Chapter 3
Colt
“Did you have to piss him off?” Alistair asks through my earpiece as I watch Ranger walk away, his drink unfinished, his anger my entertainment for the evening.
“No, but it was fun.” I tip my glass against my lips, washing down the taste of chocolate with the four-hundred-dollar drink Denver paid for. I’m glad I brought two bags of M I didn’t think I’d be sharing with Deluxe. “He’s threatened by her.”
Alistair hums in agreement. “Reckon we can use that?”
Potentially. Driving a wedge between the Luxes would be a good way to get them alone, making it easier to kill them.
If that’s what I decide to do.
I came here tonight to help me make a decision.
I was hoping to meet Denver and find her so unlikeable that killing her became an easy option, but our brief interaction wasn’t unpleasant.
She was actually pretty charming, as most have told me she is.
Funny, too. And it’s one thing to defend my family if she attacks; it’s another to kill her when she doesn’t even know who I am.
And then there’s that niggling voice at the back of my brain telling me she has every right to want revenge when my brother did what he did.
I rub my temple. Violence should be used when necessary, made theatrical when you need to rock the boat, but to hunt her down and kill her like this feels predatory, and that kind of murder has never sat right with me.
“You don’t have to kill her,” Alistair says in my ear. “If you can separate her from Ranger, it’d be enough. She’d be distracted. Alone. Her fight would eventually run out.”
An option I’d considered. Lure her into bed, have her fuck an enemy and hate herself enough that she’d wallow in a messy divorce. Cruel, but better than death.
“No,” I say, finishing the drink. “She’s too smart.”
And I don’t think I could do it. Fuck, has my time away made my conscience grow, or was I always like this?
“It’s a shame we can’t just kill him,” I say. “He’s a prick.”
“You were flirting with his wife; how did you think he’d react?” Alistair points out. “‘How married are you?’ You’ve been out of the game too long if you think that shit works.”
I smile to myself, gaze fixed on Denver as she whispers something to Ranger. He nods and kisses her, and she heads for the entrance to the ballroom.
“Maybe,” I say, knowing full well he’s right. “What do you—” My thought is interrupted, stalled to the point of confusion, when I spot someone I know. “Alistair, why is Jake Marley here?”
“You’re kidding?”
Jake is standing in a group of people, his attention on Denver as she crosses the room. It’s busy enough that he’s blending in, but I see the little shit. He’s Dorian Eddard’s right-hand man.
Which means Dorian is here.
Denver says something to her security, JJ, and when he responds, she shakes her head and points in the direction of the bathroom. Lewis, her private security that rarely leaves her side, taps his watch and she laughs, rolling her eyes before leaving the ballroom.
“No, I’m not kidding,” I say. “Is Spider here?”
Spider has been on my hit list for three years. The burning, fiery need to tear his head from his shoulders is one I don’t even try to cool. He took from me. Took from my family. If he’s here, the Luxes dying no longer matters.
He does.
“They wouldn’t be in the same place at the same time,” Alistair says. “They never are.”
A security protocol that makes sense. Spider is the head of the snake, and his son is the body. Kill them both, and a network of human trafficking doesn’t die, but it slows until another snake takes its place.
I track Jake as he abandons his champagne and follows Denver. He takes out his phone and types quickly, his gaze flitting from the screen to her.
I follow him. “Dorian hasn’t made a move on Denver since she cut off his finger.” Something we all heard about. Something that almost made me like her. “Call—”
A high-pitched screech has me wincing, and I snatch the earpiece out just as the ballroom is plunged into darkness.
Gasps echo through the space, a few yelps of surprise, and I stand in place, waiting for my eyes to adjust. Small pockets of light appear as people take out their phones, and I do the same. But there’s no service, no connection. Someone has knocked out the power and our ability to call out.
“Everybody stay calm,” a hotel employee calls out. “It’s just a power cut. We’ll be back up and running once the generators kick in.”
As he says it, low levels of light start up, but we’re not bathed in brightness like before. I head for the entrance. People are standing at the bank of elevators, the red numbers above the metal doors stalled.
“Sir.” A member of staff places his palm on my shoulder. “It’s best you stay in the ballroom.”
I glance at his hand. “Remove that before I break it.” He recoils quickly. Over his shoulder, I watch as JJ emerges from the bathroom, shaking his head at Lewis.
Denver’s gone.
