Sordid Empire

by Julie Johnson

  I force myself to look at him. To stare danger straight in the face, so to speak. He’s half in shadow, his body completely immobile — no nervous fidgeting on his end. He hasn’t said a word and yet, I can barely catch my breath.

  “Well.” I clear my throat roughly. “You wanted to talk to me about Chloe. Here I am, a captive audience.”

  He stares at me for a long beat — an amused tiger surveying its supper. “Are you nervous?”

  “Nervous?” My bleat of false laugher is painfully transparent. “Why would I be nervous?”

  “Your pulse is racing.” His eyes are on my neck, where a telltale vein is thrumming visibly beneath exposed skin. “And you always dole out extra sass when you’re scared shitless. Which you usually are, when it comes to us.”

  “There is no us, Carter. There never was.”

  His eyes — God, why can’t I escape those eyes? — are locked on mine, unshifting. “Like I said: scared shitless.”

  “Let’s just stay on track, shall we?” I swallow hard. “What’s going on with Chloe? Is she okay?”

  He blows out a long breath, reaching up to rub at the faint line of stubble that’s appeared on his jaw in the hours since he last shaved. He looks irritatingly attractive with a shadow of facial hair.

  Don’t focus on how he looks, Emilia. Focus on why he's here.

  I shift again, uncomfortable as the silence stretches on. “So help me god, Carter, if you lied about her being in trouble just to trick me into talking to you…”

  “I didn’t lie.” He leans back against his seat and I suddenly see how worn out he looks; as though he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “She’s off the rails.”

  I blink. “What?”

  “She’s using again.”

  I tilt my head to one side. “Not to be insensitive, but Chloe’s been pretty blatant about using drugs since the day I met her. During our first ever conversation, she pulled a joint out of her bra and lit up.”

  “I’m not talking about her little Adderall habit or her morning bong hits. This… this is different.” There’s a starkness in Carter’s voice that sets off warning bells inside my head.

  “Different how?”

  “You haven’t known Chloe all that long, so you’ve never seen it happen. But this isn’t the first time I’ve watched my sister spiral. I recognize the signs — almost too well, at this point. She doesn’t come home for days at a time. When she actually bothers to sleep at Hightower, she’s a zombie. I try to talk to her, try to reach her, try to make her eat something… but there’s no life behind her eyes. She’s nosediving. It’s only a matter of time before she crashes.” His words drop to a rough whisper. “If she keeps this up, I’m worried she’s going to OD again.”

  My stomach feels like its turned to a block of cement inside my gut. “Do you know what kind of drugs she’s on?”

  Carter shakes his head. “Chloe has always been a user of convenience. Last time it got this bad, she was taking benzos mixed with a whole bunch of other shit. Coke, ecstasy, whatever’s floating around the clubs when she’s out for the night. As long as it keeps her high, keeps her numb… she doesn’t care about the name written on the bottle. And she doesn’t have a shut-off valve. Not when she’s in this headspace. She doesn’t stop until she’s unconscious on the floor.”

  “Christ,” I curse quietly, mind spinning in several directions at once.

  Carter blows out a sharp breath. “I didn’t want to come to you with this. I know it’s not your problem. I know you wanted us out of your life… but I’m at a loss, here. I can’t reach her. I think you might be the only one who can.”

  “Me?”

  He nods tightly.

  “I don’t know that I’m necessarily the right person…”

  “You are the only fucking person, Emilia!”

  I startle at his sudden vehemence.

  He pulls in a breath to calm himself. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to yell. I just think if she sees you, maybe… Maybe you can talk some sense into her. Get her to hit the brakes before she goes completely over the edge.” Carter rubs a hand over his face, shielding his eyes from mine. He’s quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is stark. “She’s the only family I have. I can’t lose her, Emilia. I won’t lose her.”

  The vulnerability of those words tears through me. Without thinking, I reach out and put my hand on his knee. It’s merely meant to comfort him — a quick squeeze to let him know he’s not alone. Something I like to think I’d do for anyone falling apart in front of my eyes.

