Sinful Empire Read online

He presses a kiss to my fingers before he draws them away. “I come from the darkness. I’ll never be able to live with you out in the open. Being with me will never be normal, never be what you planned for your future. Ever.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t want normal. I just want you.”

  “I don’t know why you have faith in me.”

  I reach out and grip the lapel of his jacket. He doesn’t get it, but someday he will. “You don’t hide who you are.”

  “I’m the devil in a suit.”

  I shake my head. He’s so wrong. “That’s what you think, but I can look beyond the surface to what you’re hiding beneath. There’s a beauty in you that you’ll never see until you look through my eyes.”

  “Don’t try to make me into some kind of white knight, Keira. I’m not even close.”

  “No. You’re not. But you’re also not the devil. You’re more like Michael the archangel. He defeated Satan. You’ve defended those who didn’t have the ability to save themselves. You swept in and took vengeance. You keep the balance. You can think you’re evil all you want, but I think you’ve driven out more evil than you’ve ever caused.”

  His dark gaze widens for a moment before he tames the surprise in it and sweeps open the curtain.

  Lachlan leads me through the hidden hallways, his hand never leaving mine, until we stop in front of a fancy-looking security device that matches the one V showed me on the door to the suite. He presses his fingers against it, and the panel slides open to reveal the closet of our suite.

  “Someday, I’m going to learn these hallways.”

  He smiles down at me, his face gentle. “Someday, you’ll learn it all, hellion.”

  The door closes behind us, and he turns to face me.

  “I told you I’d protect you, and I will. With my life and everything I have. This is the best way I know how. I have one more box for you tonight, Keira.” His hand tightens on mine as he leads me through the bathroom and into the bedroom.

  My heart rate picks up as his hand closes over the knob, and I repeat his words in my head.

  Does he mean . . .

  Before I can finish forming the question in my mind, Lachlan opens the bedroom door to reveal two men waiting inside the living room. Both are dressed in black, with the exception of one very distinctive white collar.

  “Father. Your Honor. We’re ready.”

  Keira

  Two days later

  “We continue our coverage as the body count of known cartel members rises in New Orleans. The statement we’ve received from the police doesn’t give us much to go on, except for the warning they want to share with our viewers.

  “Stay inside. Venture out only as necessary.

  “Collateral damage has been minimal up to this point, and authorities want it to stay that way. Here at the network, we’re not sure what to make of this, but somehow, even though the streets are running with blood, residents of certain neighborhoods claim that they feel a new sense of safety rather than fear.”

  The streets are running with blood, and I feel no guilt over it. It’s a simple matter of cause and effect. Actions and consequences. Restoring the balance.

  Before all of this happened, I would have been one more scared citizen wondering what was happening to my city, but now I see it all from a different—and in my opinion, clearer—perspective.

  Lachlan Mount isn’t terrorizing this city. He’s making it safer.

  He hasn’t contacted me. For days, V has stood guard outside my door during the day, and has slept inside the living area, probably with one eye open, while I’m in the bedroom at night.

  I’m in the safest place I could possibly be, under the watchful eye of a devoted protector.

  Now I just need Lachlan to come home.

  In the meantime, I try to distract myself with work.

  My phone rings at the prescribed time.

  Temperance.

  “Hey. Everyone still good?”

  “Yes. I have everyone non-essential working from home like you requested. The restaurant is still closed, and the security detail patrolling the building makes the rest of us feel like we’ve got the National Guard protecting us. I don’t know where you found the money for that, but . . . I’m really glad you did.”

  I rub a hand over my face, debating once more whether I should tell her the truth, but decide that the less she knows, the better. At least, for now. “If you think, for a single second, that you or anyone else at the distillery is in danger, we shut down operations completely and everyone evacuates according to the plan.”

  “Boss, we’re not shutting down. We’re not pussies here at Seven Sinners. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than a few bullets flying outside to stop us from making whiskey. Besides, we keep getting more requests for orders and I’m holding them off, because there’s no way we can possibly fill them all.”

  My brain, which has been filled with constant worry about Lachlan’s safety to the point where I’ve almost worn a path in the carpet of the bedroom, finally latches onto business fully once more. “Supply and demand. We have to raise prices.”

  Temperance is silent for a few beats. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “You would’ve. Things have been a little hectic,” I say, and we both laugh at the understatement of the year.

  We discuss how to handle the price increase, and then Temperance moves on to the next topic.

  “I just got a call from the PR director of the Voodoo Kings, and he’s concerned that Mardi Gras will be too dangerous this year because of the increased violence. They’re already discussing the possibility of canceling the event, even though we’re still months away. I told him that he was being unreasonable. I think I convinced him that there’s no need for such a hasty reaction, but you might need to step in and make sure.”

  “They can’t cancel.”

  “That’s what I told him, but if they do . . .”

  My mind races, and I think of the contract. “Hold on. Let me pull up the termination clause. Didn’t we put something in there about forfeiting the deposit if they cancel within a certain number of days of the event?”

