by Ava Harrison
“You saved me. How could I ever hate you?” My voice drips with emotion. I don’t like to think about my life before, but it doesn’t stop it from being true. He saved me. After my parents died, he took me in and raised me as his own. I owe my life to him. So even if he’s a criminal, I’ll always love him.
He mulls over my words, but eventually, he nods his head in acceptance then lifts his glass to take a swig.
I lift my own, placing it to my lips. When the first drop touches my tongue, I bite back the urge to cough. I need my father to take me seriously, and coughing would probably show my lack of maturity.
He treats me like his little girl. Capable and smart, but still a little girl. Now that I’m out of college, I want him to see me as the adult I am—if I have any hope that he’ll let me help him.
After everything he’s done for me, I owe him. I have to repay him for taking me in and caring for me.
Most girls my age would be okay living in the lap of luxury, but I’m not most girls.
Being taken care of isn’t for me. I want to earn my keep and show my worth.
I let the scotch pour down my throat, allowing it to scorch a path as it pools in my stomach and makes me warm.
This makes my dad smile. “It’s an acquired taste.” He takes another swig, and the sound of the glass against the wood echoes through the quiet of the room as he places the glass on the coffee table.
It reminds me of the noises that come from a grandfather clock ticking in the dead of night, dark and ominous. But there’s no need to baby me, and he’ll find out soon enough. “How much do you know?” he asks. Leaning forward, he balances his elbows on his thighs.
“Everything,” I admit.
He’s silent, taking in this information. A girl can learn a lot about her family while attending a private school. Some good, most bad. Bratty rich girls love nothing more than to tear a fantasy down. It’s fine. I’m happy I’m no longer blind to the truth. I’m about to open my mouth when he lifts his hand to speak.
“The guns …” He lifts his right brow, checking to see just how far my knowledge goes.
“I know everything,” I clarify. I know that my adoptive dad is one of the largest arms dealers in the world. “I know what you do. I know you sell guns.”
“My clients—”
“Dad.” I hold up my hand. “I know your clients aren’t honorable people. Probably none of them are law-abiding citizens, either.”
Deep lines full of worry form along his brow. “You really don’t hate me?”
“Of course not. Who you are isn’t defined by what you do. You are my father, and I’d love you no matter what you did. Now tell me what happened and let me help you.”
As if my words are waging war inside him, he takes a deep drawn-out breath.
“I didn’t want you to be a part of this. I wanted more for you.” His soft and powerful words are full of love, but it’s my life, and I’ll make him understand.
“I’m an adult now, and this is what I want.” I level him with my eyes. “Now talk.” There is no room for objection. He knows me well enough to know this.
“Very well.” He lets out a throaty laugh before grabbing his drink, leaning back, and getting comfy on the couch. I know this conversation will be long. “My guns were seized.”
I didn’t expect that, and I’m instantly on edge, praying he’s not going to jail.
“By …?”
“The competition. A piece of shit who is trying to destroy me. I never wanted this to touch you.”
“Tell me.”
The hand holding his glass tightens, his knuckles turning white. This can’t be good.
“His name is Alaric Prince, and he’s the worst of men. He has been systematically trying to ruin me for years. Not to mention the hit he put on my life that by some chance I’ve avoided.”
Hit?
It feels like I’ve been sucker punched. There’s a hit on my father. The one word is like a puzzle piece that has been lost for years but is now placed in its slot. Everything that’s happened over the years begins to make more sense. The reason my father hides in his compound. There’s a hit on his life. I need to know more.
“I don’t understand. Who is he?”
“A little shit.” The force in his voice takes me off guard. There is a story here, and he has to fill me in so I can help him.
“You will have to give me more than that.” I lift my right brow at him in challenge. “We’ve come this far. If we are doing this, you might as well tell me everything.”
“It’s a long, complicated story.”
I lean my body forward, placing my elbows on my knees. Cocking my head, I smile. “Well, then it’s a good thing I’m home for good. Because time is something I have in spades. I have all the time in the world, Dad. Tell me. How long have you been at war?”
“Four years.”
Suddenly, more things come together. The reason he shipped me off to a private college in the middle of nowhere. Why he never let me take his name when I asked. Why he doesn’t publicly acknowledge me. I thought it was because I hadn’t proved myself, but he was at war. He was protecting me. A warm feeling spreads inside me, followed by one as cold as ice. This Alaric person has hurt the one person who has tried to protect me. I need to do something; I need to know more. But first, I need to make sure I’m hearing him right. That all this time, I was enough.
“This is why …” Tears well in my eyes.
Lifting his hand, he reaches across the coffee table and takes mine. “I was never embarrassed by you. You are my daughter. Maybe not by blood. But because I loved you, he couldn’t know about you.”
The love and devotion I have for this man makes me stand and start pacing. I am now where he was only a few short minutes ago. Nervous energy courses through my body as I think of what all this means.
I walk back and forth a few times, but no words form in my mouth. They feel dry as though I am chewing on sand. But I need to say something. Ask something. “And now? Does he know?”
