Faithless (The Red Order Book 3)

by E. S. Carter

“I have some free time,” he casually continues. “Faye has everything covered here. So, why don’t I accompany you? After all, I never planned to play dead forever.”

  At his wife’s name, my spine stiffens. I never expected the Craven whore to have survived this long, let alone to have gotten under my brother’s skin.

  “Just like old times? The Hunter brothers against the world?” I spit, the sarcasm in my voice clear. “Should I be grateful you suddenly want to use your free time on me, brother? How wonderfully generous of you.” I sound like a spoilt, sullen child, not the leader of Europe’s most powerful underworld organisation. With angry movements, I grab the previously dismissed Beretta, check it’s loaded and shove the firearm into the back waistband of my trousers. The weight of the weapon pressing against my flesh grounds me, and I take a deep, cleansing breath. The more I allow him to get to me, the more credence I add to his assumptions, and my older brother does not need any further ammunition.

  “Sorry, Cole,” I force through a strained smile as I turn to face him once more. “This isn’t my call. And to answer your previous question, yes. I’m helping James clear up some loose ends with regards to the dismantling of The Kingdom. I’ll be gone for a few days, and I’ll be off the grid. This is nothing the Red Order needs to be aware of. As far as the pyramid leaders are concerned, The Kingdom died with Alexiou, Kyrillos, Federov and Kennedy.”

  I dare him to challenge me as I hold his stare, my teeth on show as I grin broadly. “If you wish to come back from the dead, have at it, brother. Be my guest. But Red Order belongs to me now. You’re better off sticking to the shadows and keeping the little wife happy. Leave the business side of things to those of us not thinking with our dicks.”

  He blinks. Once. Twice. Slow and assessing. Like a lion before it rips apart its prey.

  “Are you fucking him, brother?” he eventually asks with a devious glint in his eye. “Grim called it, but I wasn’t convinced. Now… I’m not so sure.” His gaze turns feral as he adds, “Or is he fucking you? Do you beg him like a little bitch to take you harder? Do you swallow his cock down your throat while you whimper on your knees?”

  The Beretta is pressed into the soft skin under his chin before my next blink. Cole’s face never once breaking from the wide grin that shows his perfect, sharp white incisors.

  “Easy, brother,” he goads. “Remember I always told you your actions speak louder than any words.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He laughs. He fucking laughs. Loud and deep from his belly.

  “It’s about time someone got under your skin. I never thought it would be hi—”

  I jam the hard end of the barrel deeper into his skin, cutting off the rest of his words.

  “Listen up, brother,” I grit through my tight jaw. “I fuck whoever I wish in whatever hole I please. It has never had anything to do with you, and it never will. If I wanted James on his hands and knees with my cock splitting him in two, it’s of little concern to you. Now—” I push fractionally harder into his neck before tearing the Beretta away and sliding it back into my waistband. “—why don’t you run along back to Faye. Maybe if she were fucking you the way a wife should, you wouldn’t give a shit where my cock has been.”

  I sidestep around him not waiting for a response, and as I push through the steel door, I call over my shoulder, “I’ll be back in a few days. If you need help showing your wife how a real man fucks, I’d be more than willing to take her to my basement and break her in for you when I get back.”

  I don’t pause to see what reaction my words have elicited. I know Cole. I know all the ways to get under his skin and his Craven whore wife is one of them.

  Satisfied I’ve left with the upper hand, I allow the tension created by Cole’s baiting to shed from my skin as I approach the hall that leads to the underground garage. By the time I place my thumb on the fingerprint entry panel, my head is back in the game, and my thoughts are firmly on James Cooper and why he’s requested my assistance. The man can be unreadable at times, and I don’t buy the whole ‘saviour’ vibe. Every man has a dark side. You merely need to find the key. There is no way he’s been deep in the underbelly of a world that most people refuse to believe exists because it’s that abhorrent, without having some of it rub off on him. The darkness in which we live is like an infectious rain. Not the wet, drench through your clothes kind of rainstorm, but the light drizzle that falls like a fine mist and settles silently, seeping into everything without you ever noticing until you’re finally soaked to the bone. James Cooper has lived this life since birth. He’s breathed in that virulent fine mist. It coats him just like my cloak of normalcy covers me. But it’s there—waiting. Anticipating the moment I will uncover it. And I will.

