The Rulers (Heartless Kingdom #0.5)

by K. I. Lynn

  The Rulers

  Copyright © K.I. Lynn

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the author.

  Cover design by Lori Jackson Designs

  Editor:

  Evident Ink

  Marti Lynch

  Danielle Leigh

  Missy Borucki

  Publication Date: April 26, 2021

  Genre: FICTION/Romance/Contemporary

  Copyright © 2021 K.I. Lynn

  All rights reserved

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Family Tree

  THEN

  NOW

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  About the Author

  More books from K.I. Lynn!

  Ten months ago…

  The woman beneath me burned. Hot and wet. Each moan from her lips, each gasp as I drove deeper into her, sent a jolt down my spine.

  Finding myself looking down into the irresistible eyes of the blonde siren was not the outcome I had expected when I went out for drinks with my cousin to one of the posh clubs that he owned. I didn’t pick women up often, and when I did, I certainly didn’t take them home.

  Well, not home exactly. To a hotel I owned.

  A few hours earlier, I’d begrudgingly stepped across a threshold and into the cesspool known as a nightclub. Immediately my skin prickled, and I fought the urge to turn around and retreat to my sanctuary, but an arm dropping down onto my shoulder halted me.

  “Don’t even think about it, cousin,” Rhys said, pulling me through the crowd and the sea of gyrating bodies.

  The music thumped loudly as we passed the speakers, making my head pound in time.

  “This isn’t necessary,” I said as we approached the velvet rope at the base of a set of stairs where a security guard kept watch.

  “Good evening, Omar!” Rhys said with a jovial smile.

  The guard smiled back. “Evening, Mr. de Loughrey,” he replied, then unhooked the rope and moved aside. “Have a good time.”

  “That’s the plan,” Rhys called back as we ascended the stairs to the VIP section.

  After a long, hard battle of a week, all I wanted to do was sink into my bed and not move for a few hours, but, as usual, my wants were never a consideration.

  “Relax. We’re here to enjoy the evening and maybe the company of a lady or two. Maybe three, if we’re lucky.”

  Club rats were not my taste, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the view.

  We entered the private space filled with couches and a table hidden by large, heavy curtains. Shortly after, a barely dressed waitress came in and took our order.

  “Would you relax?”

  I narrowed my gaze at him. “Said the snake.”

  “To the lion. If anyone is eating anyone, it’s you.”

  I blew out a breath and rubbed my hands across my stubble.

  “We need to celebrate.”

  “It’s been six months,” I argued.

  He rolled his eyes. “Six months since you’ve been CEO, and not once have you celebrated that accomplishment.”

  “It’s hard to celebrate something that I always knew was going to be mine.”

  “It’s still an accomplishment. You didn’t get it simply because you are the firstborn. You worked your ass off to climb to the top.”

  He was right. From a young age, it was drilled into me that I needed to be the best and that only the best would lead the de Loughrey legacy into the future. If I failed to rise to the top, the mantle would have been passed to whoever was worthy.

  The music drew me to the railing, and I surveyed the crowd, watching the pulsing lights beat in time with the bass thumping from the speakers. It was too loud for my tastes, but Rhys was correct—I needed to celebrate.

  For years I’d sacrificed everything in my climb to the top—to the point that the company was my life. Every minute of the day was spent thinking about the many workings of our near two-hundred-year-old family business. We’d come out unscathed in the battles of the Industrial Revolution, survived the Great Depression, and exploded in the Technological Age.

  “Are those grey hairs I see in all that dark blond?” Rhys said, forcing me to acknowledge his close proximity.

  I narrowed my gaze as I turned toward him. His grey eyes sparkled with mirth. They were the same eyes as my younger brother, Hamilton. The same as my father and uncle, as well as my grandfather.

  The eyes of a predator.

  An interesting observation.

  My own were blue, like my mother—warm enough to draw one in, cool enough to give one pause, and calculating enough to frighten even the strongest of constitutions.

  “No more than those cropping up in your dark locks. You need a haircut.”

  Rhys ran his hand through his hair which seemed a few weeks past the point of needing a trim. “All the better to be gripped and tugged on when I’m between a woman’s thighs.”

  A notion he wasn’t incorrect about. My scalp tingled with the desire for just that.

  “I bet we could find something pretty to top your evening off with.”

  “It would be easier to simply call Bridget or Antonia.” The two women were often called upon as dates to events or for an evening when I was in need of relief.

  “Where is the fun and excitement in that? The thrill of some nimble, nubile young woman to warm your cock?”

  Sadly, his mere description awakened the craving for all that he depicted.

  “Where do you find the energy?”

  “For starters, my brain isn’t hardwired to the company twenty-four seven. Second, I don’t waste all of my excess energy in the gym. Third, I enjoy the hunt. A hungry cock will do whatever is necessary to dive into the wet warmth of young, tight pussy.”

