“Fuck no. Do I look like your bitch?”
The words fly out of my mouth before I can think about what I’m saying. When it was just me and Nic, we had an understanding. She kept food in the house, and I kept out of her way. She stepped on my toes, and I’d step on hers. It was just sibling shit mostly, but sometimes it got pretty fucking heated. She may be a foot shorter than me, but when she’s pissed, she fucking loses it. She would get to bitching about the dumbest shit. It bugged the crap out of me, but she never stayed mad long. It worked for us. But now that Duke’s here, everything is different. I can’t say a single fucking thing that he doesn’t approve of without getting my ass reamed for it. I raise an eyebrow at her. She and I get into a fight where she makes me yell at her, and I get hit for it.
We have good times. It’s not all hitting and fighting, and Duke always takes time later to explain his bullshit reasons for doing what he does. He’s taking this whole daddy-practice thing too far, but it’s not like I can say that to him. I don’t want to go back to having to call him “sir” every time I see him.
“If you’re not going to show your sister some respect, at least show that cut some respect and get the fucking mud off it,” Duke says as he untangles himself from my sister.
It’s not the response I was expecting. Instead of questioning him like I’m prone to do, I just nod my head and back into the kitchen. Duke stands from the couch and follows behind me.
I’ve never cleaned my cut before, so I don’t really know what I’m doing. I eye the dish soap before deciding to just use water. I don’t know why he’s bitching about my leather. I mean, Dad always says that a man’s cut tells his story. He never cleaned his cut, really. Maybe once or twice—for a wedding or a funeral—but other than that, he let it get dirty and gross. He said he earned the dirt and the wearing of the leather on behalf of his patch. It’s a source of pride. But if Duke wants my cut clean, I guess I’ll clean it.
He strides in the room a minute later with his boots on. He’s pulling on a dark blue V-neck as he shakes his head at me. I turn the water on and reach for the nearest dish towel, but he points to the kitchen table. Instead of cleaning off the mud, I head where he’s pointing and sit down. He plops down across from me and rests his elbows on the table.
His voice is low as he says, “Got a job for you.”
“A job?” Not that I’m not grateful he’s not threatening to kick my ass for smarting off to my sister or anything, but he’s acting weird as all hell right now.
“I need you to facilitate a meeting between Princess and Junior.”
Shit. Alex gave me a brief rundown on the shit she caused during one of her visits to the house. She’s cute but not my type—not my type being the kind of pussy that comes with a hundred and eighty pounds of asshole attached at her side. I asked her what was with all the drama about her and Trigger hooking up. It was a short and weird conversation. I mean, what the fuck do you say when someone tells you they accidentally ratted their dad out, now their cousin wants to kill them, and they inadvertently started a war between Forsaken and the Italian mafia? I mean, fuck. Nic is clumsy, and she tends to break shit, but she’s never destroyed an informal, decades-old peace treaty between two outlaw entities. That kind of power is both terrifying and impressive—and I want none of it. So facilitating anything for Alex is above my pay grade, I’ve decided.
“Why is something this important being passed down to me?”
“Princess requested it. Trigger won’t even hear of letting her near him, and if I set the meeting up and he finds out, he’ll ride my ass like I’m a Lost Girl.”
“And what the fuck do you think he’s going to do to me!” I mean, goddamn it. Even Duke doesn’t want to piss Trigger off about this shit, so why the fuck does he think it’s a good idea to send me in?
“As far as Trigger knows, you don’t know shit. You’re just doing a favor for Ruby’s kid, so it’s like doing a favor for the Pres.”
“You think he’s going to let me slide on that excuse?”
“Probably not,” Duke says.
“He’s going to fuck me up,” I whine. I’m not proud of whining, but facing off against Trigger when it comes to Princess—or Cub or whatever the fuck I’m supposed to call her—is a goddamn death wish.