  The garage is silent when I enter. Unless I’m riding the Ducati, I would normally have a driver, but with James requesting for me to come alone, I grab the keys to the Maserati GranTurismo—Cole’s car—in a last ‘Fuck you’ to my brother. Not that he leaves the estate much of late, what with faking his own death and all. Still, it feels like a middle finger, and I whistle a random tune as I throw my tactical gear in the back and slide behind the steering wheel.

  Before starting the car, I send a brief text to the head of the estate security, a highly competent but practically monosyllabic man named Michaels, informing him that he needs to send someone to collect Cole’s car later today. I don’t bother to give him any further details. He can find the vehicle using the GPS tracker. I’ll make sure it’s in one piece. I’m not that juvenile.

  The garage doors open before me as I slowly ascend the steep ramp that exits to the back of Hunter Lodge, and soon the car’s wheels crunch loudly over thick gravel. I make a wide arc to come around the front of the property instead of slinking out the back, and I salute when I see my brother stood in the open front doorway. His eyes narrow as I drive by, but I don’t allow myself to smile until I’m at the end of the long drive and security has buzzed me through the last set of gates. Only then does my mouth stretch into a grin and not because of my brother, but because of the name flashing up on the in-car communication system.

  “I’m on my way,” I announce when I press answer, not bothering to wait for the caller to speak first.

  “We’re already at the plane,” the static sounding voice replies.

  “Let’s finish this and draw a line under it. I’m done chasing The Kingdom’s ghosts. Oh, and don’t forget you owe me.”

  I keep my voice cold, impersonal. Wanting and waiting to see what response I’m offered.

  “I’m aware.” The words are clipped, almost strained, and it sends a jolt of anticipation down my spine. I like the control having him in my pocket assures me. “But before you try and collect, I think it’s time we discuss what you owe me,” he adds. This time the words are spoken silkily, invitingly.

  You have no idea who you are messing with.

  “I owe no one. You’d be wise to remember that.”

  He laughs, and the sound tickles across my skin and settles in dark places before his next words spark my insides on fire.

  “I’ve never claimed to be a wise man, Luke. But I am a man, and I know what I want and what I’m willing to give up to get it.”

  Then he hangs up, and I press my foot hard on the accelerator to ignore the pulsing thrum of my blood.

  “You don’t need to be willing,” I mutter into the silence of the car. “In fact, I prefer it that way.”

  Two

  James

  I drum my fingers carelessly across the table before me, no rhythm to the noise they make, mirroring the random emotions flickering through my brain.

  Challenging a man like Luke Hunter is dangerous. It’s deadly to look at him the way I know I do and have done since the first time we met. And it’s downright suicide to bait him the way I have done for the last few weeks.

  With The Kingdom fallen and all their spoils used to fund my second vineyard and plans for a third, I’ve used every excuse I can to ke
ep doing business with the Hunters.

  Since the day I gave my brother a gift—the day I tried to repair my relationship with Henry, or Grim as he prefers to be called now—by offering him a sacrifice, too many of my thoughts have revolved around the man due to turn up here any moment now.

  I wasn’t expecting to gain anything by joining forces with the Red Order and the Hunter brothers, especially not my own brother’s trust and forgiveness. But when my eyes settled for more than a brief second on another person—the way I know they did on Luke Hunter—there was no one more shell-shocked than I. I hadn’t felt that heady and addictive jolt of lust for so long. I hadn’t wanted to feel it. Not since I lost her. Not since I lost them both. I live for Alice now. No one else. She is the reason I function. She is the reason I vow to get vengeance, and, in the same breath, the reason I save those I do.

  Alice is both my redemption and retribution.

  Her mother was my heart.

