Unfortunately, Joshua wasn’t wrong. Julius had blown it. If he had waited another minute, played the game to the end instead of rescuing his bodyguard, he would’ve won controlling interest in his father’s company. Fuck!
Later, Julius would remember the tinkle of breaking glass and the hair on his neck rising in warning first caught his attention. He flinched, though didn’t understand why. Yet before he could see what attendant spilled what where, Harden grunted, and a streak of blood soaked through a slit in the arm of his suit. Someone shouted, followed by a high-pitched scream.
More tinkling, then a crash, as if a chandelier had given into gravity, followed by tropical storm winds sweeping through the room.
His head cranked to the right. Calista ran toward him screaming, “Julius!” as all hell broke loose.
Chapter 31
I never should’ve left his side!
Shoving people out of the way, Calista ducked, dodged, and fought against the tsunami of bodies rushing the main exit. Struggling to stay on her feet and not go down with the tide, she broke to the left and peeled herself out of the pack.
Initially, she thought someone had opened fire in the room. Someone’s rival—not necessarily Harden’s—had lost their Goddamn mind and saw an opportunity they couldn’t resist. Then the wind slammed into her and she saw the shattered window. No one had used their body as a battering ram and jumped to a spectacular death on the Strip. So what the—
Another single bullet clipped the bar, ominously close to Harden and Julius. Chipped wood flew at the impact. A high caliber gun from a distance was her guess. The only place it could’ve originated was the hotel across the street.
It was the club all over again. That’s it! No more bro time for Harden and Julius. Until this threat was annihilated, they needed a continent between them, and she was determined to make that happen, if they survived.
Could this really be about Harden? Billions of dollars represented in the room and this shooting was about the head of the New York syndicate? Name a better distraction, she thought crouched and making her way to the bar and Julius.
Edwards was already there shielding Julius with his body, his gun out, though he had nothing to shoot at, which didn’t stop various bodyguards of the other guests from shooting at the windows. Forty stories in the air, high winds caused the glass to explode inward instead of outward. Something nicked her neck, but she kept running, ducking and dodging through the room.
Bruno and another of Harden’s men had the mobster covered. Bruno had hauled Harden to his feet and was ushering him toward the kitchen. Edwards, Julius, and Davien rose and went with them. The six clustered together. It was a good plan.
“That fucking bastard!” she shouted more to herself than anyone else because Bruno had placed Harden in the center of the cluster. Edwards, Julius, and Davien were cannon fodder. “Get down, you idiots!”
Bruno grunted and the big man crumped like someone had punched him in the heart. She didn’t see where he was hit but the way he folded like scrapyard metal tossed into a compressor, it had to be center mass. At least he was smart enough to drag his boss and Julius down with him. Julius, Harden, and Edwards hit the deck in time for another bullet to whiz over their heads. Davien darted behind a pillar.
“Someone has a serious hard-on for Harden Gage,” Scotts said. She hadn’t realized he was behind, then right beside her, shielding her as if she were the client. Blood coated his left cheek.
“Are you hit?” she asked, panic welling in her chest.
He shook his head, then touched her neck. “Flying glass. It’s not bad,” he murmured, then refocused on their current situation. “We got to get to the kitchen.”
Relieved to have him on her six, she nodded sharply. “Agreed. But how when we’re target practice?” She tipped her head at the hotel across the street. “Want to take a guess where he is?”
Muzzle flashes lit the night and the ping of bullets striking the bar gave away the shooter’s location—the roof of the hotel across the street. The shooter had given up finding Harden. Instead of relying on precision and skill to kill the intended target, now, he opted for an assault weapon with a full magazine spraying the entire room.
She wasn’t the only one to see the bright flashes.
Everyone with a gun pulled them and started firing. The chances of hitting the shooter with an ordinary weapon in the dark were slim, but that wasn’t the objective. Suppressive fire was the objective. Make the shooter cower and seek cover for a few precious seconds so the room could clear. It worked. Under the barrage of bullets, there was no return fire.
“Go.” Scotts ordered and Calista hauled ass over to Julius. He, Edwards, Harden, and Bruno—all she could think of was Schwarzenegger in Terminator until she glimpsed the bulletproof vest under his ripped shirt—were already on their feet and moving.
