5. Zane
FIVE
ZANE
I can’t get Sin out of my head, and it’s for all the wrong reasons.
I should be thinking about wrapping my hands around his slender throat and squeezing until the life leaves his eyes. He’d been determined to strangle me, and it only seems fair that I do the same to him.
Instead, I’m thinking about that kiss.
His lips had been so soft against mine, and he’d yielded so beautifully to me.
I should want to kill him.
I know he wants to kill me.
So why had neither of us made a move?
I grit my teeth and stare down at my hands, which had been dripping with blood only an hour earlier. Not the right person’s blood, of course; that blood had belonged to someone who’d no longer been useful for anything but a lesson to others.
It had been satisfying, right up until the point I’d realized I had a witness.
How had he found me?
Why hadn’t he killed me?
Why had he kissed me?
“Tell me why we haven’t found him yet,” I say to Richard.
My right hand man is seated in the chair across from my desk, where he’s been watching me for the past few minutes instead of offering anything helpful.
Richard shakes his head. “The plates were fake, and I hate to tell you this, but gray sedans are the most common car in the entire U.S.” He bites his lip.
“I’m more concerned about how he knows where you’re going to be at every opportunity.
We’ve swept for bugs, he hasn’t stepped foot in any of our bases, and nobody I’ve spoken to has any idea about who the fuck he could be. ”
“Maybe he isn’t local,” I suggest.
Richard rolls his eyes, then adjusts the cuff links on his suit jacket, as if to hide the show of disrespect. “I hadn’t thought of that, Zane. I completely forgot to check the assassin directory for people outside New Valence.”
I glare at him. “You’re too old for that level of sarcasm,” I mutter, even though he’s only in his sixties and is perfectly capable of being every bit as sarcastic as I am. “There has to be something you’re missing.”
Genevieve hadn’t been able to give me many details, and the person who’d vetted Sin for the party had revealed — under pressure — that he’d been paid off.
Whoever is responsible for these attempts has the funds to pull the right strings.
“We need to find out what else the Bouchards know, and who they’re selling that information to,” I continue.
I’m not convinced that Fred didn’t know more than he’d said, but we hadn’t had time to finish questioning him before we’d had to deal with the Sin situation. “Don’t you have contacts with them?”
“The Bouchards?” Richard shakes his head. “Nothing more than you do. I saw Manfred Bouchard at that event last year.” He grimaces. “You know the one. With all of their fellow alumni. I don’t often see that many boys pretending to be men in one spot.”
I sigh, drumming my fingers on my desk.
It’s only been a few hours since Fred’s confession, and I haven’t had the time to speak to my own spies within the Bouchard organization. Someone has to know something. It’s only a matter of figuring out who knows what.
The Bouchards aren’t the only ones with eyes and ears in the wrong places.
“Well, get with your contacts, and I’ll get with mine,” I direct him. “They might have been the ones to put out a hit on me.”
Richard hesitates for a second. “You know who else it could be? Di Palazzo’s old crew. Not all of them stayed with the Vilani Family.”
My lips purse.
It could be Di Palazzo’s men. It isn’t likely, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.
“Why would they choose now?” I ask. “It’s been three years.”
Three long years of trying to reclaim everything my father had built up, of trying to regain his legacy and turn it into something of my own; three long years of convincing his men that I’m worth following.
“They found an opening,” Richard says, shrugging. “Or they’ve forgotten how you got rid of Di Palazzo.”
Nobody who was there that day could forget.
Several of the men had pissed themselves, and others had fallen to their knees to swear their loyalty to me.
They didn’t want to be the next ones to end up with acid eating through their intestines.
“When we uncover who’s responsible for this, we’ll ensure the next lesson sticks,” I tell him.
People like Fred won’t dare betray me if the fear is fresh.
Or maybe they will. Maybe they’ll jump ship, too, if they feel they could be next.
Either way, I have to set an example.
Richard grimaces. “With less hazardous cleanup, I hope.”
“I make no promises,” I tell him.
He stands up with a glance at his watch. “Shit, I’ve got a meeting with the suppliers. I’ll let you know what I find later.”
“All right.” I watch him go, my head still buzzing from the past few hours.
I can’t believe I had Sin in my grasp, only to let him go.
I shouldn’t have kissed him.
I should’ve killed him.
Why had I hesitated?
I grimace and unlock the top drawer of my desk to grab my laptop, but go still when I see a piece of paper sitting neatly atop it.
