Merciless Heir (The Sinclair Brothers #4)

Chapter One

Kingston

I ’m willing to do anything to get what I want.

What’s mine.

Including meeting some shady character to find my Sinclair jewel.

I push open the door to Fat Jim’s. It’s the kind of dive bar that should be filled with smoke and clandestine deals.

This place hasn’t been discovered by New York’s hipsters. It’s real. Old school. Dark red and scarred tables and seats in the hole in the wall on the edge of the city in the Lower East Side.

And I’m hoping my quarry tonight will be what I need.

For the past month, I’ve had people out looking for the final Sinclair jewel. The coveted tiara, something steeped in whispered lore, is missing. Something I’ve known since after my baby brother, hound dog of the boroughs, fell from grace and smack bang into love’s claw.

Love.

I don’t give a flying fuck about love.

There was a time, once, I thought myself in love. But that was back in the day when I believed in dreams more than cold, hard money.

That woman ripped me off and I narrowly avoided a life of pain and payments, thanks to my father.

No one else knows of that shameful period.

Apart from me, that is.

I wear it deep inside as a constant reminder of openness. Of na?ve ways. The stupidity of the heart.

But I’m not here for love, I’m not here for sentiment—at least not mine. I’m here for what belongs rightfully to me.

All I want is the final Sinclair jewel and it’s gone.

There’s a lot tied up in that damned tiara, rumored to be worth a fortune. Rumored to be worth more than its monetary value.

I know how my brothers see it. They see it as a symbol for something intangible. Some goddamn beacon to love. But they’re happy. All three of them. All in love.

I don’t see it that way, not at fucking all.

No, I see it how it is.

I see the story about it, the fact the Sinclair jewels represent something to others. I see how they’ve upped their value because they’re old and bespoke and that makes them even more valuable on paper.

I want my hands on all of them. Though I don’t know how, since my brothers gave their pieces to their ladies. Still…there are ways, and some of those ways are more above board than others I’m not about to sink to. There are loans and exhibitions. And bringing all the pieces together is something that pushes our family name in a way advertising couldn’t do.

Yes, my Sinclair jewel is worth more. Just not the way the saps mean.

But it’s gone and soon I’ll be told that officially.

So, I’ve taken a sabbatical from my work to find it. Sabbatical for me, anyway.

I’m rich enough to step away whenever I feel like it. Although there is always more money to be made, so sabbatical from my real estate empire is more me stepping back and watching over others.

Some might say this is stupid, focusing on a trinket. And in a way it is.

I’ve got tangible things. Money. Power. An empire of my own. The only interest in Sinclair’s—the family’s very own empire that started our path to great wealth—I have is in what it can give me. The added shine, the deep roots some investors like.

But before I can have it among my arsenal, my trophies of wealth and power, I need to find the fucking thing.

So here I am in a dive, to meet someone I already don’t respect—a notorious jewel thief. One revered and never caught, one who works, supposedly, on the right side of the law. One who is the darling of the rich and famous.

Midnight Raven. A stupid name.

This very well might be a bad decision.

I move across the scarred and uneven floor. The Sex Pistols play over the sound system, and the place is empty, save for a few people drinking with dedication or holed up in intense conversation.

The bartender, tattooed, wiry, and a man who’s lived a colorful life from the lines and scars on his face, nods at me. I order bourbon—house—and take a seat at the bar, slapping down a fifty.

I’m dressed the part; old jeans and boots and a sweater beneath the black winter jacket that I now drape over the back of the stool.

My brothers would raise eyebrows if they could see me now, but they don’t know everything about me. And I’m here on a mission.

It’s not my birthday for a month, when winter sets in, and that’s when my father’s attorney, Jenson, is meant to deliver the posthumous quest from my father. Whatever that might be.

But with the tiara missing, and my search hitting dead ends, I’m upping the game. I’ve a feeling there’s a barb in this road. Or perhaps it’s the fact Jenson wants to speak to me tomorrow.

A gust of cold air sweeps in and I turn.

A woman stands there. Leather pants, a long black duster that swirls at her calves, and the kind of boots made for hard living on her feet.

She has short dark hair, hardcore asymmetrical pixie style. A shapely red mouth and eyes rimmed with black, slanting them slightly, like a cat.

She’s beautiful.

And her gaze lands on me.

She holds it for a long beat and my blood thrums, then she slides it past me, and over the rest of the room.

Sadie Hess. It took me a long time to get a name, a photo. There’s something vampiric about her lack of photos, even when she’s been at events where every person and their purebred yapper is photographed. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t show up in mirrors.

Sadie watches me without watching. I can feel her attention, like a caress. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say it had a sexual pull.

She moves, stepping into the bar and crossing the floor. Sadie has a way of moving that’s power and grace and lithe. And she slides in next to me.

“I’ll have the same. On him.” She points to my drink and waits until hers appears. She downs some and leans back, swinging to face me.

Her eyes are dark. In this light I can’t tell the color, but I suspect somewhere between night sky and obsidian.

