I swing, and he ducks. My blow glances off his jaw. He’s still rubbing it when I come in with a left hook. I don’t have a weapon on that hand, but I still bring him to his knees.
“Give me your lighter,” say, standing over him and holding out a hand.
“What?” His gaze jerks up to mine. “No way. You’re fucking crazy.”
“Your point?” I say, gesturing again.
He looks up and to my left, where Royal is sitting. I don’t turn to see what Royal will say. In some sick way, I have complete confidence in him right now. I know Royal. His brothers may not be able to believe he’s going to sit here and let me do whatever I want, but I know.
He brought them here for me, and he must have decided before I got here that he wasn’t going to stop me, no matter what I did. He was prepared to watch me kill his own brothers if that’s what I wanted to do.
But he knows me, too. He knows I wouldn’t do that.
They might not know it, though. They only know he put me first, and I can’t help but think what this will do to his already irreparably broken family.
That won’t stop me from doing what I need to do for me, though.
Duke reluctantly hands over the lighter, grumbling as he does so. I slip off the brass knuckles on my right hand and turn them over, heating them the way he heated his ring. I know what he used to brand me. I’ve noticed his chunky D ring before. Seeing it on his finger tonight just made the realization click into place that it matches the D on the back of my right hip.
“Whoa, no way,” Duke says, scrambling to his feet and backing away. “You’re not branding me with the wordDoll.”
“I’m not sure you have a say in it,” I say. “I didn’t ask to be branded with your initial, either.”
“Dude,please,” he says, looking truly freaked. “You don’t know what that word means around here.”
I hesitate at that. He’s right. I didn’t know it had deeper meaning. I never asked Preston why he had the letters put on the rings that hide the brass knuckles, what the significance was, even though he has the same letters tattooed on his own hand. If I’d thought about it, I would have dismissed it as having to do with the way he thinks of me, the way he treats me. I am his doll to dress and groom and tend, his property, the same way I was Royal’s plaything. I’ve become a pawn between these powerful families, inextricably linked to both, tangled in the webs they continue to weave around me even as I struggle to break free.
“What does it mean?” I ask, cocking my head at Duke and letting the flame die when the lighter gets so hot it starts to burn my thumb.
“It means… I belong to the Darlings,” he says quietly, his eyes full of some resignation I don’t understand. “Just like that necklace you’re wearing.”
His hands drop to his sides, and he just stands there, waiting for me to do it. There’s no fear in his expression, no bitterness. He understands this is punishment, and he accepts it because he knows he fucked up. He knows he deserves whatever justice I serve.
I’m not sure I can dole it out, though. For a second, I think about it. About how much their family hates the Darlings, how much he’ll hate having their claim permanently etched into his skin. And then I think about how little thought he gave to making me live my worst nightmare. How little he hesitated. How much worse he made me think it was, reveling in his sick game.
I heat the rest of the letters, step forward, and tell him to lift his shirt. When I press the thick rings to his skin, I have to bite my lip because the heat of the metal sears into my hand, too. Duke sucks in a breath and looks away, up at the ceiling, his jaw clenched and his nostrils flaring. But he doesn’t fight. He’s accepted his punishment.
When I pull away, his skin is angry and red, blisters already forming. I turn to Baron. I think about burning him, too. Or I could fight him—he’d hit back, I’m sure. He likes pain. It might even turn him on.
A shudder goes through me, and I have to school my face into a neutral expression and force my rational mind to keep the reins. This is no time to freak out. I need to find the thing Baron values most.
After a minute, I hold out my hand. “I want the key.”
A stitch pulls between his brows. “What key?”
“The master key to the school.”
He swallows and glances at Royal, and though he’s always hard to read, I can see the flash of surprise in his eyes, maybe even panic.
“You don’t even go to Willow Heights,” he says, returning his gaze to me.
“I will.”
“I can’t just give you the key,” he says. “I’m sworn to protect it.”
“I’m sure you are,” I say. “I know how it works. The top dog gets the key. It was Royal’s last year, and now it’s yours. And I want it.”
His eyes narrow. “What for?”