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“Thank you,” she whispers.
I don’t ask. I don’t have to. But I hear the ache in her voice. Avery feels she needs something that would normally make me cringe, and she’s relieved I’m able to give it to her.
One day, she might ask more of me than I can give. Dread of that future keeps me attuned to her needs. I answer her with a caress to her hair, then lay her in bed and wrap my arms around her, tucking her close. We try to hear the peace in the darkness.
10
Loose Ends
Alpha
Interruptions are painful.
They’re soul sucking, evil thieves. I have come to the conclusion that a continuous stream of disruptions, when trying to master a greatness, is the epitome of insanity. Before anything can be mastered, one must commit fully; distractions cannot be tolerated.
As such, any insufferable interruption is a violation. It’s intrusion into the mind is damning, and should be punished.
My head is splitting from the pressure. Living two lives is wearing on me. Even I can admit it’s taking a toll on me mentally. Physically. I’m overlooking certain discrepancies I’d never ignore before.
Like my oversight with Maddox. Fucking lawyers. With slime like that infused in government, is it any wonder I’m able to exploit my position? It’s sickeningly easy. And if not me, then another would sprout up in my place. A corrupt system only responds to more corruption.
Bass thumps at my temples, heightening the pulsing pain presently fueling my headache. I weave a path through the crowd. A woman on stage tears her top off, swings it above her head, tosses it to the mob of hooting men. Her ample breasts jiggle as she wriggles out of her thong and then undulates her hips to the annoying house music.
Normally, this kind of simple debauchery would be, at the very least, entertaining. To witness an exclusive establishment like The Lair reduce itself to such tawdriness. They must be desperate. This is an interruption, not a night out, however. And because my lapse with Maddox may very well cost me, I’m here to make sure there are no more mistakes.
There can be no mistakes.
The sweep of Maddox’s office failed to produce the failsafe. I spent the better part of the afternoon in the evidence locker scouring his laptop, my rage mounting when I didn’t uncover the program. Which leads me to believe it’s not a program at all.
Maddox sent me on an empty chase. Wasting my time.
I inhale a deep breath. Filling my lungs with the stale scent of failure. It smells much like this club, with its musky scent of sex.
/> I don’t fail.
And yet, a fucking dead lawyer might just get the better of me.
My hand is forced. Everything moves up a full twenty-four hours ahead of schedule. It could still be a bluff, but by tomorrow morning, my face might flash across every law enforcement screen.
I have my own failsafe in place for such an event.
I let acceptance roll over me. Everything that begins must have an end.
Through the crowd, I watch my boys. Conned by cheap alcohol and sex. Let’s be honest: it worked. One whiff of free lap dances, and my boys came running. Simpletons, led by their pricks. They’re sitting front and center to the stage, slipping dollars into G-strings.
I find a seat in the corner. A table far enough away from the commotion that I can hear myself think, while still eyeing the crowd. I can see everyone who enters and leaves, and when my gaze lands on Sadie Bonds, I smile.
Devious little Sadie. I owe her. I really do. I was only able to capitalize on Avery’s talents because Sadie made her vulnerable. She took out one of my most trusted suppliers, but provided a trade-up—a gifted scientist who could make me far more than Wells ever could. For that, Sadie gets my praise. And I do admire her. Too bad her partner isn’t as valuable to me. The detective has so much potential.
He’s nothing more than a pussy-whipped obstacle. Disgraceful. Not even a very amusing challenge.
Placing Wells’ fingerprint on the dead girl wasn’t meant as a threat to Avery—it was a warning for Sadie and Quinn to back off. Seems everyone is just too stubborn to take the hint. And since Maddox made sure time would be against me, it’s time to end the charade.
So here’s what we have: one deviant profiler using her connections with a BDSM club to lure my lackeys out, and one newbie detective tailing them. They’re working behind the scenes, which means they’re not invested in Dorian McGregor being the crime lord.
I smile to myself. That was a bit of a reach, I admit. Dorian is too loud and crass, a tasteless choice on my part to represent my empire, but he was convenient.
A waitress wanders up and parks her hip against my table. “Drinking alone?”
