Chapter Six
“C amera ten on the west gate is down. Send a team and get it fixed.”
“On it, Boss.”
Evren ended the call and studied another bank of monitors.
The whole security operations area reminded him of mission control at NASA, where all the rocket scientists would sit with bated breath to make sure the missile reached outer space.
Every member of the Monarque’s tech team had been hand chosen by him, and they all got paid a very pretty penny to ensure everything ran smoothly without any security slip-ups.
As he worked with his detail, he spotted a face entering the casino’s main lobby that made him pause. Scias Mailliard walked with purpose across the marble tiles, flanked by two guards.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Zoom in on that ugly man on camera two, the one in black by the concierge desk.”
A moment later, Mailliard’s repugnant face filled the screen. As if he knew he was being watched, he looked up at the ceiling where the surveillance camera kept a bird’s-eye view.
“I’ll be right back,” Evren muttered as he turned and headed out of the security room.
The entire elevator ride down he thought about the answers he’d give Mailliard. He should’ve expected the asshole would show up. Wasn’t like it was a stretch to figure out who left the engagement party early. When the elevator door opened, he kept his stride calm and cool. Almost casual.
“Did you get lost driving down Las Vegas Boulevard?” he asked.
Scias Mailliard had to be the ugliest son of a bitch to ever walk through the revolving door.
It wasn’t that he was a large, boxy man that had the grace of a bull in a China store.
Or that he had more hair on his knuckles than on his head.
It was the black, soulless eyes that sucked the light out of everything.
Cold and calculating, he had already killed one wife, although it couldn’t be proven.
Of course. No woman should be at the mercy of this man, and it made him sick to his stomach to think Lowen was picked to be wife number two.
Or, if one were to believe her do-over story, she’d already endured two years of his fists.
“Where is she?” Mailliard demanded.
Like he was just going to hand her over. “Where is who?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Grenier. The woman I bought and paid for.”
Evren cocked his head. “Last time I checked, it was illegal to buy and sell people.”
Scias took a menacing step forward and Evren tensed, wondering if he was about to throw down right there in the lobby.
“I’m giving you one warning. Give. Her. Back.”
If looks could kill, he’d be incinerated on the spot. “I have no idea who you’re talking about. But even if I did, I would go out of my way to make sure she never ends up in your hands. Now. Get the fuck out of my casino.”
Scias sneered and his hand drifted perilously close to his pocket, where no doubt a gun nestled. Not even the long reach of Jeremiah could cover up a murder in front of the row of self-check kiosks.
“Evren.”
Speak of the Devil.
“Jeremiah,” he acknowledged.
“Is there a problem here?” His brother stared at Scias, his tone so cold it was a wonder the man hadn’t turned into a block of ice.
“Mr. Mailliard was just leaving,” Evren replied.
“Very good. The Monarque doesn’t like to have riffraff off the street roaming around.”
Scias took a menacing step forward. “What’d you call me?”
“I didn’t call you anything,” Jeremiah drawled with a smirk on his face. “I simply made a statement. Take it as you want, but you’re not welcome here. And don’t make a fucking scene because I do believe my security men are bigger than yours.”
The double entendre was unmistakable. Scias looked like he was going to blow a gasket. Evren gave a nod of his head, and immediately two men stepped forward to flank Scias and his own muscle.
“Let me escort you out the door,” he offered, gesturing them toward the exit. “Remember, there are a lot of witnesses around.”
Without recourse, Scias abruptly turned and stomped off. Evren was relieved the asshole had some sense. People parted as he marched toward the front, clearly recognizing the danger. A moment later, they reached the turnstile, but the bastard turned to address him.
“I know you have her,” he snapped. Malice radiated from him. “You were the only one to leave early, at the moment my fiancée disappeared. I will get her back and when I do, I’ll beat her so bad she’ll never be able to run again.”
“You’re sadistic,” Evren growled.
“And you’re soft.”
Then he spun and left. Evren watched Scias get in his car and drive away.
“If you ever see that man again,” he addressed to his security detail, “I want you to shoot first and ask questions later. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
****
“H e didn’t stay on his side of the fucking street!”
Jeremiah stomped into his office and threw his phone down on the desk.
He held onto his cool by a thread, reminding himself that trashing his casino would only be detrimental to himself.
In his head, all he thought about was making sure the goddamn traitor, when they discovered who it was, was beaten to a bloody pulp.
He might even want to do the honors, instead of delegating it to Saxon.
“Now do you believe our lovely Lowen?”
“Perhaps she’s a fucking spy to infiltrate my casino.”
“There’s no way to fake a panic attack like that.” Evren shook his head. “So that leaves her either making up the story or she really is from a different timeline.”
“Regardless of when or where, the fact is she heard the words ‘Direridge’ and ‘Jade Grove.’” Jeremiah drummed his fingers on the table. A migraine was forming behind his right eye, so he opened a desk drawer to take ibuprofen. “I want to know who has the balls to betray me.”
“That’s a very small gene pool.”
Jeremiah grunted his agreement. “How’s your investigation?”
“Right now, I have someone going through the financial records for the people closest to you, and from there I’ll start widening the search.”
Jeremiah grunted his acknowledgement. “When you find something, let me know immediately.”
“And when I discover the traitor?”
“Then Saxon’s crazy can have some fun.” Jeremiah thought for a moment. “Or maybe I will. Sometimes only blood can satiate the taste for retribution.”