“I have no reason to believe he does.” Behind his words is doubt.
“Why does he hate you?”
He shrugs, but I level him with a stare. He needs to tell me. Whatever it is, I need to know.
“Because he thinks I murdered his brother.”
It doesn’t surprise me to hear my father has killed someone. Michael Lawrence is a ruthless man, but from the way he looks at me, I don’t believe he did it.
But I still ask, “Did you?”
He looks at me, eyes widening. “No.”
That makes me stop pacing. I nod to myself, knowing there is only one solution. “Then we must stop this war.”
“Trust me, I’ve tried. There is nothing I can do. We are well beyond him listening or believing.”
We both sit in silence, and a million thoughts run through my brain. My knee starts to shake from nerves, but I squash it down. Inaction is not feasible, and even if I’m not sure about my idea, I have to voice it. “Then I guess there is only one thing we can do.”
“And that is?”
“Make him.” My lips part into a large smile. My father doesn’t return the sentiment, instead choosing to give me a look that says, Okay, captain obvious, but how.
“How do you suppose we do that?”
“Leverage. Take everything from him, and once we burn him to the ground, he will.”
“By then, it will be too late.”
“Why?” I ask.
“There is no way to get close enough to him.”
More ideas start flying through my mind, but they are darker and dirtier, and I’m so sure my father will hate every single one.
“I can. He doesn’t know me. No one does. I can get the information you need.”
“Phoenix.”
“No, Dad. Don’t Phoenix me. This is my choice. I’m not the little girl you sent away. Let me help you.”
His lips form a thin line as he stands and starts pacing again. He doesn’t like
the idea, but at least he’s considering it.
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he implores.
“I won’t.”
“You don’t know that …” His hand reaches up to pull at his hair. “Alaric Prince is out for revenge. He is the worst of men. I should know.”
I move around the fallen desk to where he stands so I can get closer to him. When I’m directly beside him, I look up at him. “Don’t doubt me.”
“I don’t. I just can’t—”
I can see the love, fear and desperation deep in my father’s eyes.
“Trust me. Believe in me. Let me help you.”
Let me save you the way you did me.
“Okay.” And with that, we seal my fate and the fate of Alaric Prince.
I will find the leverage needed to bring the enemy down. No matter what.
2
Alaric
With business settled in the States, it’s time for a change of venue. My guns are secure—or better yet, the AK-47s I stole from Michael Lawrence are secure in Cyrus Reed’s estate.
Normally, I wouldn’t store my guns outside my warehouses, but since I lifted these off the competition, I can’t have them in circulation yet. The voyage from Cyrus’s to the Caribbean only takes a week, but it’s the perfect opportunity for me to relax before work picks up again.
I’m headed to the Bahamas first, then making stops and detours along the way. At some point, I need to go to Venezuela and then while in South America I’ll schedule the rest of my meetings.
But it’s not just business for me on this trip. I plan on indulging in a few pleasures.
Which is why I’ll kick off my trip in the Bahamas.
Mathis has opened a new club at the large hotel on the island, and he’s throwing a gigantic party next week.
It’s an excellent place to hold a few meetings.
One might not think of a club as a suitable location to sell guns, but I have found since taking over the business that clubs are the perfect place. Women, booze, drugs, and guns are, in fact, the perfect mix.
Men are more apt to spend when a pretty young thing is grinding on their dick.
By the time the yacht docks, I’m ready to let loose. I used my time at sea as an opportunity to schedule meetings for this weekend, the first one being with Xavier. He wants fifteen thousand guns for a government coup.
I don’t give two shits what he’s using them for; all I care about is the money. This deal alone will gross me twenty million.
In my office on the main deck, I pick up the phone and dial Cristian’s extension. He answers on the first ring. “Be ready to leave at eleven,” I order before he can speak.
“Yes, Boss,” he replies, and I hang up. There isn’t much else to say. My men know the drill. They accompany me everywhere—a night out clubbing on a tropical island included.
Cristian is my right-hand man and my head of security. I don’t mix business and pleasure with my staff, so these men are not my friends. I run a tight ship and have no attachments to anyone. It makes life a hell of a lot easier.
The only person I ever truly cared about is dead. It was my fault, and I won’t make that mistake again. If I don’t care, then everyone is dispensable.
Standing from my desk, I head to my master stateroom in the front of my boat. Once inside, I strip out of my clothes and step into the shower.
My yacht is my home. Although I own a few residences scattered around the world, I rarely stay in any of them.
I stay in the Caribbean during winter and spring, and I usually spend the summer in Europe. But this year, because of business, I never made the transatlantic crossing, which is fine. I like how empty the islands are right now.
Every once in a while, I stay put. In my business, it’s better not to be in one place too long.
Where most people have storage in the bottom of the boat, I keep my smaller shipment of guns that still need to be transported. My boat is large enough. At over one hundred and seventy feet, it’s large enough for all my needs but still small enough to float under the radar. Pun intended.
