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CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

VALE

I won’t be lying to Stacey. Delta’s really is dead tonight. A summer storm cracked the sky outside, sending people scurrying home.

Jace turns out the lights on the porches, indicating we’re closed. Then he works on his laptop, switching the camera footage from live to pre-recorded.

If Stacey ever checks, she’ll see that her beloved shop is empty and secure—which it sort of is with the team of men guarding it.

I should’ve known Nash and his brothers have a small army they employ. If they trust them, I do, too. Besides, I’m too excited about tonight.

Nash fed me an early dinner of cheeseburgers, then left. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he promised before a long kiss. “Be ready for me.”

Ready?

I make a thoroughbred in the starting gate at the Kentucky Derby look sedate.

I don’t care what the test is tonight; I’ll pass it.

I want a life and love like Sire and Wren have. Their love is as taboo as the love Nash and I share, and it makes them beautiful together. How they’re too in love to care.

I’m not sure who the other kings and queens are, but I’ve never felt so powerful, so accepted, and so adored, and I’m not even officially a queen yet.

Eagerly, I get ready in the ensuite bathroom of a bedroom-turned-boudoir photography studio on the second floor. Drying my hair before braiding it, I swipe on my makeup, too.

When I emerge in my robe, I laugh, finding what Nash must have had Jace leave for me to wear on an ivory velvet chaise.

Of course, he did.

Nash chose a Fleur du Mal collared bodysuit for me tonight. With a white collar, a solid black bodice, a see-through black dotted tulle neckline and long sleeves, it’s demure for lingerie. If you wear it as a bodysuit with pants, it’s almost street fashion. I chose it for Delta’s to sell.

But I roll my eyes, grinning, because Nash chose it to cover me. My Mary Janes are here, along with black, opaque thigh highs. All that will be exposed of me is all that’s his.

Playing along, I get dressed and wrap myself in a plush white robe before venturing downstairs.

“Hey.” Jace doesn’t look up from his laptop.

I glance around the first floor. “Where is everyone?”

“Not here yet.”

“Where’s Nash?”

“With Grant. He’ll be back soon.”

I study Jace’s profile. Black ink on his thick neck peeks from under his starched white collar. His inked fingers click and tap, securing the fake footage for tonight.

It’s just him and me and a conversation we need to have.

“So, about you fucking me.”

His thick fingers pause over the keys. He doesn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“You okay with it? We’ll be cool after?”

“Cool?” he chuckles. “Is this a John Hughes film? Are you giving me your diamond earring afterward?”

“Gah,” I sigh. “I love that you’re his biggest fan.”

I know so much about Jace.

He loves Blair’s paranormal romance books. He can max rep three hundred and seventy pounds on a deadlift—whatever the hell that means. I just hear him bragging to Grant about it. He loves peanut butter and hates bananas. He owns a Nikon and collects photography books. He’s a hopeless romantic who, by my count, has broken nine noses outside the door of the sex club.

Now, I realize he did it for his mom, punishing the men who broke her rules.

But this? Me and him? I don’t know how he feels.

“I’m fine with it,” he answers, setting his laptop on the stool beside him.

“ Fine with it?” I roll my eyes. “Jeez, I’m not a wallpaper pattern you have to live with.”

He grins, finally meeting my eyes. “Have you seen yourself, fox? You are fine . Fine as fuck. Don’t tell Nash. He’ll kill me, and I wouldn’t blame him.”

“But me and you.” I point between us. “Our friendship. I cherish it and don’t want to lose it.”

“You will lose it,” he says stoically. “I’ll be more than your friend. I’ll be your second husband. That means if we lose Nash,” the thought clenches my heart, “I’ll protect you and take care of you … if it’s what you want.”

I shuffle in my Mary Janes, worried. Not about my love for Nash. I’ll always worry something will happen to him. But now, I worry I’ll hurt Jace, too. “What if you get feelings for me?”

“I already got ‘em.” He cocks his thick brow. “I told you; I love you, but not like Nash. No man loves you as much as him. But I’ll kill anyone to keep that smartass mouth of yours alive.”

I bat my lashes. “It is pretty brilliant, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, amused. “You’re brilliant, and you belong with Nash. He’s so fucking in love with you, and we’ve known it for years. It’s about time you’re his queen.”

“What about you? Who do you belong with?”

I’ve never seen Jace with anyone. I’ve seen him invite hotties home, but for all I know, he fed them Reese’s peanut butter cups while they watched The Breakfast Club.

Jace spins the platinum ring on his pinky. “I belong with my family. I was seven when we got out. This scar,” he points to the one down his cheek, “is courtesy of my father. It’s what he gave me for picking up my baby brother when he was crying.” Pain, tinged with rage, storms his blue eyes. “The only reason we survived him is because we did it together.

“When I got older, I was the first one who saw our mom’s scars. She’s a proud woman who hid them well. But one morning, I needed toothpaste and barged into her bathroom and saw her in the shower. I saw her back and what our father did to her,” he swallows, “and I’ve never been the same.”

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur, feeling tears prick at my eyes. With each passing day, I’m growing to love Nadine, too. Any girl, woman, or mother who’s survived what she has would make you drop to your knees in veneration.

I survived a night.

Nadine survived a decade.

“So,” Jace reaches for my fingers, holding them lightly like a gentleman, not a lover. “It will be an honor to be your second king. Yes, we can be beasts; I won’t lie and say we don’t relish that part. But other times, we’re men honoring where we came from. We honor our queens.”

“Aw, shucks.” I punch his arm. “Ouch!” I shake my shocked hand. “What are you packing under that suit? Teflon muscles?”

“All the better to fuck someone up with,” he teases.

“Fuck who up?” A voice calls down the hallway to the back door.

It’s Nash.

How long has he been standing there?

He’s stoic except for his huffing bare chest, his abs flexing with ire. The blood splatters on his creased khaki pants are an odd contrast as I realize it’s not me and Jace making him seethe. It’s whatever he and Grant just did to Turner’s man.

“Poison,” he snarls. “Take your robe off.”

With a yank of the knot, I let it fall from my shoulders, pooling at my feet. I’m not afraid to be exposed to Jace, too.

“Come here,” Nash beckons with a finger caked in dry blood.

I don’t hesitate. I don’t snark. “Yes, my king,” I answer.

Standing in Nash’s shadow, I smell his sexy deodorant, wafts of coppery blood hitting my senses, too.

Without a word, Nash reaches into his pocket, pulling out a wide strip of fabric. It looks like a piece of a grey T-shirt, splatters of blood adorning it, too.

“This is from the man who thought he could take you from me today,” Nash glowers. “I carved your nickname on his back and left his balls in a very humbling position.”

With his bloody finger, he lifts my chin. The man I love is in his eyes, but the beast has taken his body. It’s covered in the evidence of the violence he’ll commit protecting me, protecting anyone he loves.

“Vale, do you want this life?” he tempts. “Do you want this man and beast because you have to love both?”

I’m shocked and aroused by what Nash did for me … again … because if that man had taken me , I’d be the one bound and bloody.

“Yes, my king.”