by An Latro
Emma's eyes go wide and her mouth opens to respond, but Seth says, “Emma,” as a hard warning, and her mouth snaps closed, and she sits back stiffly. She's furious. They're all furious—except perhaps for Aleja, who touches Emma’s leg in a quiet gesture of solidarity—but the Oliver king is right; she's a child. She huffs, sits back against the booth, not quite able to hide her brooding from her expression.
Remi dismisses her yet again with a chilling ease, and he looks back to Rama. He says,
“Caleb wasn't a fool. He knew that if he gave up all the details, he would lose control of the operation. We were quite surprised when we received word that your family was threatening to back out of the whole deal. We couldn't figure out why until we realized what game Caleb was playing.”
It takes every ounce of resolve for Seth not to wince.
It makes sense, all of it. Caleb stalled the elders to wait until Seth was home. Did he know, even then, that Mikie was a traitor? Had he figured out that their uncle has no intentions of ever relinquishing the throne? Again, Remi is right. Caleb wasn't a fool. He had craftily manipulated the business venture, so that when he died, Mikie and Remi were left in the dark, and so they left the whole thing to rot.
“None of that matters now.” Seth can't believe the words come out of his mouth. Of course it still matters, but this subject is too volatile to work in their favor. He continues. “We have to put it behind us if we are to succeed. The shame of the Ratchaphure can be righted, and now you have the chance to cash in on a deal you thought you lost.”
Remi's eyes narrow, and he picks up the folder. He doesn't make a sound as he opens it and lets his eyes dart over the figures inside. At length, he closes it. He looks to Aleja.
“Your people are prepared to make this sort of contribution?”
She smiles in the predatory way she has, and says, “I have my father's full permission to handle this as I see fit. The Morgans are very trusted allies to us, and Seth enjoys Father's favor.”
And just like that, her only input thus far is to affirm the only victory Seth has earned on his own. Her words create a thrill in Seth's gut that he doesn't care to explain.
Remi takes her words as he has taken the rest of them, with quiet calculation. He takes a slow sip of cognac as his eyes sweep the booth until they land back on Seth. Then, finally, he says, “For thirty percent, I will continue to launder Morgan money, just as I have since before any of you were born.”
Emma's eyes grow wide again, but she says nothing. Thirty percent is outrageous. Yet, isn't that to be expected? It's a deal that will stay the Olivers’ hand at seeking recompense for Nic’s death, and a way to ensure that the Morgans’ dirty laundry doesn't get aired to the authorities.
It will keep Emma alive.
Seth looks to Aleja, who nods, and then to Rama. The Thai is less agreeable, his brow still furrowed and his posture defensive. But he nods as well, with a sigh. Seth says, “Then we are in agreement.”
Remi drains his cognac, leans forward, and says, “There is one condition you need to understand. This”—he indicates the folder, “—is the extent of our deal. If your operation puts you in the face of new enemies, I will not come to your aid. I will not move on your behalf.”
Seth’s stomach is in knots, so Remi's last warning doesn't cause quite the distress it might have in a less tense situation. Still, he can't show the nerves that threaten to shake him, so he makes a solemn nod. He says, “That is more than fair.”
“Good,” says Remi, and he stands curtly. The others follow suit, but Remi only has eyes for Seth. The older man reaches across the table, and Seth accepts his hand. This time, the handshake nearly crushes Seth's bones together, but he doesn't show that it hurts. He just returns
the pressure. Remi says, “Then by the code, this deal is set. Good evening.”
He meets his security by the door, and they exit as smoothly as they came.
Seth glances at the others in the wake of Remi’s departure. Rama is still tense and angry, Emma a furious, anxious counterpoint to Aleja’s calm. The Cuban assassin gives him a slow smirk. “What now?”
“Now? We plan a trip to Bangkok.”
Chapter 40. Morgan Estates. New York City. December 18
She Clicks Off The Little Lamp on her desk, and stands, suppressing a groan as her back stretches and pops. It’s late—later than she planned to stay in office today. A downside of being the boss when Seth decided to be scarce.