  I remember the lawyer mentioning something, but I was barely paying attention because I was more worried about getting the damned thing signed than the details.

  “Yes! Yes, we did!” Temperance says, excitement in her voice.

  I pull up my own copy and read through the fine print, then check the calendar.

  “They’re within the window. They would lose the entire fifty-percent deposit if they cancel now.” Relief—sweet, sweet relief—bubbles up in my belly. “There’s no way they’re going to want to pay for half a party they’re not getting, will they?”

  “No, ma’am. Do you want me to call and remind them, or do you?”

  I think of my other options, continuing to pace the room. “I’ll call them. Make it friendly. Pose it as I would hate for you to lose that deposit just because of a little scare that can’t last much longer.”

  “Do you have some kind of secret insight into how long this craziness is going to last?” Temperance asks.

  “Of course not,” I say, which isn’t completely a lie. “But I can sure tell the team that they’d be making a poor business decision based on irrational fears, and would be much better off not losing their deposit right now.”

  “I’ll let you handle that one, boss. I think it’ll be better coming from you.”

  “Fair enough. What’s next?”

  “Jeff Doon wants to know if we’ve made any progress on prepping to start tours. But, obviously, he isn’t pushing to start them right away.”

  “Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. We’re not ready yet. Anything else?”

  “I think that’s it for now, except . . .” Her question trails off.

  “What?”

  “Are you still somewhere safe? I can’t help but worry about you.”

  I look around the luxurious suite, inside what’s probably the most well -guarded compound in the city. “I’m safe. I promise.”

  “And there’s nothing else you want to tell me?”

  “Not right now. I’ll be back soon, though. Like I said, if you think there’s any question of danger, you have my authority to tell Louis to shut down operations immediately and evacuate the building. The security guys will take you home and make sure nothing happens to anyone.”

  “We’re not going anywhere. Louis would no sooner leave those stills than leave a newborn in the street.”

  How I earned such devotion and loyalty from my employees, I’ll never really understand, but I’m thankful for it all the same.

  “You’re both getting hazard pay for this. Keep me posted if anything changes.”

  “Will do. Same to you.”

  When we hang up, I make the call to Mr. Joseph, the Voodoo Kings’ PR director, reminding him of the termination clause they agreed to. After some sputtering and protests, and my assuring him that everything will be fine, he agrees not to cancel the event.

  That’s a victory for the day.

  As soon as I get off that call, I start pacing again.

  I can’t help it.

  I won’t be able to stop until I see Lachlan again for myself, and with each hour that passes, I worry more and more.

  Mount

  “How many more?” I ask Saxon, lowering my scope. In just under seventy-two hours, we’ve rid New Orleans of nearly every member of Eduardo’s crew.

  “Four. They’re huddled like bitches in that compound.” The hit man sounds disgusted at the cowardice shown by the cartel leaders.

  “They’ve got you on their asses, so I’d expect nothing less.”

  Saxon tilts his head to the side. “True.”

  Keira compared me to Michael the archangel—which is eerie for its own reasons, given my former name—but we’re not seeking any kind of divine justice here. Yes, I’m taking vengeance for every drop of blood of hers they dared to spill, but it’s also full-blown retaliation for the cartel going back on their deal. You don’t retain power in my position by making an example of one man.

  No. You make an example of them all. Every. Last. One.

  And when this faction is extinct in New Orleans, their rival will rise to power, but with a respect for my rules that’s forged in the blood of their enemies.

  We’re making a statement, and it’s not pretty.

  I’m dressed in black, just like Saxon, wearing body armor and weighed down with more ammo and better-quality weapons than a marine carries into a firefight. We’re perched on a rooftop over a half mile away from the cartel headquarters, doing our recon on these last four.

  I’ve sent a clear message to Mexico that if they send one more man across the border, I will consider it an invitation to visit and bring an army. And when I say an army, I mean the best Uncle Sam has to offer from every alphabet-soup agency that I have in my pocket. This drug war could have been over years ago, but it’s too damn profitable for both sides.

  Another form lands on the roof next to us, and both Saxon and I have our weapons trained on him within half a second.

  Ransom holds up both hands. “Go ahead, fuckin’ shoot me. Then who’s gonna make ’em disappear when you’re done killin’ ’em? The press would lose their shit if they knew how many more bodies the cops weren’t findin’.”

  Ransom’s words are the truth, and Saxon and I both turn our scopes back to the compound. We left only the few bodies necessary to show we were serious and to get the appropriate level of media attention.

  “You’re getting paid. What do you care?”

  “I’m not a fucking undertaker. I’m a smuggler. This is a waste of my skills. You better believe I’m upping my rate for body disposal after this shit.”

  I shoot a glance over my shoulder at Ransom. “You want to grab a gun and join us to break the monotony?”

  He pulls out a wicked-looking long knife. “I prefer to get a little more up close and personal. Which general was it who said not to fire until you see the whites of the enemy’s eyes? That’s more my speed. Not this long-distance shit.”