I finish showering and head to the main salon. My men are standing in all-black suits, wearing their earpieces, ready to go. It doesn’t take us long to arrive at the club.
And once I get there, Mathis has a beautiful woman waiting for us. My friend isn't in town. Apparently, he’s in the South of France somewhere, St. Tropez probably, but he knows how to make a guy feel special. When the beauty in the red dress shows me to my table set up high above the club in the roped-off section of the VIP lounge, half-naked women are already dancing nearby.
There’s no need even to order, as the table has already been prepared to my liking. Vodka, tequila, scotch, and champagne—something for anyone who comes by with guests.
The first person to arrive is Xavier.
“What can I get you?” I ask.
“Vodka,” he answers, and I nod to the waitress who goes about pouring us both drinks.
“How many?” I know the number we agreed upon during our earlier phone calls, but things change, so it’s always smart to double-check.
“Fifteen thousand,” he confirms. Maybe not enough for a war, but I wouldn’t put it past him to be getting guns from my competition too.
Not for long, though. If all goes as planned, Lawrence will be as good as dead by month’s end. Now just to find the right bait to lure him into my trap.
Lifting my glass, I take a swig, shutting down all thoughts of revenge so I can deal with the matters at hand, the reason I’m here at this club to begin with. “When?”
“End of the month.”
“Location?”
“Same as before.”
Good. I know the area. Lawrence also keeps some of his gun shipments there, which means Xavier is double-dipping. He knows Michael will probably not come through, not after the last smaller shipment I lifted from him, but it appears my buddy over here is giving him one more chance to right his wrongs.
I can feel the smile growing on my face. I’ll steal that shipment too, and in turn, after I ruin him, I’ll make Michael Lawrence beg.
“It will be the same price as before.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
I wish he wouldn’t call me that. He’s no friend of mine. He’s a client, plain and simple, but worse, he’s not a very loyal one. But that’s okay. He doesn’t even realize he’s just a pawn in my game.
“Anything else?” I ask. He shakes his head at my question. “Then let’s drink.”
“And get laid.” He laughs. They are all the same—every damn one of them. As much as I would love to do that, looking around the room, I have yet to see anyone who catches my attention. They all scream desperate the way they seductively shake their bodies for me to appreciate. I lift my drink and allow my gaze to skate across the vastness in front of me. In typical Mathis form, he designed this club for decadence and sin. Most of the space is modern. Cold and sterile, with a metal ceiling and metal bars. But it’s the VIP room where I am that really stands out.
Each private banquette has the ability to be closed off to the public, with white chiffon drapes that you can pull shut to hide all manner of business. At the moment, mine are open, allowing me the perfect vantage point to watch.
Mathis did an excellent job.
As we both bring our drinks to our mouths, I notice that Cristian isn’t looking at me, so I follow his gaze. It doesn’t take me long to see what or rather who he is staring at. There, at the end of the row of banquettes, is the most exquisite woman I have ever seen.
Long brown hair that flows down past the swell of her breasts. It’s her eyes, though, that keep me from looking away. From where I’m sitting, I can’t see the color, but when she sees me, they are mesmerizing. She only glances my way for a second before turning around and giving me the cold shoulder.
Few women have done that. Not at a place like this.
Most women throw themselves at me. She, however, stands with her back to
me. Her behind is not the worst view I’ve seen. Her short dress that looking from the front seemed modest is anything but.
No. Here, from this angle, nothing is left to the imagination. Two thin straps lower to an open back that dips to the dimples of her ass.
Possessed, I stand from my seat, needing to know who this girl is—and why she so casually dismissed me.
I’m a man on a mission as I stalk over to her. My team is quick to follow, so I’m intimidating as hell as I make my approach.
I should tell them to stand down, but I want to see her squirm. There’s no way that a little thing like her won’t.
When I finally make my appearance, I’m towering behind her. She hasn’t seen me, but she must feel my presence because I watch her back muscles tighten.
Slowly, and with purpose, she turns around to face me.
She has to crane her neck up, but when her gaze reaches mine, her pupils dilate.
I hadn’t come here tonight hoping to fuck, but after watching the way her mouth parts and a slight puff of oxygen escapes her pouty yet full lips, I want to fuck her. I want to feel those lips wrapped around my cock.
“I’m not interested,” she spits out before I can even speak. Her response has me throwing back my head, laughing—something I rarely do these days.
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“You were going to ask me if I wanted a drink. And seeing as I already have one …” She lifts the glass that I hadn’t previously seen in the air. It’s new, the bubbles still bouncing on the glass from the pour. “I don’t need another.”
“And what if you’re wrong?”
“So, you were coming to ask me if I wanted to… what?” Her eyebrow lifts. “Talk with you?”
“Again, wrong.” Not entirely wrong, but wrong enough.
“Well, color me intrigued. You came all the way here—”
“You noticed me.” I smirk, and she must realize her mistake, and my smile broadens. “Here’s what I think. I think you wanted me to come over here. I think you like the game of cat and mouse.”
