Dukes of Madness: Royals of Forsyth U (Royals of Forsyth University Book 5)

The thud of my fist banging into the heavy punching bag is the only thing I’ve found that takes off the edge. It’s old. My dad bought it for us when we were twelve, the leather sides worn and smooth from thousands of hits.

Our parents didn’t want us to be fighters. They tried everything else: baseball, football, martial arts and even wrestling. But the fights happened anyway, wild and feral after school with other kids that dared look at us the wrong way, or bare-chested against one another in the basement, seeing who could hit the hardest, leave the darkest bruise. Nothing stopped us. Not punishments or lectures.

Finally, Dad and Pops agreed to train us properly.

It’s in our blood, no one can change that.

When I arrived a week ago, my parents didn’t seem too surprised. They’d heard about the tribunal and probation. Not the specifics, though—at least, not Mom. Even if Nick keeps Dad updated on everything, my mom chooses to stay out of the nitty-gritty of Royal life. She left that behind, or that’s what she says, although I know she’s the one that brought that dress to Lavinia for the Baron’s Equinox celebration. I can’t blame her. With two sons caught up in the thick of it, a little willful ignorance probably goes a long way.

“Stay as long as you need,” Pops said that night, squeezing my shoulder. “The tower is a pressure cooker. You wouldn’t be the first Duke that needed to take a breather.”

The shared look between Dad and Pops landed in my chest. They’d expected something like this when we made a run for Duke. Nicky and I in the same house? Guaranteed conflict. As I stood in their kitchen, ego bruised, it was easier to let them think that it was something as superficial as a dumb sibling squabble than to tell them the truth. I didn’t think I could handle their looks of disappointment.

But my mom knew the real reason I was home. Of course. Her therapist spidey-senses homed in on me the minute I came in the door.

“What does Lavinia think about you leaving the tower?” she’d asked that night when she carried in a stack of clean towels to my room. The small space looks the same as when I left. MMA posters lining the walls. A couple of trophies and non-fiction on the bookshelves.

“I’m pretty sure the Duchess is perfectly happy to have some space from me right about now.” I dropped my duffel on the end of the bed, avoiding eye contact, but I saw her reflection in the mirror over the dresser.

She tried her hardest to keep a straight face, but I caught the disapproving quirk of a frown. “Did something happen between you two?”

“Nothing I care to share.”

She hovered around for a few more minutes, bringing me a fresh pillowcase and reminding me where to find the soap and extra toilet paper as if I didn’t live in this house for eighteen years. “She’s a strong woman,” mom said, lingering by the door. “From what I hear, she’s pretty impressive.”

“Maybe not as strong as I thought.” I rolled my eyes. “And stop gossiping about us with Mama B.”

She tried to corner me again after that, but I don’t need my mother’s professional opinion to understand how and why I screwed up. I hurt Lavinia. Hurt. I caused her physical pain, and that wasn’t part of the deal. I’d made it clear I would protect her—teach her to protect herself—and I ripped through that in one desperate, fucked-up thrust.

I hit the bag in a fury of angry punches, hoping one of them will finally make me feel better. It does nothing but make my knuckles and biceps ache, and it’s not up to me anyway. I left her the journal. Lavinia hasn’t left a book unread in her life—which means when she does read it, not if, she’ll know. I fucked up, and I know it.

What happens from there is up to her.

“Keep that up and you’ll either break the bag or break your hands.” Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I turn and see Dad holding my phone in his hand. “Someone seems pretty intent on reaching you.”

Shrugging, I turn away. “I’m sure it’s just to let me know who won the fight.”

It’s the first Fury I’ve missed since freshman year—the first time I haven’t been there to back up Remy.

“Remy won,” he says.

“Of course he did.” I pause, twisting to narrow my eyes at him. “How do you know?”

“Because you got six texts last night, hours before the calls started.”

I grunt and turn back to the bag, lining up my fists. “I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t wait.”

I rear back to start back up, but Dad’s hand stretches out, blocking my shot. I raise my eyebrows.

