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He meets my stare, not liking my line of questioning. “I’d do anything.”
“Mmmm,” I say, studiously dropping my gaze back to his wife, making a show of enjoying her curves. “And just how much are you willing to lose?” A smirk rests across my lips, and I let my question sink in. “A woman like this requires a real man. I bet she despises you. Cries herself to sleep every night after you fuck her. I bet you’ve never made her scream.”
Hartley finally grows some balls and slides out of bed, standing opposite me as he holds the gun firmly in his hand. “Touch her and you die.”
Again with the whiplash.
My gaze lifts to his, and I slip my dagger back into my belt. “I know what you’re doing, Hartley,” I tell him, striding back around the bed and putting myself right in front of him. “I know you’re behind these attacks, and I know you’ve been using Cara Thorne to do it.” I pause, letting each of my words truly sink in. “Do not fool me, Hartley. I will destroy you. I will take your pathetic life in my hands and tear you to shreds until there’s not a damn thing left, but not before I slaughter every last person you’re working for, and as you watch them perish, the weight of their deaths will fall on your shoulders.”
And with that, I walk out of his bedroom, knowing without a doubt the motherfucker took the bait.
Making my way back out to my car, I turn the key and listen to the sweet sound of the engine roaring through the quiet streets. I take off, making a show of cutting across the front of his driveway as he watches me leave through his bedroom window.
The Bugatti flies through the streets, but I don’t get far, discreetly pulling into a neighboring property and cutting the lights. My eyes remain locked on the street, and sure enough, Hartley’s Aston Martin shoots past me two hours later.
Hook, line, and fucking sinker.
Waiting for him to get far enough ahead, I slip out into the streets, keeping my lights off as I follow him through the city and out to the countryside. We drive for well over an hour before I watch Hartley pull into the drive of a huge estate, something my father could have only dreamed about owning.
I come to a stop behind a row of tall bushes and park, silently sliding out of my Bugatti and sticking to the shadows as I creep closer. Hartley’s Aston Martin rolls up next to the giant house at the end of the long driveway—his idea of being discreet.
He gets out of his car and quickly glances around before slipping through a side entrance of the massive home. Not wanting to risk going in straight after him, I move around the property before breaking through the lock on the back door.
I move like lightning through the dark home, trying to get a feel for who could live here. A brief thought flashes through my mind that I’m about to walk in to find Matthias Quinn, but that’s not possible. The guy is locked up in Empire’s prison, and while he makes the most sense, there’s no way he could pull it off. Getting notes around is one thing, but being here tonight . . . no. He couldn’t. Besides, his note was instructing Oakley to run, not to help him pull off the greatest heist of all time.
Hell, a part of me had kinda hoped it was Matthias. At least that way it would be easy. All I’d have to do is go down to those cells and put him down. I’d barely have to lift a finger to wipe out the true blood heir that could challenge my rein, and in nineteen short days, I’ll take out his dazzling daughter too.
“What could possibly be so important that you had to drag me out of bed at this time?” a feminine voice says, the conviction in the tone telling me without a doubt that this woman is the one pulling his strings.
“It’s Zade DeVil,” I hear Hartley respond, prompting me to follow their voices through the home. “He knows.”
“He knows?” she responds, a slight hint of panic creeping into her tone. “That’s . . . no. That’s not possible.”
“He was just at my home, holding a dagger to my sleeping wife,” Hartley spits. “Believe me, he fucking knows.”
“Shit,” she says. “And you came straight here? How foolish could you be?”
“Relax. I waited before leaving. He drove off and I wasn’t followed.”
Fucking idiot. I certainly kept my distance at first, but after the first half hour, it became abundantly clear that he wasn’t checking his surroundings.
Creeping closer toward what must be a formal dining room, I hear the subtle hint of pacing across the polished marble tiles. “What did he say to you?”