“Your back-up generators. What do they prioritize after lighting?” I ask.
The employee gapes at me. “Um … the service elevators, I guess—”
If Jake took Denver, she’s still in this building. He can’t have dragged a woman kicking and screaming outside of the hotel. Even if he’d managed to subdue her, someone would notice a man carrying an unconscious woman—especially if the woman in his arms was Denver fucking Luxe.
They’re both still here. But where?
Fuck. Why do I even care?
Most would think this a job handled. If I walk away now, Wilder’s life is secured. I need Denver Luxe out of the picture, and she is. I could leave right the fuck now.
I wet my lips, glancing from the bathroom to where Lewis strides back into the room, his phone against his ear.
“Leave, Colt,” I whisper to myself. “She’s not your problem.”
No, she’s not. I don’t even need to do anything. My lack of action secures my brother’s life and ends our feud with the Luxes.
But it’s one thing to die. It’s another to let her be taken. Sold. Raped.
I can’t just walk away.
Think, Colt. If you were Dorian and you wanted to punish Denver Luxe, you’d need privacy, at least until you could move her. You’d need a room on a floor where other people weren’t staying.
And Dorian is a rich kid. He flashes his wealth—always has. Rumor has it the reason he met the wrath of Deluxe was because he was at Pulse to try and buy it from her.
If Dorian is anywhere, it’s the penthouse.
The door to the stairwell thuds against the wall as I throw it open and take the steps three at a time. Adrenaline floods my system, and although I know why I’m doing this, the repercussions gnaw at the back of my brain.
I’ve gone from debating killing Denver to saving her.
I heave in breaths as I take each flight of stairs, finally reaching the penthouse floor. My shoulders rise and fall with quickened breaths, and as I stride down the plush hallway, passing bouquets of flowers and expensive art, the power flicks back on.
And I hear Denver scream.
Not a scream of fear. Of rage.
I press my back into the wall beside the penthouse door and rap my knuckles against it before taking out my knife. It was a gift from Wilder, the eight-inch blade well used, some of the serrated edges broken off in bodies over the years, but I’m attached to it. It’s clean right now.
It won’t be for long.
Someone shouts an order, and footsteps move closer. The door opens and I turn, reaching for the collar of the man before me. I yank him close and bury the blade into his throat, warm blood spilling across my knuckles, and keep a firm grip of him as I walk him backward into the room.
I have seconds to take in the suite as I kick the door closed behind me. It has a living area, which is currently filled with four of Dorian’s men, and on the far side of the room is a set of double doors. A small bar is to my right, and to my left is another door.
Someone shouts, and the bullets that fly in my direction land in the back of the man dying in my grip.
I use him as a shield as I return my knife to its holster, pull out my own gun, and return fire.
Two bullets land in the man at the bar, his back hitting the mirrored shelves, bottles and glasses crashing together and hitting the floor.
I tilt my head to the side and down as bullets fly by me—from Jake’s gun.
I shoot, and his head snaps back with the impact of the hit, a bloom of red appearing across his forehead before he falls onto the coffee table.
More screams.
But it isn’t Denver this time.
It’s a man.
I take down two more men who appear from the room to the left and reload as I head for what I assume are the double doors to the bedroom. The man inside keeps shouting, and I pull at the door handle. It doesn’t budge, and I fire at the lock twice before kicking it open.
Blood soaks an ivory-decorated room.
Dorian is in the corner, hands over his mouth, screaming into his palms as he bangs his forehead against the wall in a panicked rhythm. The carpet at his feet is covered in blood, and my gaze flits to the woman on the bed, a needle in her arm.
Mouth covered in blood, hands tied behind her back, is Denver. The straps of her dress are down, but she’s still covered. Her lips are parted, spittle and blood dripping down her chin.
“Denver.” I kneel on the bed, lightly tapping her face before carefully removing the needle. She tries to focus on me, blinking slowly, and whispers something before passing out. I turn my attention to Dorian. He’s whimpering, hands still over his mouth. “What the fuck did you give her?”
The door bangs open behind me, and I hear Taf before I see him, as he must observe the room with a horror similar to my own. Alistair probably called him the moment the phones went out.
Dorian is wide-eyed, tears running down his cheeks, and I point my gun at him.
“Tell me what you fucking gave her!”
“Colt,” Taf whispers, eyes focused on the floor. “He can’t tell you.”