“You may have walked out of that tower, but you left your brother, best friend, and a Duchess over there to pick up the pieces of whatever spat you’re having.” He gives me a serious look, handing me the phone. “You have obligations, son. Fulfill them.”

The phone buzzes again and a name flashes across the front. It’s Ballsack.

Teeth grinding, I answer the one. “Hey,” I say, catching my breath. “What’s up?”

“Jesus Christ, I’ve been trying to get a hold of one of you all day.” His voice has that hollow sound, implying he’s in the gym. “Something’s come up,” he says. “There’s this rumor.”

“You called me about a rumor?” I knew the shit from the party was going to spread. I’d intended for it to, but once things went sideways… fuck. I fight with the wraps on my knuckles, pulling at them with my teeth. “That’s not an emergency, Sack.”

“It is when it’s about a hit coming down on your brother.”

My heart stutters and I rip the wraps free. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I glance up at Dad and I see his forehead crease. “What do you mean there’s a hit on Nick?”

Dad straightens, a dark look coming over his face.

“It’s a rumor,” Ballsack explains. “A few of the boys caught wind of it while doing a delivery to the Lords. Some shit about the Counts gunning for the heir in the tower. Word is that it’s retaliation for Perez.”

Lionel. It tracks. There’s no way our probation is punishment enough for him.

“Thanks, man,” I say, hanging up. I look at my dad. “Did you know about this? Pops?”

But I can tell from the glint of dread in his eyes that he didn’t. “I knew that when Nick took out Lionel’s number one Count he started a war.” His face goes tight. “But no, Lionel would make sure that we didn’t know about it. That tip had to have come from a friend.”

We don’t have many these days, not at the rate we’ve been creating messes, but there has been someone decidedly in our corner for months now.

“Killian,” I say, hating that I have to admit that, more and more, he’s worked more as an ally than an enemy. Right now, we need as many as we can get. At the skeptical tilt of my dad’s mouth, I explain, “No, he’s changed. Not softer, by any means, just… more focused. Different from his father.” I pick up the phone to call Nick, but it rings again, and this time the name on the screen feels like a kick in the gut. I spit a low curse before answering, “…hey.”

“Sy?” Hearing her voice calms the war raging in my chest.

I glance at my dad, knowing my ears are probably glowing red. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“We need to talk,” she says.

She’s right. We do. About that night. About how I hurt her. About the man I want to be. But first… I have to warn my brother.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

The streets outside the tower are never quieter than they are just after dawn breaks. A slant of sunrise reflects off the clock face, casting an orangey glow, and it almost feels magic. I jam my fists into the pocket of my jacket and stare up at it. Sometimes I look at the tower and almost understand why Remy respects it so much. The ancient mortar. The dusty bricks. The graying wood. It’s seen generations of conflict, withstood the winds of Forsyth’s chaos, weathered its storms and bitter cold. The skyline might change, but never this part of it, standing tall and imperious.

It’s a fighter.

Like us.

The scent of stale beer limps up from the gutter, a sure sign of the victory party last night. The pledges are tasked with keeping the streets clean as part of their initiation. I did my shifts back when I was a lowly recruit, just like every other punk that comes through the ranks. It’s tradition.

I guess I’ve been the only one whipping them into shape.

Inside, I take the steps to the main chamber two at a time, feeling a sense of relief no one changed the locks on me while I was gone. I wouldn’t blame her if she did.

The feeling is fleeting, because once I’m inside, I find the tower empty. The lights are off. Nick and Remy’s bedroom doors are open, revealing just how vacant they are, and I spend a long few minutes panicking.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Maybe she changed her mind. Maybe she never wants to speak to me again. Maybe Remy and Nick are backing her up, and they all cleared out before I could—

A hard slam comes from up in the loft and I glance up just in time to see Archie attempting to climb atop a shelf. He teeters and lands on the edge of a book, sending both it and the kitten crashing to the ground.

My eyes shift to the door leading to the belfry.