  But Carter isn’t just anyone.

  He goes totally still as soon as my hand makes impact. I feel the anger coiling in his body even before I hear it in his snarl.

  “I don’t need your pity.”

  I snatch my hand back like I’ve been struck. The few words I manage to force from my lips come out in a nervous jumble.

  “It wasn’t— I don’t— I just—”

  His hand falls away from his face, revealing a mask of callous anger beneath. The coldness in his eyes makes my breath catch. “Don’t bother explaining. You’ve made how you feel about me perfectly clear, Your Royal Majesty — you did that when you threw me out of the castle three months ago without bothering to listen to a fucking word I had to say in my own defense.”

  A muscle jumps in his jaw and I see, quite clearly, that beneath his worry and his exhaustion, there’s a deep pit of fury. Fury at me, for bringing us to the brink of emotional warfare.

  “Carter—”

  “Don’t. Don’t. Let’s just get Chloe back. That’s all I care about. That’s the only thing that matters, now.” He glances away from me, staring resolutely out the window. “After that, I’ll walk out of your life without a fight. You’ll never have to see me again, just like you wanted. That’s a promise.”

  “I…” My mouth clamps shut, silencing the words I wish I could say; the words I would say, if I thought they would change anything.

  That’s not what I want.

  That’s the opposite of what I want.

  I miss you.

  I’m sorry.

  I fucked up.

  Please forgive me.

  But I’m not naive enough to believe saying those words would actually change a damn thing between us. No apology can mend this rift. No paltry words can heal this breach of trust.

  This man, sitting across from me, might as well be a stranger for all the familiarity in his expression. He might as well be my worst enemy for all the warmth in his rigid profile.

  Just like you wanted, Emilia.

  Remember?

  This is what you wanted.

  Eyes stinging with tears I won’t let fall, throat clogged with an apology I cannot voice… I steady my shoulders, suck in a breath, and focus on the thing that matters most: getting my sister back. Safe, sound, and preferably sober.

  My own impending emotional breakdown will have to simmer on the back burner until further notice.

  I clear my throat lightly. “Do you know where Chloe is right now?”

  Carter grunts out the name of a popular nightclub in Lund.

  “Great. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Five

  The club’s throbbing bass can be heard a half-block away, a pounding beat of that soulless electronica so popular at this kind of establishment. We’ve ditched the Rolls-Royce in favor of a nondescript black SUV — luxury limousines aren’t exactly ideal for flying under the radar. If I’m spotted at a place like this, I can only imagine the headlines tomorrow morning.

  ROYAL RAGER! EMILIA TRADES ISOLATION FOR INEBRIATION

  MOURNING QUEEN SPARKLES IN SILVER DRESS AT LUND HOTSPOT

  Clubbing and drugging aren’t exactly in line with my royal “brand,” as Caulfield would say. I duck a little lower in my seat, cautious despite the dark tint of the backseat windows where Carter and I are sitting. Riggs is at the wheel, a second guard named Vega in the passenger seat.

  I peer through the
glass, trying to get a look at the club. From the outside it doesn’t look like much more than a blocky cube of cement. The line of beautiful people wrapping around it, waiting for their chance to strut past those velvet ropes, is our only clue to the debauchery unfolding within.

  We pull into the alley that runs beside the club and find our path immediately blocked by three scary-looking bouncers in tight black “STAFF” t-shirts. Their muscles strain the fabric, corded veins thrumming with enough strength to crush any line-crashers with ease. Their expressions clearly communicate their intent.

  Do not fuck with us.

  Not if you enjoy the ability to walk.

  It’s an impressive show of intimidation. I’m convinced our plan is about to disintegrate, that we’ll be forced to find an alternate way inside… until Riggs steps out of the SUV. The door shuts firmly behind him as he approaches the trio.

  Riggs is by no means a small man, but standing in front of this mountain of muscle, he looks frighteningly slight. Concern crashes through me in an irrepressible wave as I see the bouncers’ hands curling into fists, their expressions darkening from annoyance to anger.

