancé.”

Thorne smiled, but it was thick with contempt. He leaned forward, towering, dark hair dangling ominously over his brow. One of those ebony brows winged up. “Not any longer.” Then his hands landed on Felix’s chest, and he thrust.

Felix stumbled backward, ribcage surging. “So, what? He’s free to just use my sister now?”

They circled each other slowly, gazes locked, their breaths echoing like a discharged pistol.

“Perhaps, if you had half a mind, you would have discussed the situation with your sister. Instead of laying your hands on my best friend.”

Felix scoffed. The man’s rationality only made his ire burn hotter.

So, instead of acknowledging the man had a point, he lunged.

Thorne was ready, though. He caught Felix around the middle and pivoted.

In the next blink, Felix’s body was slammed into the wall with brutal force, trapped against the wall by fifteen stones of enraged male.

Thorne leaned forward, infuriating berry-scented breath fanning over Felix’s face. His fists tightened on Felix’s wrists. “Get it through your thick skull. She. Wanted. It.”

Felix dragged in a breath, shaky with rage. His gaze dipped to those mocking lips. He didn’t want to hear anything more from them. He didn’t want perspective.

He wanted pandemonium.

His attention flicked back to Thorne’s stormy gaze. A gaze that was heady, unpredictable. All consuming.

Sound dimmed.

Time slowed.

The air crackled around them, their underlying hostility like a physical presence. They dared each other with nothing but the enmity swirling in their stares. The space around them shifted, the tension turning from resentful to…ravenous.

“ Fuck it. ” Thorne’s mouth crashed down on Felix’s.

His kiss was punishing. Painful. But Felix wasn’t going to let Thorne win in this, either.

Felix pushed off the wall and spun them, reversing their position.

The minute Thorne’s back hit the stone, Felix’s tongue surged into the man’s mouth.

They separated long enough to spit curses at each other before they were on each other again.

Felix bit down on Thorne’s bottom lip until a faint metallic tang touched his tongue.

Thorne’s hand dove into Felix’s hair and pulled.

Then twisted. Felix immediately let go of Thorne’s lip, barely holding back the cry of pain.

Thorne took advantage of Felix’s awkward stance and pushed Felix off him. Then he advanced on Felix.

Felix wanted to scream, to roar. He didn’t know what way was up, what way was down. He was so out of control. And so much of that was this man’s fault.

“You are the most insolent, bloody arse I have ever met,” Felix hurled at Thorne. He wanted to blame it all on the dark-haired, dark-eyed man coming at him.

Needed a target.

Thorne halted in front of Felix. “And you are the most pig-headed, priggish pillock, my lord .”

Thorne was the perfect target.

They both moved at the same time. Thorne lowered himself, their bodies colliding.

Thorne’s arms wrapped around Felix’s torso, the full force of his bodyweight propelling Felix backward.

Felix dug his heels into the ground, hurled his weight forward, muscles burning, flames engulfing them as they screamed in protest. But he refused to be taken down.

His hands scrabbled over Thorne, trying to wrench the man off him, but the enraging arse wouldn’t budge. Felix’s fingers finally found purchase on Thorne’s ear. That would do. He twisted. The man yelped and dropped to his knees.

Victory tore through Felix, a heady, dark thrill.

Their chests heaved in unison. Thorne’s face was flushed, red painted on cheekbones that weren’t usually prominent. Thorne’s gaze dropped to Felix’s groin, where he was hard and straining against his breeches. Because, yes, Felix really did want to fuck out all his rage on this man.

Thorne’s lids lowered, and Felix latched onto that small movement. On what it suggested.

“What a good little valet you are, on your knees for me,” he murmured.

Thorne bit his lip but couldn’t hold back his groan. Felix grinned, feral, deranged. This was about to get very fun.

Ever-so-slowly, Thorne slid a hand over Felix’s aching length. Then he started popping buttons free. A low, rumbling chuckle fled those tempting lips.

“If you think because I’m the one on my knees that I’m not the one in control, my lord, you are sorely mistaken.”

What the man didn’t understand was, Felix was already out of control.

Might as well fucking lean into it.