I climb the stairs, and the cat comes running, meowing relentlessly, weaving through my feet. That’s what I get for feeding him people food. He always wants more. “Not now,” I tell him, casting a gaze over to the mattress on the floor. It’s rumpled—messy in a way that looks like it’s been used for a wrestling match, not sleeping. My stomach churns as I stare at it, wondering which one got to sleep with her, but the sour taste in the back of my throat isn’t jealousy. It’s something a lot more bitter than that.

Shame.

It takes me a second to get past it, to swallow it down and step into the narrow stairwell leading up.

I find her, elbows propped against the ledge, staring out at the city.

She heard me come up the hatch—I know she did—but she lets me be the one to break the silence. It’s a long moment before I do, my eyes drinking her in. The gentle wave of her hair. The curve of her back. The bend of one knee as she stands there in shorts, like it’s not fucking freezing.

I finally work up the nerve to say, “Hey.”

She dips her chin, not turning to look at me. “Hi.”

“Did you get the journal?” It just spills out of me, and it’s stupid. That’s the least of our worries right now. But somehow, I don’t think I can breathe until I know for sure.

She’s twisting something on her thumb, large and metallic. “Yeah.”

I recognize it as Nick’s ring, the brass Bruin standing out as she spins it around and around. The closer I look, the more of him I see.

There’s a big, dark hickey on her neck.

“Oh.” Cramming my fists into my pockets, I ask, “You and Nick, huh?”

Her spine stiffens in response. “Don’t you dare judge me, Simon.”

“I’m not,” I rush to say, and it’s the truth. “I mean, I saw it coming. Nick can be a reckless, selfish, destructive asshole, but he can also be protective and… weirdly gallant.” Rolling my eyes, I add, “That is, if he can get out of his own way long enough to show it to someone.” I guess he finally has. “I think he’ll do you right this time.” And if he doesn’t, then he’ll still have me to answer to.

I don’t say the last part, but I feel it. Some part of me might always feel this thing inside my chest, the responsibility to keep her safe. I’d like to say I don’t know where it came from, but it’d be a lie. The night I rescued her from the cedar chest, she became mine.

When she doesn’t answer, I think about the journal, knowing it was cowardly. I knew it then, and I know it now. Nick probably found the balls to actually say the words, and since I’m not one to be outdone, I tell her, “I’m sorry.”

She turns to me, a gust of wind flinging her hair across her face. “When we made our deal, you trusted me with your body. I know I didn’t always do a really good job, because…” Her eyes are shining with wetness, and she looks away, the embarrassment clear in the purse of her mouth. “Well, I don’t actually have a lot of experience that isn’t some asshole forcing himself on me.”

She’d have hurt me less if she kicked me in the fucking balls.

“I’m sorry,” I try again, my chest feeling like it’s twisted.

She shakes her head, swinging those big, shining eyes onto me. “But you trusted me, and I tried, Sy. I tried to honor that. And when I trusted you with my body, you just…” Her voice cracks, and she wraps her arms around herself, as if the cold is finally making itself known to her.

Gruffly, I say, “I know,” but it’s not enough. It doesn’t quiet this storm of guilt churning in my stomach, and it doesn’t ease the pressure in my chest. “I just—I just wanted it to be over.”

She blinks at me, forehead creasing. “Us?”

“No,” I say, startled. “The rumors. The speculation. The urges.” I turn my gaze away, scowling as my fists ball inside my pockets. “My stupid fucking virginity.”

“If you’d asked me,” she responds, a hardness in her voice, “if you’d given me time to work up to it, I would have done it.”

I look at her, hit with such a wave of misery that I’m stunned. “Really?”

Sharply, she adds, “Not in front of the whole frat,” and then she looks down, her cheeks reddening. “But probably.”

“Lavinia…” I watch her, not knowing what to say—how to erase what’s done. I try with the lamest gesture imaginable, shrugging out of my jacket and extending it to her. That’s the rub, I guess. There’s no wiping a slate clean, and even if there were, I don’t have time to try. “There’s a hit out on Nick,” I finally say, slamming up all the stupid, useless emotions.

She straightens, arms dropping at her sides as she stares at the jacket. “What?”