  I can’t make out what Riggs is saying, but given the way the men begin to glance nervously at each other, going pale in the dim light of the alley, I’d bet my royal ass he’s using the full brunt of his national security privileges to threaten their livelihoods. Maybe even their lives, given how fast they scurry out of our SUV’s path.

  Funny — they look a little smaller as Riggs walks back to the car. His poker face reveals nothing as he climbs into the driver’s seat.

  “What did you say to them?” I marvel lowly, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.

  In answer, the Commander merely shrugs and puts the SUV in gear, whistling lightly under his breath as we start to roll forward. Our headlights illuminate the alley, sending the bouncers scurrying out of our path like cockroaches. Riggs waves at them jauntily as we pass by, chuckling as he watches the blood drain from their faces.

  Sociopath.

  Vega grins over at his boss, clearly impressed by his antics. Even Carter expels a soft snort of amusement from the seat beside mine. I just roll my eyes.

  Men.

  The bouncers, still visibly shaken, wave us onward, deeper into the alley. A hundred or so yards down, we come to a stop in front of a nondescript steel door — a private back entrance leading into the bowels of the building. Our headlights illuminate a charming scene of grime-coated cement and rusted-out dumpsters.

  “Your Majesty, this area isn’t secure,” Riggs says, half-turning in his seat to meet my stare. “I’d much prefer if you waited in the SUV with Vega.”

  “What? No way! Chloe’s in there.”

  “Thorne and I will find Chloe,” he says, eyes sliding to Carter. “You don’t need to be involved in this part.”

  My jaw clenches down on a retort. I’m so tired of living in a protective bubble — of being sidelined over and over again, an ornately-carved chess piece that never moves more than one tile at a time.

  “She’s my sister,” I whisper stubbornly. “She needs me. I’m not waiting in the car when she might be…”

  Overdosed on the floor of a dirty bathroom stall.

  Snorting coke off the surface of a glass tabletop.

  Buying something strong enough to poison her body beyond repair.

  “Emilia.”

  I jolt out of my dark thoughts when Carter says my name. Turning my head to look at him, our gazes snap together — a tangle of blue and green. My nerve endings crackle with sudden electricity.

  “If people see you here, they’ll post about it on social media,” he reminds me with surprising gentleness. “The press will descend on this place so fast, it’ll be a nightmare getting out. And the last thing Chloe needs right now is a story about her in the tabloids.”

  “But…” I trail off, the fight going out of me in a resigned whoosh. As much as I want to tear my way through every square inch of this club until I have Chloe safe in my arms, deep down I know Carter’s right. In trying to help, I might end up doing more harm than good.

  Story of my freaking life.

  Reading the resignation on my face, Riggs rubs the bridge of his nose as though staving off a severe headache. “According to the bouncers, this door leads to a storage room. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let you wait there with Vega while we sweep the club.”

  My brows lift in surprise. “Seriously?”

  “Just don’t make me regret it by running off and doing something dumb.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  He grunts, unconvinced, but doesn’t take back the offer. A small thrill moves through me as Vega pulls open my door and helps me down into the alley. The four of us head for the entrance in silence, our steps muffled under the ever-rising swell of music.

  I keep my eyes on my feet, trying to avoid the worst of the grime. I can’t help wincing a bit as the hem of my pretty dress drags through litter-strewn puddles — the contents of which I’ll happily allow to remain a mystery — and skims over a cache of moldering cigarette butts.

  The steel door sticks in its frame, only yielding when Riggs gives it a powerful shove. It swings inward with a metallic groan. We step into a small deserted room — a storage space for tapped kegs, the floor littered with stacks of cardboard liquor boxes and empty bottles. The air is damp with mildew, the space dingy from disuse. A bare fluorescent lightbulb illuminates the space, flickering periodically like a strobe.