Dom shifts, taking her black briefcase. Emma pulls on her coat as he calls the elevator. Her entire posture is stooped and tired—a headache is building behind her eyes and her throat is sore. She’s getting sick. “Where to, Emma?” Dom asks as they step into the elevator.
She should go to Aleja’s hotel—the Cuban woman invited her for dinner and it would be good to spend some time with her that isn’t tense with business or Seth. “I want to go home,” she says softly, her stomach twisting. She wants the comfort of her own space, and her bed, and no one needing her for a few blissful hours.
Emma digs out her phone and texts Aleja quickly. The elevator bumps to a stop, and Dom escorts her out. Her car is idling at the curb, and some of the tension eases out of her. She shoves her phone in her pocket and hurries to the door, head down.
“Emma,” Dom says, his voice tight.
She looks up at him as the door is pulled open. The lobby is empty, and dark—none of their security is in sight.
“Emma, go upstairs. Now.” Dom says and she blinks, because he’s never spoken to her that way, his voice sharp with command.
“Oh, I think she should stay.”
The voice is low and feminine, mocking. Emma jerks around to look at the speaker, blood draining from her face. “What the hell are you doing here?” Emma asks, and she's startled that her voice doesn't shake. She feels defenseless suddenly, her hand tight around her phone. She has never felt defenseless in her own building.
“I thought it was time to see my daughter. I’ve worried about you,” Beth says, her voice oozing false warmth.
“You haven't cared about me since before Isaac died,” Emma says tonelessly.
Pain flickers in Beth’s eyes but she doesn't contradict her. She shrugs.
“Where is my security?” Emma demands, glancing around at the empty lobby again. A smirk turns her mother’s lips, and rage fills Emma’s veins. She takes a half-step forward before Dom’s hand on her jerks her back a step. “What the fuck did you do?” she snaps.
“They’re low-ranking guns. They knew what this life was when they took the ouroboros.” Beth sniffs.
Dom shifts, stepping in front of Emma. “You need to go, ma’am. You aren’t welcome here.” Beth’s gaze crawls over Dom, and Emma’s stomach drops. She’s seen that look—cold and unfeeling as she assesses someone, weighing them for worth. Then her gaze darts past him to Emma. “Darling. We don’t choose our security because we want to fuck them.”
Emma sucks in a sharp breath. “Get the fuck out, Mother. You lost any right to be here when you sided with that bastard.”
She turns away, pulling her phone quickly and dialing.
A gun goes off before she can lift the phone, and she screams as the sound fills the tower lobby, echoing off the marble and back again, the roar swallowing the low grunt from Dom as the bullet tears into his gut. Another shot to his side, and the bodyguard wavers before his legs go out and he drops. Emma stares at her mother, shocked and furious. “What the hell are you doing? You fucked up this time, Beth.”
Bethania gives her daughter a quick sharp smile. “I don’t think I did. Seth was never very bright—but object lessons work very well.”
Emma’s stomach heaves furiously. She drops to the ground and touches his neck. A pulse flutters under her fingers and she murmurs softly, “Stay alive, friend.”
A grip as familiar as breathing closes around her arm. “Let’s go.”
Emma jerks sharply. “I’m not fucking going anywhere with you, you crazy bitch.”<
br />
Beth slaps her. The taste of blood fills her mouth as her vision goes gray, pain obscuring everything, even the shallow breathing of the man at her feet. “You’ll come quietly, or I’ll kill you now and deal with that little shit cousin of yours later.”
The pure venom in Beth’s voice knocks her back a step. For the first time, she isn’t just angry—she’s scared.
Beth has never liked Emma. And that dislike increased when Emma took her place in the family at Seth’s side. A disinterested dislike deepened into hatred—and Beth is violent and unstable.
She has been since Isaac died. “What are you doing, Mother?” Emma asks quietly.
“Seth took the family and killed my brother, and he stole you. I’m taking the only thing he cares about. Now get on your fucking feet and move.”