  “You do realize you’re starting to sound like Hamilton.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not as…virile as he is. My appetite is more refined, and I don’t pursue it every week. Besides, the brainless bimbos he usually beds hold little appeal to me. I prefer the chase.”

  “I’m here to relax.”

  “And nothing is more relaxing than coming into a woman’s mouth up here with hundreds of bodies mere feet below.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  He sighed and leaned against the rail.

  “If you don’t want to put forth the effort, just tell them who you are. I’ve had women clamoring over each other to get on my dick after they heard my last name. Everyone knows the de Loughrey name. We’re a fucking American icon.”

  Before I could compose a retort, the waitress arrived with our drinks, and I gladly took a few hard sips of the amber liquid.

  As I did, I watched as a woman with short blonde hair stepped off the dance floor and headed toward the bar. She seemed a bit out of place, which caught my eye. While most women were in tight, body-hugging, bust-enhancing scraps of fabric, the skirt of her dress fluttered behind her. It was more the dress of a garden party than a night out.

  The deep navy contrasted against her pale skin, and something white danced across the fabric, breaking up the monotony.

  No one followed her,
and she found an empty seat at the far end of the bar. As I conversed with Rhys, I periodically glanced her way, and not a soul ever approached.

  After finishing my drink, I glanced back to find her still on her own.

  All of Rhys’s talk of the chase—and a little relaxation from the liquor—had my mind spinning.

  “I’m going to go get a refill.”

  His brow furrowed. “Cindy will be back in a few.”

  I cleared my throat as I stood. “It’s fine.”

  He shook his head. “The bar is a mess. I wouldn’t.”

  “I’ll return,” I said, not waiting for a response as I pushed through the heavy curtains and made my way down the dark hallway.

  An odd thump of my heart pounded as I descended the stairs and caught a closer look at her. She seemed to be sipping a clear glass of something. Gin and tonic, perhaps?

  There was something out of place about her, more than her unearthly quality. She was dressed for the evening, somewhat conservatively compared to other women, with the skirt of her dress loose and hitting mid-thigh, and her inhibitions appeared not to have been taxed by alcohol. Her attention was on the wall behind the bartender and my curiosity piqued even more, almost desperate to know what was on her mind. The curiosity drew me ever closer.

  “What’s the celebration?” I asked. The words were out before I even realized I’d leaned in.

  She jumped and turned toward me, her brown eyes wide. I usually wasn’t attracted to women with short hair, but the long pixie cut seemed to suit her. High cheekbones, large eyes, flawless skin, and perfectly pink, kissable lips were featured on her oval face.

  “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  She blinked and smiled as she shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, I was spacing out. What was the question?”

  “What are you celebrating?”

  She sighed and attempted a smile. “It’s my birthday.”

  I scrunched my brow. “Why do you look so down about that?”

  She stared down at the glass in her hand. “Honestly, I’m questioning what the fuck I’m doing here.”

  I glanced around and took note of how she failed to follow, searching out no one. “Please don’t say you’re here alone.”

  She looked away and swallowed. “Everyone was busy.”

  I leaned back. There was something about her that drew me in closer, something that wouldn’t allow me to leave her by herself—my little sea nymph, sitting on her rock all alone.

  I held out my hand. “Come with me.”

  “What?” She looked down at my offered hand.

  A chuckle left me. “I have a table. We will help you celebrate.”

  She shook her head. “Thanks, but I think I’m just going to go home.”

  “I insist.” I gained the bartender’s attention and called him over.

  “Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”

  “Can you send her drink up along with a bourbon, neat?”

  “Yes, sir.” He took her drink, despite her protest.

  “And whatever her tab is, deal with it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked with wide eyes.

  I cleared my throat and glanced down at my hand. With a huff, she took it and I reveled in the warmth of her touch as she slid off her stool, her purse tucked into her other hand. Once she was on her feet, I slipped her hand into the crook of my arm and led her away. When we reached the staircase, the music lessened as we retreated from the speakers. The bodyguard standing there gave me a nod and moved to the side to allow us up.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ophelia.”

  “Ophelia. That’s a beautiful name. Mine is Atticus.”

  “Where are we going? The tables are down there.” She pointed over her shoulder, an edge of apprehension in her tone.

  Hoping to put her at ease that I had nothing nefarious up my sleeve, I gave her a warm smile, something few people ever received from me. “The VIP section.”

  Her lips parted and her eyes widened. We finished the climb and moved into a dimly lit walkway with large, thick curtains on one side. Once we reached the middle, I parted the curtains and ushered her through.

  Rhys’s gaze was wide as he eyed the woman coming into the private space.

  “What’s this?” he asked, his lips pulling up into a grin. I very much noticed the glint in his eye and the “I told you so” smirk that formed.