  Saxon grunts, a clear fuck-you to Ransom. The two men might work together but aren’t exactly friends, and they never miss a chance to give each other hell.

  “I got movement,” Saxon says, his finger sliding along the trigger of his sniper rifle.

  “How the fuck can he see—”

  Before Ransom can finish his sentence, Saxon has already pulled the trigger of the suppressed rifle. I watch through my scope and see a head burst into red mist.

  “Nice shot,” I murmur drily, and Saxon gives me the side eye.

  “They’re all nice shots.”

  Saxon’s confidence is one of the reasons he’s my go-to for any job requiring sensitive handling. He’d prefer to never work for me again, saying it leaves too much of a trail, but I couldn’t give a fuck less.

  I hire the best, and I pay him a fortune. He can deal.

  One of these days, I know he’ll disappear and make it so I can’t find him, but it won’t happen before this job is done.

  “So that leaves three?”

  Saxon nods.

  “I’m sending the team in. It’s time to make this even more personal.”

  Mount

  When I brought Keira into my world, it became my duty to protect her, including making sure she never knows certain threats exist. One of these assholes fucked up when he took a shot with her near me. Tonight, they pay and we end this.

  How Ransom managed to get the gate combination to the cartel’s headquarters, I don’t know or care, but as we drive into the courtyard and under the portico, everything is still.

  J speaks into the com. “Premises have been swept, boss. It’s all clear. Your target is in the living room. Turn right after you walk through the front foyer. You can’t miss it.”

  He is Eduardo, the man who sat in front of my desk and agreed to take over the dealings of coke, meth, and pills in the split of the New Orleans drug market. I was more than fair, but for some goddamned reason, he crossed the line. Broke the rules. Shattered the compact.

  Now he pays.

  The low-level shooter who put a bullet through the windshield has already been dealt with, and didn’t say anything more than his boss ordered the hit. Now, his boss will answer for it.

  Z opens the door of the armored Escalade and I step out. As I walk toward the door, I spy a pair of hedge clippers left by some gardener who probably fled days ago when the bullets started flying. Z follows behind me, and I nod to them.

  “Grab those.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  I pull a Cuban out of my pocket and light it, taking a few puffs before I nod at him to open the door. Saxon, Ransom, and a whole crew of my best people are covering us from every angle. Not that there’s anyone left at this point who could do any damage.

  I step inside, my shoes echoing on the marble floor of the airy entryway, and head to the right like J described.

  Eduardo is duct-taped to a chair and he’s practically frothing at the mouth, spewing threats in two languages. Maybe three.

  Regardless, I don’t care.

  “You will die for this, Mount. Fucking die. You and everyone you love.”

  I puff on the cigar, staring at him. “You’re the one who broke the rules. I let you come into my city, make a shit-ton of money, and you dare take a shot at me?”

  “I didn’t fucking take a shot at you!” Spittle flies from his mouth as sweat drips off his face.

  “Your man did. He admitted it. He said you ordered it.” My tone is without emotion. There’s nothing but ice in my veins.

  “He lied!”

  “How do I know you aren’t lying?” I look over my shoulder at Z. “Get creative with those hedge clippers.”

  As Z walks toward him, Eduardo rails at me. Seconds later, his curses turn to screams just before his pinkie hits the floor. It’s closely followed by his ring finger, which pings as the gold wedding ba nd he was wearing hits the marble.

  “Fuck you, Mount! You’re gonna die for this! I didn’t order shit.”

  I nod at Z again.

  Screams fill the room, but all I can picture is Keira’s face going pale as she fought to stay conscious after the accident.

  “You do not fuck with me or mine.”

  “I didn’t! He went rogue!”

  “Then you should’ve had better control over your organization. For that, and the fact that you spilled even a single drop of my woman’s blood, means that your life is forfeit.”

  I meet his dark brown gaze that’s filled with hate, rage, and fear. What I’ve done to him is nothing compared to what he’s done to others.

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Mount.”

  I puff on my cigar again. “Then you’ve outlived your usefulness.”

  Z steps back and I give him a nod. “Put that piece of shit out of his misery. He’s not worth my time.”

  I turn on a heel and head for the front entrance, curses echoing behind me before the distinctive sound of a suppressed bullet silences Eduardo permanently.

  Keira

  “The terror ruling the streets of New Orleans this week seems to have ended. Residents are still advised to use caution as they resume their daily activities, but bullets are no longer flying. The police haven’t yet issued a statement, but we expect one to be forthcoming.”

  With every hour that passes, I feel more and more like I’m about to lose my goddamned mind. The news stories online still have conflicting accounts of what’s going on, but the tone has changed.

  If bullets have stopped flying, then where the hell is Lachlan?

  I’ve practically worn a path in the carpet from the living room to the bedroom in the last three days, but I can’t even pretend to care. The only thing I want is him, back here, safe and sound.

  Work is the only thing that has kept me sane. The distillery is still running at full capacity. Louis refused to leave, and the employees sided with him. They reminded me that we’re built of tougher stuff in NOLA.