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DK rubs at his chin, thinking it through. He knows it too, and honestly, nothing else is working.
Finally, he nods once. “You can give it a shot, but the second you look like it’s too much, I’m calling it. Got it, Doll Baby?”
“I got it,” she mutters, clearly annoyed by the condition.
“Good. That’s all I’m asking.” His hand slides to the back of her neck, fingers spreading there possessively as he pulls her in and kisses her. It starts soft. Then it deepens. He licks at her lips until she parts for him, and she makes that quiet sound in her throat that always seems to hit me lower than it should. Jealousy flashes hot and fast. After the tense kiss we shared earlier today, I can’t deny that I want more from her. Everything. I want what they have, maybe more than I’ve wanted anything else.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests briefly against hers. “Thank you,” he says.
She nods once, and DK taps the dashboard. I put the truck back in gear and pull onto the road. The gates rise out of the dark a minute later, tall and polished, gold gleaming beneath floodlights bright enough to turn midnight into theater. They’re less gates than a statement—money, power, and a reminder that the Princes have always hidden their threats behind shiny things.
Before I’ve fully rolled to a stop, two PNZ members step out from the guard post, both dressed in black and armed. They carry themselves with that particular Prince arrogance that says they think East End is better than everyone else. Well fuck that. They’re as cutthroat as the rest of us.
“Here we go,” DK mutters, hand firmly back on Ari’s thigh.
The guards recognize us immediately, and one of them lifts a hand for me to kill the engine while the other approaches my window. I lower it halfway.
“You lost?” he asks, glancing from me to DK to Ari in the middle. His lip curls. “You’re a little far from the cemetery.”
“We’re here for business,” DK says flatly. “Our business, that’s locked in your dungeon.”
The guard snorts. “Without notice?”
“Open the gate, Fancy Pants.”
“That’s not how this works.”
The second guy circles around the headlights, peering in through the windshield. “There’s no approval from inside,” he says. “Turn around and go home.”
DK’s jaw ticks once. “We’re not leaving.”
“You are,” the first one says. “But if you’d like, we can help you.”
I sigh and mutter, “You’d think with all the cotillion bullshit they go through, they’d have better manners.”
“What’d you say?” he asks.
“Jesus.” DK opens the door before I mouth off any further. The heavy door slams behind him hard enough to rattle the truck. He strides toward the gate, hands up to show he’s not carrying, his broad shoulders squared. The guards move to intercept him, hands patting him down, voices fast.
We can’t hear everything through the glass, only pieces.
“…can’t just show up…”
“…acting King…”
“…don’t give a fuck…”
DK points once toward the house beyond the gates, then toward us, then back at himself. He’s leveraging rank, pressure, and probably several threats disguised as promises.
I glance over at Arianette.
She watches him through the windshield, eyes steady.
“You okay with everything he said?” I ask. “With the changes?”
She turns to me, and I’m struck by how fucking beautiful she is. “I know Timothy will get better and take over his role again, but I trust Damon.” Her voice softens slightly. “He’ll be good at this.”
“I think so too.” DK is made for power. Even when he pretends he isn’t.