“That your normal way of practicing business?”

That red mouth curves up, but the eyes are cool and give nothing away. “Depends.”

“On what?” I ask, a small thrill of something hot moving fast through my veins.

“If my boss is interested in taking on yours.”

I give her the once over, which is easy to do. “Your boss? As in the notorious Midnight Raven himself?”

“Rumors and notoriety are interesting, aren’t they, Mr. Sinclair?” Sadie finishes her drink and taps a short nail next to the glass as she puts it down. It takes about three seconds for the bartender to refill hers, and after another second, mine. The order isn’t lost on me. “They build things up, and they get attention and can also hide truths. And, they can help get things done. Open doors. Do you need doors opened?”

“Depends on what’s behind them.” I shift a little closer to her. “And on whether you can deliver what I want.”

“Depends on the reasons you’re seeking help.”

She taps in time to the drumbeat of “Liar”, Johnny Rotten’s iconic voice screaming the lyrics. Sadie’s good. Not an incriminating word spoken, and I know she won’t, but still I decide to test it. “What’s the saying? To catch a thief you need a thief.”

“I don’t think that’s a saying. And if it is…” She shrugs. “I can’t help you.”

“I’m not trying to trap you for the cops.”

“Nothing to trap me for.”

“So—”

“I know who you are.” Sadie leans in close and I’m drawn by smoke and jasmine, just the merest hint, and a ghost of spice.

“You don’t sound impressed.”

“I’m not.”

And she isn’t. It’s the truest thing about her that I’ve seen so far. A dislike shines stark from behind the smooth front of her. I’m not sure whether it’s me or whether it’s what I am, a billionaire, but while I find it intriguing, I don’t really care. All I care about is getting what I want and from my research, Midnight Raven is the best.

“I can work with that. You have a name?” I let the question hang and take a swallow of the bourbon. It’s not bad for a place like this. When Sadie doesn’t respond, I do. I’m not backing down, but time is money and games here and now aren’t my thing. And besides, I’m intrigued over whether she’s going to lie. “Midnight Raven wasn’t easy to get hold of—”

“Bullshit.”

“—in regards to the right part of the operation. I don’t need security or the glitter and sparkle of rubbing shoulders with an elite criminal. I need a job done. And for that, I need to know your name. Or I walk.”

Her eyes glitter, and her mouth turns up, very slightly. “Sadie.”

“Sadie.” I say her name like I’m tasting it.

“But you knew that.”

This time I only smile.

“Why did you pay for this meeting?”

“To fast track this. I’m trying to track a piece. The Sinclair tiara.”

“It’s missing?”

I raise a brow and she closes her hand around her glass, lifting it up. I do the same with mine. “Not going to ask if it’s real?”

“You’re a Sinclair. Why would you lie about the existence? Midnight Raven costs a pretty penny.”

The muscle in my jaw works as I control the smile that wants freedom. “I’m aware of that. This meeting cost a fuck ton. But make no mistake, I paid because I wanted this to happen on my terms. And now. I’m not a fool, and I don’t take parting with money lightly.”

“Spoken like a true rich bastard.” She stands.

For a moment, my heart picks up. She’s fairly tall and lean, I’m a lot taller, but she has a way that commands. She finishes her drink and the bartender reappears and fills up her glass, then tops mine.

Sadie slips in close to me, between my thighs and my cock hardens, every nerve ending whispering touch. I don’t.

“What have you got?”

Her soft words spoken against my ear send a bolt of electric heat through me and it takes a second to grasp she means the tiara.

“All I know is it’s missing. I’ve hired others, but no one has anything. The tricky part is I’m waiting for the official word on this from my father’s attorney.”

“So, the attorney either has it or had it or knew where it was. Ask them. I’m not sure why you need Midnight Raven.”

“Because I need the best. There’ll be lies. My father is playing games from the afterlife.” I’m pretty fucking sure it’s tangled up somehow with my mother, and she’s pulling all kind of strings, but I keep that to myself. “I need someone who has access to those who’d want such a piece and can get things done.”

She doesn’t answer, just gives me a look between cynicism and avarice, something that is more of a turn on than it ever should be. Then she leans in, her breath warm against my ear. “You want the impossible?”

“Midnight Raven thrives on the impossible.”

“Rumors. Notoriety.”

“The truth. I want the best. I want results. I want you.”

We stare at each other as something loaded passes between us. “I’ll take that on advisement,” she says. And then Sadie Hess downs her drink and strides out of the bar.

I don’t even realize I’m on my feet until I go to stand.

My head spins slowly.

I’m not sure if I like her.

But she’s the hottest woman I’ve met in a long time.

And I pull on my coat and go to get my wallet to give the bartender a little extra in a tip.

I rarely carry much cash, just some for the bar tonight.

There’s nothing in my pocket.

Or my other one.

Not even in my coat.

My wallet is gone.

No, not gone.

Stolen.

By Sadie fucking Hess.