Shaking, furious and terrified, she does as she’s told. Beth lifts the gun again, and Emma screams, the world spinning as she fires again. Dom jerks and Emma lurches toward him.
“Don’t,” Beth snaps. “Let’s go. Get your phone out.”
Emma swallows hard, and does what she’s told. Beth pitches her voice loud. “He’s alive—for now. But you’ll want to hurry if you want it to stay that way.” Then she takes the phone and tosses it on Dom’s too still body. Motions with her gun and sneers at Emma. “Get in the fucking car.”
Chapter 41. Bamboo. New York City. December 18
The Phone Is Dead, black against his ear, but he can’t bring himself to lower it yet. Lowering it will mean it’s real. The gunshot was real.
A knock jars him out of his daze and he blinks as Kai enters.
He almost ignored her phone call. Suddenly, his stomach turns and he gags, swallowing hard to keep from throwing up.
“Rama?” Kai sounds worried, and it jerks him back to himself.
Without responding, he lifts the phone again, dialing as he stands. He pulls open a chest at the end of the bar as the phone rings, and pulls out the pair of guns he so rarely carries anymore. “What is it, Rama?” Seth says, distracted.
“Send someone to your offices. Dom needs medical attention.”
“Emma?”
He stops, breathing for a moment. Saying it will make it real and her screams echo in his head. She sounded furious, but at the end, she was scared.
“What the hell happened, Rama?” Seth snarls, and he lets out a breath, feeling all the anger. Embracing it.
“Her mother has her.”
The car is like any Morgan car, dark-tinted windows and luxury. They slip through the streets silently, Emma fighting to control the shudders that take her. The city is alive, beyond the cool metal confines of the car—alive with light and snow. It’s everything she has ever wanted. This city, and her family, and her cousins.
She knew her family carried a heavy price. It was a lesson Seth taught her, while sheltering her from the realities of it. She has been the favorite her entire life. Not coddled by her mother but by every other family member she has——her uncles and father and cousins. Even her brother had doted on her until his death. Caleb was the only one who exposed her to the darker aspects of their world.
Betrayal, so much a part of their world, has never touched her before now. She stares out the window and can't see anything but Dom, lying too still and bleeding on the marble.
She wonders if Rama answered her phone call, if anyone knows what is happening.
There is a moment, a breath-stealing moment of fear as she imagines Seth getting the phone call from Rama, or worse, arriving at headquarters in the morning to find Dom dead and her missing.
She shudders and pulls herself from her thoughts, smoothing down her dress pants and looking at Beth.
“What are you doing?” she asks, softly. “We didn’t chase you. Why the hell did you come back?”
“I never left,” Bethania says. Surprise pulls at Emma’s expression, and she struggles not to snap out a question. “I have friends in the city, Emma. I’ve been here far longer than you.”
“No one would harbor—” She goes quiet, staring at her mother, understanding filling her. Beth’s expression doesn’t change as she watches Emma puzzle through it, and her smile turns up as Emma’s eyes widen. “The Olivers. You fucking went to the Olivers? Why?”
Beth shrugs. “Old friendships, Emma. Why I do anything is no longer your concern. The Morgans no longer concern me.”
“Until you're dead, the Morgans will always concern you,” she says softly.
Beth reaches out, and casually, as if she were picking lint from her shoulder, smacks Emma across the face with the butt of her pistol. Pain streaks across her vision, twisting in her gut as she struggles to keep her grip on consciousness. The salad she ate for lunch threatens to make a reappearance, and through the agonizing pain, she’s aware of how pissed Beth would be if she threw up now.
Blood, brain, bone. That doesn’t bother Beth. But throwing up in the towncar?
A giggle works its way up her throat, coming out with a cough—a garbled noise that screams pain. “You fucking bitch,” Emma murmurs. Blood fills her mouth and she spits it out.
Beth looks disgusted, even in her blurred vision. “We wouldn’t have chased you. But now? Even if I wanted to let you live—Seth won’t. You attacked the wrong fucking person.”
“I attacked his little whore. Of course he’ll come running. That’s the only reason you have any value, Emma. Because you are his weakness.”