  “Ophelia,” she said as she held out her hand. Rhys, being as lethal as ever, took her hand in his and kissed the top.

  “What did I do to be graced with such a beauty?”

  She quirked a brow at him. “Does that line actually work?”

  I burst out laughing, surprising both of them. “I told you, your lines are over the top, and here I am, proven correct.”

  “What did he say to get you up here?” he asked her, then glared at me. “And my lines warm my bed every night I desire without fail.”

  “He didn’t say much, just to follow him.”

  “So direct, Atticus. It’s shocking.”

  I narrowed my gaze at him as I sipped on the drink the waitress had set down. “I find speaking directly works.”

  “Ophelia, answer me this: does flattery not work on you? Atticus is quite brash and often called insensitive by women, and you have me curious.”

  “It wasn’t really words, but I’m also not sure I understand the undercurrent of associating me with him. Yes, he convinced me to come with him, but that doesn’t make me his.”

  Rhys leaned in closer. “Does that mean you’d be mine for the night?”

  “No.”

  I smirked at the lack of hesitation. She wasn’t falling for him.

  “Why not?”

  “You’re shady as fuck,” she said without pause.

  I couldn’t contain my laughter again. What the hell was going on with me? Rhys’s confusion at my reaction was evident in his wide-eyed stare.

  “He has laughed twice now. I’m going to have to ask you to take him back down and return with the correct Atticus, but before that, why such a harsh comparison?” Rhys’s wounded pride was bleeding all over the place.

  “It’s in your attitude. The vibe you give off.”

  “And by that, you trust him more than me?” Rhys was both seriously affronted and entertained. Given that I was known as the wicked king, I found it interesting that she held even an inkling of trust for me.

  “She has good intuition. Lethal lawyers are shady as fuck.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Might I remind you that it is a shadiness you have used to your advantage more than once.”

  I tipped my glass to him. “True. However, we aren’t talking about a business venture, but the company of a woman.”

  “What are you boys doing up here all alone?” she asked, putting an end to our spat.

  Rhys leaned back. “Trying to let loose after a hard week.”

  I scoffed. While Rhys was normally reserved and cutthroat, he also had a playful nature about him. He was more social than me, but I knew why he pounded back the drinks, and why he wore a façade. I saw the dark emptiness, if even just a flicker.

  “What do you do, Ophelia?” I asked, curious about the little nymph beside me.

  “Right now, I’m a waitress.”

  I’d hoped she’d be something a little more interesting to help explain her appeal. Still, it failed to tamp down my curiosity.

  “Right now?” Rhys asked with a quirk of his brow.

  She nodded. “I have a degree in biology and was briefly in pharmaceutical sales, but that didn’t work out. I just haven’t found what I want to do yet.”

  That was more interesting. At least she was intelligent.

  “What do you do?” she asked as she looked at me. There seemed to be a current moving that I hadn’t noticed before, and I quite enjoyed the simmer of heat that pulsed between us.

  I glanced to Rhys, then gave her a strained smile. I di
dn’t want to tell her. It would ruin the atmosphere. I was genuinely enjoying our time.

  “I went into the family business. Boring stuff.”

  “Didn’t have a choice?”

  My jaw clenched. “Not really.”

  “From the day he was born, his future was set,” Rhys said, covering the truth and redirecting her attention on the subject.

  “And what about you? Lawyer, was it?”

  Rhys grinned. “Corporate lawyer.”

  Nothing about his answer was untrue, just the omission of it being the family company.

  “Remind me, is that better or worse than an ambulance chaser?” she asked.

  Another laugh burst from me. What had gotten into me? I wasn’t one to show enjoyment in anything. Something about my little nymph was drawing it out of me.

  Despite what she said, she was mine, if even just for the night.

  “You wound me, Ophelia.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I doubt there is little that would wound you. What did Atticus call you? The Lethal Lawyer?”

  “I do like them feisty.”

  She shrugged, then turned to me. “How about you?”

  My heart thrummed roughly in my chest as her brown eyes bored into mine.

  “Feisty or not, it makes no difference. I’m enjoying your company regardless.”

  She settled back against the couch, her shoulders settling under my arm. The current intensified, firing off tingles across every inch of her that rested against me.

  “He wins.”

  Perhaps I would be taking someone home this evening.

  The alcohol warmed me, but not as much as the man I’d inched my way closer to over the past hour. Despite the way the evening began, I thoroughly enjoyed myself with these two gorgeous strangers in a VIP booth at Angelino.

  It was one of the hottest clubs in the city, and I only came out on the invitation from my friend Jennifer.

  Who then cancelled on me last minute. Whatever. We’d barely talked over the last few years, but she saw a post on Facebook and invited me.

  Still, I came, using her name, which was on the list—I guess dating a professional baseball player had its advantages—and cutting the line of people hoping to cross the threshold.