The soldier.
He marches up to the receptionist's desk and evenly asks, “Where is he?”
The woman barely looks up from her phone. “I’m sorry, who?”
“Ewing,” Nick presses, spurring me into motion. He can’t kill Saul, but one of his henchmen is open season, and right now that’s what Nick wants.
When the burly guy showed up to my class and told me to come to the athletic director’s office, I knew something was up. I couldn’t say no—not as Duchess. Saul is my King and refusing would have caused bigger problems. Maybe not just for me, but for the guys as well. Maybe even the whole frat. So I cooperated, following him across campus, and it was fine, until he made me go in the elevator.
“Nick,” I hiss, tugging at his arm. “We’re not doing this!”
The frozen, empty look he gives me makes my blood turn to ice. “Wait outside.”
There was a time that the void of humanity in his eyes terrified me, and I fight back a shiver at it now. Only it’s not the same. Not since that day in the shower, when I cleansed him of Perez’s blood. Some part of me knows now that Nick’s true nature isn’t to kill.
“No.” I stand my ground, even though I feel frayed and shaken, exhausted and sore. “I don’t know where the stairs are and I can’t get into that elevator again.” The humiliation of it burns almost as hotly as it did watching that video of me being violated. “Don’t leave me alone here,” I say, willing to beg if it means leaving this place with both of us whole.
There’s a long moment where he just braces his palms against the reception desk, eyes fixed on his white knuckles, and I wait with bated breath. It’s not until I reach out, gently touching his shoulder, that he finally moves.
He jerks his head toward the exit sign at the end of the hall, signaling the staircase. “Let’s go.”
“Thank you.” The compromise helps with my nerves, but not the humiliation, burning at my cheeks. I’m familiar with panic attacks. I tried to manage this one, but the instant the doors of that elevator closed it was like my heart was caught in a vise. My chest tightened and my pulse raced. Sweat coated my skin, and I struggled to breathe.
The worst part though, was revealing my weakness. I hate looking weak. I hate not being able to control my body. My fears.
Now Saul holds all of them in the palm of his hand.
Nick pushes open the stairwell door and pulls me with him. Once I’m in the stairwell, he slams the door behind me. “I’ll kill him,” he says, and I know from the darkness in his eyes, fists flexing, that he isn’t talking about Ewing.
He’s talking about Saul.
I say the obvious. “You can’t. If the Lords find out what you did–”
“I’ll talk to Killian,”Nick says, eyes wild. “Make him see that I was doing the right thing.”
I flinch at the descriptor–the right thing–as if breaking into my room and attacking me was some incredible act of valiance.
Nick sees my reaction. I can tell by the way he goes eerily still, the tattoo on his temple puckering with his grimace. Suddenly, he whirls, kicking the door with the toe of his boot. “Fuck!” he shouts, letting the word echo up and down the cement tunnel.
“They protect what’s theirs, Nick.” I keep my voice quiet and calm, even though my guts feel twisted into a braid. “And at that point, I belonged tothem. Even if they wanted to spare you, they couldn’t. How would that look?”
“You’re not going to do that,” he insists, thrusting a finger at me. “You’re not Saul’s fucking stripper, you’re–”
“I’m yours,” I say, intending for it to be reassuring.
But it falls flat.
From the coldness of Nick’s stare, we’re both remembering how I became his. It’d be a lie to say that seeing that video hasn’t rubbed the old wound raw, but the truth is, it’s pointless. What’s done is done.
Nick looks helpless, eyes lost. “I just wanted to get you out of there.”
“I know.”
More intensely, he adds, “You said it yourself. They protect what’s theirs. It’s not like I could just walk in there and ask Killer to give me his asset.”
“I know.”
From the way his eyes flash, he’s expecting an argument. “It was the safest way to get you here–to West End–tous.”