  Her brother was my bones.

  Together, my family were my very soul, but all I have left now is Alice. I have no room for anyone else. My chest cavity echoes with the laughter of ghosts and the love of a small girl who thinks her Daddy hung the moon.

  Until him.

  Luke Hunter looks like a man of exceptional breeding and morals. He looks like he could be the next King of England, with his extraordinarily handsome, almost aristocratic features, ten-thousand-pound suits cut to hug his taut, athletic frame, and a crisp, clear accent spoken in low tones. But looks can be deceiving. Others may not see what he hides under his skin, but I do. And for some ridiculously foolish reason, so does my cock. Which is entirely ludicrous, because I haven’t slept with anyone since my wife’s murder. She was it for me, and her loss has been a dagger in my chest for a very long time.

  Someone somewhere is having a right fucking laugh at the fact my long dead libido is sitting up and taking notice of a man. And not just any man, but one likely to gut me from neck to belly for ever daring to look at him the way I’ve been looking at Luke Hunter.

  I’m not some naïve idiot. The man is more than a killer. Darkness engulfs him. The smiles, the cultured tone of his voice, and his seemingly calm demeanour are all superficial things that mask the monster who lives beneath his skin. If you look closely—and fuck knows I have—you can see it in his eyes gnashing its sharp teeth and biding its time before it rips out your jugular with one snap of its jaw.

  Yet, my dick—my stupid, previously fossilised cock—hasn’t got the memo, and neither has a large part of my rational brain. They both want this man with an urgency that buzzes through my blood. They both have a death wish, and they are both making me reckless—and reckless in the world I live will get you killed.

  The only thing holding me back is my daughter. The need I have to keep her safe has taken the place of my conscience. I am all she has, and the only one who can ensure she lives the life she deserves. If I end up dead—chopped into tiny pieces by Luke Hunter because my cock started to think for my brain—I will be of no use to Alice, and I refuse to abandon her on this earth without protection. I’ve taken down too many powerful men and their families to leave her to fend for herself. She’d be a lamb to the slaughter, and I will sacrifice everything I have to ensure her safety because she is everything that’s good in this blood-soaked world, and I’m determined to keep her that way.

  The hum of a powerful engine floats through the open hatch of the jet, and I stand and make my way to greet the man that has my insides caught up in a meat grinder.

  A sleek, black Maserati guns down the dusty runway towards us, and I’m a little disappointed I don’t get to see Luke speeding over the cracked and pitted tarmac on his Ducati. Only once have I witnessed that spectacle, and I wanked off for weeks afterwards to the vision of him in all black leathers, straddling a solid black speed machine like it was an extension of his body. I discreetly adjust the bulge in my trousers at the memory.

  The car growls to a stop a few feet from the jet’s stairs, and without fanfare or hesitation, the man himself slides out from behind the wheel. He’s all lithe grace and concealed power. His suit impeccably fitted, not a dark hair out of place on his head, and his jaw free from even a shadow of stubble. I swear I can smell him from here, and I close my eyes briefly and mentally shake myself at the absurdity of the thought.

  One of my crew offers to retrieve his gear, but Luke ignores him and collects a large duffle from the boot, snapping the lid closed with a finality that rings through my guts.

  I remind myself that I asked him here to help me. I need his help to shut down the very last trafficking farm linked to The Kingdom. Not for any other motive. Then, after the job is done, I will have no reason to bother him again.

  “Liar,” my desire sneers, rising from the dark pit of my belly and sniffing the air like a dog in heat.

  “I must say, I’m intrigued.”

  Luke’s voice snaps me from the internal battle I’m having with my libido. He looks up at me before slowly ascending the steps. Each movement he makes is premeditated and smooth. “You request my help, tell me you’ll make it worth my while, but never once reveal where we’re going or what exactly you require from me when we get there.”

  “You’re here aren’t you,” I state confidently, ignoring the growing heat between my legs.

  “For now,” he replies. His piercing gaze assesses me, penetrating my skin and bones, and searing through sinew, to dig its way deep into the core of me where it apparently finds me lacking.

