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ZADE
MypenthousesuiteatThe DeVil Hotel has a panoramic view of the city below, and I sit quietly looking over the moon-soaked streets as Sawyer and Cross talk shit. This has been my home for the past three years, and every inch of this building has been designed and created by me. Most people think it was my father’s building, think I was handed it like some spoiled rich kid who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. But the truth is, I fought for this.
At sixteen, I had this dream fully funded. At eighteen, I bought the real estate. At nineteen, my contractors moved in. At twenty-one, the DeVil Hotel was complete and considered one of the most luxurious hotels in the world. And now, at twenty-four, this is my home.
Everything that happens in this hotel is run by me. The staff, the guests, the fucking thread count of the bedding in each room. I know every square inch of this building better than I know myself. Staying away from it these past few weeks has been a challenge, but if it means ensuring Oakley Quinn remains in my custody, protected from those who want to see me fail, then I’ll do it.
No one will touch that girl apart from me. The day I carve her heart out of her chest and offer it as my sacrifice is the day my life truly begins. The power of Empire will be mine and nothing will stand in my way.
The distant clanging of metal sounds through my apartment, and I sit up on the couch, my gaze flicking toward the door. From the outside, the containment cell looks like any other room, but looking closer, the automatic locking system gives away my little secret. Once through that door and into the harsh reality of my world, there’s the real entrance of the containment cell. A heavy-duty door with a steel locking system. A little barbaric and over the top, sure, but it’s just the way I like it. Unless you know the cell like I do, there’s no breaking out of there.
Dalton, on the other hand, is one of the few exceptions.
I hear the familiar creak of the heavy-duty door opening and closing before the subtle beep from the keypad. There’s a soft click of the automatic locking system releasing, and before I know it, Dalton Eros is standing in my living room, a guilty smirk stretched wide across his face.
He stretches out, having been balled up in that cell for close to twenty four hours. “Really, asshole?” he questions, his calculated stare locked on Sawyer. “You just had to go for the ribs. You know I broke those last month.”
Sawyer stands, grinning like the fucking Cheshire cat. “Had to look real, brother.” He strides over to Dalton and claps him on the back, no hard feelings between them. “You good though? We didn’t hit you too hard, did we? I know you can be a little bitch sometimes, but I figured you would have manned up a bit more in front of your little girlfriend.”
Dalton just stares at him, wiping blood off his top lip as Sawyer strides to the kitchen, helping himself to my fridge. But the truth is, Dalton gets off on the pain. The fucker was probably rocking a semi the whole way through that beating, and we all fucking know it. “She’s not my fucking girlfriend,” he mutters under his breath, leaving both me and Cross to roll our eyes.
Dalton walks through to my living room, dropping down on my couch. “Come on, man,” I grumble. “You’re getting blood all over my couch.”
He scoffs, wiping the back of his arm across his face. Dalton broke his nose a lot as a kid, and now snapping it is as easy as a quick flick of the wrist. That thing never did heal properly. “Chill out. It’s black leather. It’ll wipe right off. Besides, it’s nowhere near as bad as what you’ve done to this thing.”
My lips pull just a fraction, and for a minute I was worried the fucker might have made me smile. “How is she?” I ask, nodding toward the cell he just came out of.
“Funny, I thought you didn’t give a shit,” he says as Sawyer walks back and tosses an ice pack into Dalton’s lap. He takes it gratefully and slaps it across his ribs, trying not to cringe. Though he’s been through worse—a shitload worse. Hell, we all have. Only for Dalton, it was at the hands of his father.
“I don’t,” I tell him firmly, making sure he hears me loud and clear. “But if she gets even a hint that you’re not who you say you are, we’re fucked.”
Dalton lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s fine. She passed out an hour ago and after coming off the hard shit, she’ll probably need to sleep it off for a while.”
I nod. “Either way, you can’t be out here long.”
“I know,” he mutters, a distant look in his eyes. He glances back up at Sawyer across the room. “Did you really have to make her think you were about to rape her? Bit far, don’t you think?”
“What’s your fucking problem?” Sawyer argues, his brows furrowed as he watches his friend. “You know I wasn’t gonna touch her. I was just fucking around with her, having a little fun.”
“She doesn’t know that,” Dalton argues. “She was in there almost breaking her fucking wrist thinking you were going to rape her.”
I watch Dalton closer, my gaze narrowed to slits when it hits me. Anger and frustration tear through my chest, and I notice Cross tensing across the room, seeing exactly what’s coming. “I fucking told you not to get attached.”
“I’m not,” Dalton argues. “I just . . . she’s a cool chick and if you just gave it a fucking chance, you’ll see that.”
“She’ll be dead in a little over a month,” Sawyer says. “What does it matter?”
Dalton glares at Sawyer again, and if the asshole isn’t careful, Dalton won’t hesitate to put him in his place. None of us are known for having patience, and right now, Sawyer is testing Dalton’s like never before.
Not letting this get out of control, I demand Dalton’s attention. “You telling me you didn’t fuck her up on my roof? Or are you trying to tell me you did and you fucking plan on doing it again?”
He looks away, not answering my question, but he doesn’t need to. I see it right there in his eyes. He fucked her, alright. He fucked her until he couldn’t see straight, and what’s more, that little cunt of hers has got a choke hold on his dick.
I stand, my hands pushing through my hair. “Fuck, Dalton. What am I supposed to do now?” I demand.
“Nothing. The plan stays the same.”
“And when I carve her heart out of her fucking chest? What then? Are you gonna try and take a shot at me?” He clenches his jaw and looks away again. “FUCK.”