Emma stares at her, pain making shit fuzzy. She remembers standing nearly naked in her bedroom in the Hamptons the night the world fell apart, telling Rama she wouldn’t be the weak link in the family. Rama quietly telling her that he saw a queen.
Tears sting her eyes, and she looks away from her mother, back into the snow-swirled city.
“Where are you taking me?” she asks, her voice so low Beth almost misses the question.
For a long moment, there is silence, a strange lull of almost peaceful waiting between mother and daughter. The car bumps into traffic, and Emma turns her gaze to Beth, wincing as pain stabs behind her eyes.
She wonders, distantly, if she has a concussion.
“To see Isaac,” Beth says finally.
Chapter 42. Morgan Estates. New York City. December 19
The Office Is Quiet And Dark. It’s a thick, waiting silence. Two 1911s are sitting on the desk behind him, cleaned and loaded. A phone sits dark next to them. He hasn’t spoken to anyone since he hung up with Vera, curtly informing her that two of his men would be there to keep watch. She’d been pissed, and he’d hung up. That would need to be fixed later.
If Beth would go after Emma, he didn’t think she’d bother with Vera. But taking her to the gala had painted a target on her back, and he couldn’t ignore that.
Behind him, the door opens, and his temper, already high, shifts furiously. That anyone would dare intrude on him now. In the window’s reflection, he sees his allies approaching him. Aleja is dressed down in black, tight pants and a simple long sleeve top that hugs her form. Twin Baby Eagles rest low on her hips, and for the first time since she came to New York, she looks like the assassin he knows she is.
Rama stands next to her, none of the long-held calm evident. His hair is tousled, his silk business shirt wrinkled and bloody. He’s almost vibrating with fury as he stands in the doorway, his liquid black eyes harder than Seth has ever seen.
“How is he?” Seth asks, and he’s surprised at how calm he sounds.
“He will live,” Rama says, and he sounds almost disgusted. That the bodyguard will survive while the princess is missing.
Seth doesn’t acknowledge the Thai prince’s fury. There is nothing to meet it with but his own anger, and feeding rage will do nothing in this situation.
“Will the mother kill her?” Aleja asks, and his anger breaks. He jerks around, glaring at his ally. She stares back, her gaze icy and remote. She doesn’t have the hot anger of Rama, or even the slow burning temper that Seth has cultivated. Her anger is icy and remote, but he
can see the depth there, in the chilling blankness of her gaze.
It hits him, suddenly, that Emma is loved. Even now, when the family who has protected her is dead, she is loved. He is conscious of the tattoo that gleams dark against Rama’s honey gold skin. “No. Not until she is sure she can kill us both. Emma is a tool to draw me out,” Seth says. He walks to the bar, and selects a bottle of vodka, pouring a shot without fanfare. His hands are steady, which surprises him—he feels like he is shaking apart.
Rama curses, soft and vicious in his own tongue. Seth sends a quelling stare at the young prince, and Rama bares his teeth in a vicious smile.
“When she calls—and she will—I will go. I will do whatever she demands, until Emma is safe. No one will touch Beth until that is true.” Seth says flatly.
“And then?” Rama asks, his voice softly menacing. This side of the Asian is new—a vicious brutality that is startling. And reassuring.
Seth tosses back the shot, and gives Rama flat stare. “She killed my people. She betrayed my family. And she stole my queen. What the fuck do you think I’m going to do?”
Aleja makes a low, satisfied noise, some of the tension easing out of her as she moves, taking the vodka and spilling two more shots. She nudges one to Rama, and then sits on the couch, rolling it between her hands. “So we wait.”
Seth nods, and Rama hisses a soft curse. “We wait.”
The silence is what pulls her to waking. An empty, echoing absence of sound that strikes a chord even in her fitful sleep. She sits up abruptly, for a heartbeat forgetting everything. Panic claws into her belly and it rushes back to her on a wave of nauseating remembrance. She shudders, and looks around quickly. Pain pushes through her, and she gags. Swallows hard as she breathes through the wave of dizzying agony.