It’s a plain sheet of printer paper, folded in half, and it definitely hadn’t been there when I’d locked the drawer.
When had it gotten there?
I pull the handkerchief out of my breast pocket and use it to remove the paper and place it onto my desk. I slowly unfold it, ready to react if a powder or anything similar is on the page.
The only thing on the inside are printed words.
I look forward to seeing your eyes glaze over in death.
Despite myself, I chuckle.
I don’t care what he thinks will happen the next time we meet.
I’ll be the one to watch the life drain from his eyes as I choke it out of him. It’s only a pity I won’t get to test his assertion that he can take far more than the woman at the party.
I stride past the line waiting to enter Absinthe, heading straight for the VIP entrance. The bouncer waves me past, and I step into the club with Stefan at my side.
Loud techno music immediately assaults my senses. I have a headache, and I’m not in the mood for dancing, but I need to get out of my head.
I’d thought about checking out Absinthe’s newest competition for a change in scenery, but Jayce would never forgive me.
Besides, I would have to stand in line, and while the rain has mostly stopped, the air is especially humid.
It’s not the best night to be trapped outside for long periods of time.
I make my way through the crowd to the stairs leading to the second floor, nodding to the bouncer as I walk past the velvet ropes blocking them off to everyone else.
I scan my surroundings, looking for any familiar faces. Even the VIP area is crowded tonight, and every time someone brushes against me, my skin crawls from the unwanted contact.
At least Stefan’s presence behind me means I don’t have to watch my back.
Assuming I can trust him.
Assuming I can trust anyone.
My gaze settles on someone I recognize, and I hesitate. I haven’t seen Colt since the last time the itch beneath my skin got to be too much.
He’s discreet, and he knows how to take a whipping better than the woman at Genevieve’s party, but he’s clingy. Needy.
I walk over to him anyway, and he crosses his arms against his chest as he notices me.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” he drawls. “Been a while, Zane.”
“It has,” I agree. “You look good.”
He always does.
He’s rough around the edges, burly and with a presence that emanates danger.
Maybe it’s the leather jacket with patches from one of the more notorious motorcycle clubs in the city, or maybe it’s the way his eyes telegraph his shrewdness.
Maybe it’s the tattoos peeking past his clothes, above his neck and on his knuckles.
None of it is off-putting to me. If anything, I like that he doesn’t look like the typical submissive; it makes dominating him that much more enticing.
He takes a step closer to me, into my personal space, then he leans in to say in my ear, “You here for something private?”
I hesitate, then glance at Stefan, who’s hovering nearby.
Colt follows my gaze, then he smirks. “Got your babysitter on retainer for the night?” He touches my arm. “C’mon. Let’s get a room and see if you’ve lost your touch, pretty boy.”
The words remind me of Sin, who is pretty, and I shake my head. I’m not the pretty one. “I’m not here for that.”
What am I here for, then?
Before I can come up with a good answer, Stefan tenses, and I notice somebody approaching: Jayce Santos, owner of Absinthe, and one of the few men I can call friend. He’d helped me retake my father’s organization. He’d understood exactly why I couldn’t let my legacy slip through my grasp.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I say to Colt, who does not look amused, and I make my way over to Jayce.
Jayce is a tall Black man with an easy smile.
He has his long locs pulled back into a half ponytail, and he wears a perfectly tailored black suit that must be uncomfortable in this heat and humidity.
The humidity is probably why he isn’t wearing a tie, and why the top two buttons of his dress shirt are unbuttoned.
There are reasons I don’t bother with suits the vast majority of the time, preferring more casual slacks and button-down shirts that breathe instead of stifle.
Jayce smiles and claps my shoulder, pulling me in for a brief hug. “Zane! I was thinking about you. I have a new dancer I want you to meet. I think she’s your type.”
Sin’s face flashes before my eyes again.
I don’t think anyone else is my type right now.
I force a grin, though. A dancer at Absinthe should be a casual, no-strings-attached one-night-stand.
It should be safe.
I don’t want safe.
Some new need simmers beneath my skin, threatening to burn me.
“Maybe later,” I tell him. “How’s business? Still dealing with the Cuore upstart?”
Jayce lets out a long sigh. “If we’re going to talk about him, I need a drink.” He leads me to his reserved spot, and a server comes over to pour us both drinks before we’re even fully seated.
Stefan takes up his customary spot just out of earshot.
Jayce takes a sip of his bourbon. “You sure you don’t want that dancer? She’s making the rounds right now, but I can pull her away for you.”