“The tip came down from the Lords, I’m guessing.” I nod my chin toward South Side in the distance, finally just walking up and draping the jacket around her shoulders. “Something about a contract for the heir in the tower.”

She stares at me, unblinking. “My father?”

I shrug, not wanting to add to that soft, frustrated look in her eyes. “Where is he?” I ask. “Nick?” For the first time, I can see past my own bullshit to realize the strangeness of his not being here. The blankets on the mattress in the loft, the tangles in her hair, that hickey on her neck…

They obviously had sex.

He gave her his Bruin ring, for fuck’s sake.

Why isn’t he here to enjoy it?

Her shoulders curl inward, hands coming up to tug the jacket tight, and I get this little niggling feeling that his departure wasn’t altogether welcome. “He left to—” Her gaze jolts up to mine. “Wait. The heir in the tower? Which one?”

I blink at her, thinking. “Well, I guess that could mean you too, but would your dad really call you—”

“Or Remy.” She steps closer, eyes wide in alarm. “Sy, he thinks the Baron King might be his father, and Nick thinks he’s right. That’s where he went. He’s checking his sources or whatever.”

My head snaps back. “What?”

“Apparently,” she says, looking away, “there was some compelling evidence.”

I take a while to turn that over in my mind, just as Lavinia is doing with Nick’s ring. It doesn’t make sense—only, it actually makes perfect sense. The more I think about it, the more the pieces fit into place. I always did think it was odd that someone with as much influence as Timothy Maddox hadn’t made any territorial allegiances.

“Shit.” I rake my fingers through my hair, thoughts running a mile per minute. That means it could be Nick, Lavinia, or Remy.

It could be any of them.

Everyone I love is in danger.

I turn to her with wild eyes. “I don’t know when it’s going to happen.”

Her eyes are just as frantic. “Sy, we need to find them.”

I reach for my phone, pulling up my contacts. “I’ll call my Pops; try to get some ideas on where Nick might be.” To her, I ask, “Remy?”

But she shakes her head, eyes going tight. “We got into it last night. He wasn’t acting like himself.” Deflating, she peers up at me, face drawn. “Sy, I think… he might not know what’s real.”

My jaw tenses at the dread in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have left him. Fuck!” I restrain the urge to throw my phone off the tower just for the catharsis of it. “He could be fucking anywhere. When he’s having an episode… shopping, sex, drugs, adrenaline…” Shaking my head, I look out over Forsyth, waving a hand over the landscape. “Needle in a fucking haystack.”

But my words make her eyes ping to mine and they light up. “I think I know a couple places where he might go.” She instantly heads for the hatch.

“Wait!” I grab her wrist, whirling her back to me. “You can’t just go alone! You might be the target.” It’s unlikely. Her father thinks of her as a lot of things, but his ‘heir’…

Unlikely isn’t impossible, though.

“It has to be me,” she insists, backing away. “I know you don’t understand, but whatever he’s doing right now, he’s either doing it to hurt me or himself.”

She’s right. I don’t understand.

“I can get through to him,” she says, eyes hard as steel.

I agonize over it for a few seconds, but maybe she’s right. That day, up here in the belfry, she talked him off the ledge. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel a clench of worry in my gut. ‘Take your gun.’ Reaching out, I catch a lock of her hair that’s flying in the wind, tucking it gently behind her ear. ‘Bring him back to me.’

She holds my gaze, nodding. ‘I will.’

But before she can open the hatch, I stop her again, and I can’t really explain why. It’s like I can’t possibly leave this belfry until I know what I am and where we stand. ‘Are you still my girl?’

There’s a visible stutter in her movements as she turns those gray eyes onto me. I know it’s a selfish question. I don’t even have the right to ask, let alone know. But she still releases a breath, asking, ‘Are you going to come back?’

‘Yes,’ I answer, firm and sure.

She shrugs, turning away. ‘If you’re a Duke, then I’ll be your Duchess.’

It’s not the answer I want, but I hear the message, loud and clear.

If I want her, I’ll have to win her.

Luckily, winning is what I do.