But Julius was fighting Edwards and Harden, trying to go in the opposite damn direction. Then he saw her and froze. “Calista!”
“Keep going!” She barreled into him, managed to move him a couple feet, but then he wouldn’t budge. It took Edwards wrapping an arm around Julius’ shoulders and dragging him into the kitchen.
“I’m not leaving without him! I can’t leave!” Frantic, Julius fought Edwards to break free.
“Leaving without who?” Calista demanded.
“Joshua! I’m not leaving without my brother.” Julius broke free. Calista planted herself in front of him, but he shoved her into Edwards and stormed to the swinging doors which abruptly flung open. Carrying Joshua under his arm like a football, Sunny rushed into the kitchen like a linebacker rushing for the endzone on Super Bowl Sunday.
“I found him near the window, under a table.” Sunny set the teen on his feet, which wasn’t a good idea since his knees gave out.
“Is he hurt?” Julius grabbed his brother by his designer jacket and like a protective mother, looked him over. Surprisingly, he was unscathed.
“I’m alright.” Joshua shoved him away yet stayed close to Julius.
“Anyone hurt?” Calista appraised everyone. Other than Bruno taking one center mass in his bulletproof vest, Harden suffered a graze to his upper arm. All those bullets and he came away with a grazed arm. Whomever was the patron saint of mobsters, certainly looked out for their favorite son.
“Other than you?” Julius snatched a linen napkin from a stack on a shelf. He grabbed her nape with one hand and brought her close while dabbing the napkin on the side of her neck. It came away with a thin line of blood. “It’s a scratch.”
Then why did he make it seem like a bullet wound?
“Care to take care of my boo-boo too?” Harden snickered, pressing a napkin to his upper arm.
“No,” was Julius’ reply.
A siren sounded, along with strobe lights next to all the exits. The hotel was under evacuation.
“We gotta go before the police get here.” Harden snatched a spare gun from Bruno and took point only to be thrusted behind his bodyguard.
They raced to the service elevator to find it already heading down. The kitchen staff hadn’t waited to evacuate. The stairs became their only option. They trooped down a few flights, exited onto a lower floor, and found another set of elevators.
All of them stuffed into the box, Calista’s back pressed to Julius’ front. He wrapped an arm around her waist. They were alive. For a few stolen moments, she leaned back into him, the tension easing from her stiff body to relax a fraction before they faced the world once the elevator opened. Julius took the opportunity to bury his face in her neck and inhaled deeply, as if drawing her scent into his lungs.
“Stop the elevator on the mezzanine level.” Julius ordered without warning.
“Why?” Harden demanded.
“Because Joshua is getting off.”
“What?” Confused, Joshua shook his head.
“I don’t want you picked up by the police. Get off and get lost in one of the lounges. The minute they find you, play dumb and
lawyer up. Understand?”
Eyes wide, Joshua nodded quickly. “Y-Yeah. Yes.”
Calista didn’t know who pressed the button, but the elevator stopped on the mezzanine level and off Joshua went, though he did glance over his shoulder at his brother before the doors slid closed.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you cared about the little fucker.” Harden laid the irony on thick.
Julius grunted but Calista suspected he’d always cared about his brother. Estranged for years, this was probably the first chance he had to show it.
The elevator opened to the lobby full of police officers with more pouring through the sliding glass door by the second.
Shocked, they crowded in front of the elevator a second too long. Harden backed up, slamming into Calista.
“Keep moving! Keep moving!” an officer shouted in the middle of the bank of elevators as more elevators emptied hotel guests into the lobby.
“Damn it” Harden snarled low and hid his gun beneath his jacket. “Too late to take the mezzanine option.”
Calista couldn’t agree more as Julius murmured, “Let’s get this over with.”
Chapter 32
Six hours later.
“What have we learned today, boys and girls?” Harden singsonged and threw himself onto a wingback chair in Davien’s private residence. Jacket gone, one arm of his once pristine white shirt ripped off and sporting a bandage around his upper arm.
The rest of them weren’t in any better condition after six hours of interrogation, even with lawyers present.