  The way he looks at me—looks into me—is unsettling, and I find myself breaking the silence between us without preparing my words.

  “Budapest,” I blurt, covering my anxiousness and bubbling desire with a smile. “We’ve got a lead to follow up on the final farm. It hasn’t closed its doors as it was ordered, and the idiots that were running it for Federov have decided to take it for themselves. They’ve relocated the entire operation to some isolated village outside the city.”

  His face is stone as he takes the final step and meets me toe to toe.

  “You called me here, away from Hunter Lodge, away from Red Order, on some kind of wild goose chase that you’re more than equipped to handle yourself?” His lips twitch as he leans into my personal space and I fight the need to retreat. “Or is this trip something… more?”

  The final word slides from his lips like honey, sounding more like another four-letter word. A darker four-letter word.

  I resist the urge to take a step back, clearing the gravel from my quickly closing throat with an almost inaudible cough. “Rumour has it Federov’s twenty-year-old son, Sasha, is running the show. He’s been throwing around all sorts of threats.”

  “And?” Luke pushes, looking seconds away from pulling out one of the guns I know he has secreted about his person and wiping out every living being in the vicinity.

  “He’s telling all who will listen that both Cole Hunter and the Craven heir of the Red Order are alive and well. He’s trying to start a revolution, and, rumour has it, a few of Cole’s—” my eyes flick a glance down to his lips as he parts them slightly. “—and your biggest fans, are funding him.”

  “So why not bring this to my organisation as a whole? We could’ve wiped out an ant like this with a click of our fingers?”

  “Because I made a promise to one of my men that I would personally retrieve something precious to him.”

  A muscle in Luke’s jaw pulses and his eyes harden.

  “Unlike my brother,” he begins, taking a step forward and therefore forcing me to take a step back into the plane. “I don’t have a hero complex. Saving poor unfortunate souls is a by-product of my desires, not the fuel for them. So—” He takes another step. “—I’ll ask once more. Why the need for me to personally accompany you?”

  I swallow. Hard. And his eyes glimmer as he follows the motion, his gaze trailing over the bob of my Adam’s apple.

  “Come now, James,” he murmurs like a lover, his eyes once more finding mi
ne. “We are friends, yes?”

  I nod, unable to get my brain to function well enough to find words and send them to my mouth.

  “Good friends,” he continues. “And as such, I don’t expect you to keep anything from me. Because, I’ll know, James.” Another step forward. Another one back for me. “I’ll know if you’re hiding something from me. I’ll know if you have plans to overthrow or—”

  What?

  “No,” I bark out, the word getting caught at the hollow of my throat before flaring from my mouth like a whip. “This is not a trap. I value the truce between our organisations.”

  His demeanour slips and I see something fiery in his eyes that, on anyone else, might look like desire, but on Luke looks like pure, unadulterated bloodlust. And fuck if my pathetic and recently reawakened cock doesn’t like it.

  I want to sink into it, into him, and burn from the heat, combust under his hands, but I don’t. From the tip of my spine, I find something—something a lot like the look he’s giving me—and I stand tall, tall enough to bring us nose to nose.

  “They have something of yours, too,” I offer with a knowing grin. “Well, I should clarify. It’s something of Faye’s, but I figured, what with Cole and his wife currently dead—” I let my meaning linger for a breath and absorb the interest sparked behind his eyes. “—you’d want to sort this matter yourself before bringing it to your brother’s attention.”

  “What do they have of Faye’s?” he asks, his attention peaked.

  I smile. It’s a triumphant smile. An ‘I gotcha’ smile.

  “Her sister. They have Faye’s sister.”

  Three

  Luke

  Bullshit.

  This fucker may be of interest to my cock, but, unlike some men, I’ve never been ruled by mine. Why would I be when I take what I want anyway?

  And he’s lying through his teeth.

  “The Craven whore is the last of her line. You’ll have to try harder than that, Renshaw. She doesn’t have a sister.”