  Now that we’re inside, the bass beat of electronica is crushing. The paint-chipped walls are actually vibrating, the floor beneath our feet seeming to shift with each spin of the DJ’s turntable.

  “Thorne.” Riggs cuts a look at Carter. “You ready?”

  Carter nods, jaw-clenched like a fist.

  The Commander turns his severe gaze on me. “You will not move from this hallway.” It’s not a request. “Is that understood?”

  “Understood.”

  Riggs looks at Vega. “We’ll be no more than five minutes. Any longer than that, assume something’s gone wrong and get the queen back to the castle. Her safety is your number one priority.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Carter and I lock eyes one last time before he follows Riggs down the hall, deeper into the club, where god only knows what awaits them. I’m surprised to see all traces of his earlier anger have evaporated. Instead, fear and hope war in equal measures on his face.

  “Go get our girl,” I whisper, barely audible beneath the driving bass.

  His lips twist — not quite a smile. And then, in a blink, he’s gone.

  The girl Carter and Riggs drag through the door three minutes, sixteen seconds later might as well be a stranger. Her red hair is lank, hanging around her gaunt face in frizzy chunks. Her skin is sallow, lacking all its former ivory luster. There’s a red wine stain on her blouse and the straps are sliding off her rail-thin shoulders. She’s lost so much weight since last I saw her, she could pass for a skeleton.

  “Let go of me!”

  She shrieks at the top of her lungs as they drag her into the back hallway, clawing at Riggs’ hands like a feral cat. She hasn’t spotted me yet, standing in the shadows with Vega, but I know it’s only a matter of time.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? This is fucking ridiculous! This is assault! I’m going to call the fucking cops on your asses!”

  “Chloe, cut the shit,” Carter hisses, enveloping one of her hands in his fist before she manages to scratch an eye out. “You’re high.”

  “I’m not high!” she screams, her eyes wild. “I’m just having fun! Something you wouldn’t know anything about since all you do these days is sit around moping about a girl who doesn’t give a flying fuck about either of us!”

  I flinch. There’s raw pain beneath those words. Pain I caused, by pushing her away. The wave of guilt that crashes over me in that moment is so strong, I’m nearly bowled over.

  “Chloe, just s
top—” Carter starts, but she’s not done yelling.

  “I’m not the one who needs an intervention. You are. You’re the addict, big brother. You just can’t see it because your drug doesn’t come in a pill or a bottle. It’s a girl you can’t have, and it’s fucking killing you. Isn’t it?”

  “Enough.”

  “I agree! It is enough!” She laughs crazily, throwing her head back and closing her eyes, emaciated shoulders heaving. The abrupt shift from anger to amusement is unsettling. “Enough of the Emilia show. Enough of your ridiculous unrequited love. Just… enough.”

  Carter’s jaw tightens, teeth clenching to contain words I’m sure he wants to shout at her. But there’d be no point — she’s not herself right now. She probably won’t even remember this conversation when she comes down from whatever she’s on.

  They drag her deeper into the back room, kicking and screaming the whole way for them to release her. Her heeled boot makes contact with an empty keg and sends it spinning like a silver top. There’s an ear-splitting metallic clatter as it smacks to a stop against the far wall. The sound sets off another round of her cackles.

  “Chloe, can you just cooperate for five fucking minutes?” Carter grunts, trying to keep her upright. She’s gone ragdoll-limp in his arms. “We have a car waiting outside.”

  Her head lolls sideways, as if she hasn’t even heard him. “Guess what, Carter? Being heartbroken is a waste of time. Love isn’t even real. The sooner you learn that, the happier you’ll be.” Tears have started streaking down her cheeks, leaving thick streaks of black mascara in their wake. “I don’t love anyone and no one loves me. And I’m happy.” She sobs out the word — a broken, twisted sound. “Don’t you want to be happy like me, Carter?”

  Christ.

  Chloe’s obvious agony is gut-wrenching to witness. Each tear she sheds hits me like a lance straight to the heart. Unable to watch from the sidelines anymore, I step out of the shadows.