Dukes of Madness (Royals of Forsyth University, #5)

by Angel Lawson

For all that I’ve thought Lavinia weak in body, she’s never been weak in spirit. It isn’t until now I realize how much I’d come to appreciate that about her. It was such a non-Royal trait. A West End trait. A Duchess trait.

Unlike the clock above, I refuse to be perpetually broken.

With the speed of a viper, the old woman slaps my finger out of her face and sneers. “Point that finger at me again and the next place you’ll find it is sitting next to your prostate.”

“...bring her back from the brink of death and all she cares about is that stupid cat.” A door slams, and another opens. “Where are you, you fucking—there you are. Stay still.” Rustling and cursing follows. “Come here, you little shit!” he says. “Don’t you fucking hiss at me!”

“Solid black means he’s sorry about something.” Blinking, I say, “Oh.” Either I’m as loopy as Remy or I’ve spent too much time with him, because it makes

“Plus, she’s got my ink now, and that makes her mine. Oldest dibs known to mankind.”

He once tried to sell me for a goddamn pocket watch. He’s made it very clear that I’m not worth more than the scum on the bottom of his shoe. His hatred isn’t like the others’. It was never about me being a daughter of North Side. It was never about my name or my pedigree. It wasn’t rivalry that drove him to treat me like that. It was just him. Some primal part of Sy just despises me for what I am. And he saved me.

Lavinia in a pleated skirt and ass-kicking boots is practically a weapon of mass erection.

“Is that a gun in your shorts,” I ask, voice rusty with disuse, “or are you just unhappy to see me?”

“Who do you think brought you books, Lavinia?” I tilt my head, smirking at the shock on her face. “That’s right. I’ve read everything you’ve read, from Augustine’s trashy romances to that tattered clock manual you fished out of our cabinets. I’ve read the textbooks. The magazines. The poems. I’ve read the fucking shampoo bottle you keep in the bathroom.” I lean so close to the bars that I can feel the hum of the electricity. “Every piece of knowledge that’s gone into your head these last two years has gone into mine. I know every fucking inch of you.”

“Hate is big, baby. Bigger than love. People move mountains for hate. They kill for it. They fuck because of it. They feed it, stoke it, nurture it.”

“Know what I think is funny?” I ask, offering a cutting smile. “The fact that men fail at fatherhood on such a statistically massive scale that there’s an actual term for it, but somehow it’s used to insult women.”

“Once we do this, there’s no going back, Vinny.” I gaze down at her as I hold myself steady, the tip of my cock slotted against her slick heat. “This will make you mine. Not just your body. Not just because you're my Duchess. You understand, don’t you?”

Sy can take her body. Nick can claim her mind. I want her soul.

“I know my love isn’t worth anything to you, Lavinia.” His other hand brushes mine where it hangs, limp at my side. “But maybe theirs will be.”

“Look, if we’re all going to die in some Royal pissing match then I’m going to play footsie under the table.”

Kissing Nick is like trying to harness lightning.

“Hey.” His lips curl into a sad smile. “We’re all just stars inside of a grave we haven’t laid down in yet.” He brushes the tear from my cheek. “Remember, Vinny?”