Page 10 of Wicked Lord

“It’s not with us.” Killian folded his arms over his chest, his top lip curling in derision. “Besides, you just want to pump us for information about your friend Susanna, and I already told you we don’t know shit.”

Micah’s fingers tightened around the crystal tumbler in his hand. “I don’t believe you, Davenport. But that’s not why I’m here.” He glanced around, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “I’d rather be with the devils I know than the ones I don’t.”

Unable to help myself, I grabbed a sandwich and shoved it at him. “Have some food. You look skinny.”

“Okay…” He took the sandwich and plucked a napkin from the stack on the table, some of the tension releasing from his shoulders. “But I’m far from skinny.”

Slate snorted, humor twinkling in his hazel eyes rimmed in thick lashes. “The big guy thinks if you’re not packing a couple hundred pounds of muscle, you’re not eating enough.”

“Boys.” Vaughn appeared at our table, the haughty arrogance dripping off him in thicker waves now that he was the Domnus.

Gage didn’t bother hiding his scowl. “We’re not your boys.”

Vaughn’s laughter made my skin crawl, and my stomach clenched when he focused on me. “I heard you were with Lorelei Battenberg last night.”

Killian nearly choked on his sandwich, and Micah slapped his back to help clear his airways. “You and Lorelei?”

“AndCordelia,” I blurted before returning my attention to Vaughn. “The three of us went to Betty’s Diner.”

Vaughn ran a hand over his russet waves to ensure his hair was still perfectly gelled. “Brock Haversham owns that piece of ass.”

A flood of heat filled my veins as I pictured the prick who’d manhandled Lorelei at the party last night. Something about him raised my hackles like a black cat on a full moon. “I’m pretty sure no one owns Battenberg, least of all that douche.”

“He’s a good friend of my older brother’s, and Brock and Lorelei will be an item very soon,” Vaughn said. “Steer clear of her.”

I grabbed another sandwich and savagely tore into it.

“And if I don’t?” Lorelei and I had never really been friends, but I didn’t take kindly to someone trying to bully a female. “As a Lord, I come before any good friend of Brighton’s.”

The new Domnus narrowed his eyes, the brown orbs transforming into shards of amber sharp enough to stab. “I’m watching you, Vanderhart. Don’t start this summer off on my bad side.”

Well, so much for flying under the radar this year.

CHAPTER 5

DIRT POOR

Lorelei

A sultry breeze whipped off the bluff, scattering wisps of blond hair across my face as I marched up the cobblestone walkway. The immense white and grey Cape Cod style manor loomed over the cliff overlooking the marina below.

I’d spent every summer I could remember here with my family escaping the oppressive heat of Boston. And now, with my father’s finances in shambles, we stood to lose it all.

I drew in a breath and focused on the churning sea below. Dozens of yachts dotted the Copper Cove coastline, confirming summer was in full swing. In a little over a month, I’d be forced to board one of those luxurious vessels and float off to my happily ever after with Brock Haversham.

Only I refused to let that happen.

I glanced at my watch and quickened my steps up the path. My future fiancé would be here soon to say goodbye, but I needed to talk to my dad first. I had to find a way to get out of this engagement.

After one evening with Brock, I was certain of one thing: I’d never survive this arranged marriage. I’d rather be penniless than submit to that asshole ever again.

Okay, maybe not dirt poor, but I’d have to find a way out of this somehow.

I hurried up the steps and swung the front door open. “Dad!” I called out the moment I crossed the pristine threshold.

The sky-high entryway drew my attention to the whitewashed rafters above and the sparkling chandelier. Across the great room, the shimmering waves rolled in the distance. Greta Battenberg might have been a shit mom, but she sure knew how to keep a home. Or rather, she knew how to boss around the staff until everything was perfect.

Senator Grayson Battenberg appeared at the top of the spiral staircase in a pink polo, khakis and Ferragamo loafers, super casual attire for the man that lived in designer suits. He was clearly in summer mode, clutching a newspaper in one hand. I’d probably interrupted him from his morning read on the veranda.