Except for Davien. He strolled into the suite well rested, in fresh clothing, sipping Turkish coffee from a tiny cup, and smoking a thin stick of Turkish tobacco.
“Fucking diplomatic immunity,” Harden snarled. “Where can I buy one of those?”
Behind Davien, Lawson sauntered into the room just as fresh. His propensity for pussy saved him from the shootout.
Davien chuckled and took a seat, crossed his legs and made himself comfortable. He puffed on the cigar, then set it aside in a Lalique holder. “Diplomatic immunity does not work in your native country.” He sipped his coffee.
“He knows.” Julius removed his jacket and tossed it on the back of his chair. If idle chatter was what this meeting was about, he was out of there.
“What happened?” Lawson’s imposing six foot seven, three hundred pounds of muscle claimed the middle of the room, demanding attention, as if anyone could overlook the giant.
Julius let Harden give his version of events while he went to the buffet table at the back of the room. Everything a growing boy needed for a hearty breakfast waited and damn if he wasn’t starved.
“I thought you handled your issues.”
“I did. I cleaned out a whole nest of those encroaching bastards.” Harden jerked to his feet and paced. “I actually let a few live. Minus a few digits. Only one lost a hand.”
“That’s what being nice gets you. Shot at.” Lawson held up two fingers. “Twice. That’s why I keep it simple and be an asshole to everyone.”
Harden and Lawson slapped hands, high fiving each other.
Davien drained his cup and squeezed. The delicate cup shattered in the palm of his hand. Silence. Everyone shut the hell up. Davien wasn’t one for explosive emotional outbursts. He was the center of the storm while the rest of them were the storm. For him to shatter that cup, probably a priceless antique, spoke more than any of Harden’s rages. “There is nothing humorous about this situation.”
He picked a sliver of porcelain out of the side of his hand. Blood welled. His handkerchief took care of it. “Because of this incident, I have to return to Qari.”
“Why?” Julius asked, knowing that was the last thing Davien wanted.
Face stoic. “Unfavorable publicity. I have to explain myself.”
“To Nasir?” Julius persisted. The two were cousins. Only a year apart, both attended the Swiss boarding school with the rest of them.
“Yes, Nasir,” he ground out. “He’s a prince, favorite grandson of the king.”
Harden’s and Lawson’s confused gazes met Julius’. They were missing a key element in the discussion. Nasir and Davien were closer than brothers. Had always been close since their grandfather demanded they attend the school together.
“Since when are you and Nasir at odds?” Julius pressed.
Davien paused, suddenly cagey. Then he said, “Since his father, Crown Prince Ahmed, was diagnosed with brain cancer, putting Nasir in line for the thrown behind his eighty-year-old sovereign. He’s become a prick.”
Since when? Nasir was the youngest of the bunch and the shyest. An introvert. When did he suddenly become a prick, and what happened to make him change?
“How long will you be gone?” Lawson asked.
Davien sighed. “I serve at the pleasure of the crown prince and the king.” Irony laced his voice.
Lawson snorted and spoke up. “Sorry you’re having internal disputes with the future ruler of the kingdom. I promise to be concerned about your dilemma and in awe of Nasir’s upgrade. Currently, there are more pressing issues. Like your friends being used for target practice.”
No one disagreed, though Davien glowered at Lawson who was bigger and wider than anyone else in the room. It had been a decade or more since the two came to blows, which was comical given the size disparity, until Davien flipped Lawson’s big ass on his back. 5.0 on the Richter scale.
Hunched over, elbows on his knees, Harden glared at everyone. “Here’s the thing. No one knew I was coming here.” He pointed to the floor, but they knew he meant Vegas. “No. One. Not even me until I got on the fucking plane. This trip was an impromptu getaway. So how did the shooter know, huh? Explain that shit to me.”
No one said a word.
“There were a lot of people in that room. Famous people, not plebs.” He nodded more to himself than anyone in the room and sat back in his seat. “Either he’s psychic…or he wasn’t after me.”
All eyes shifted to Julius.
He sat there dumbfounded. “What?”
Harden studied Julius with an intensity that nearly made him squirm. “Who did you piss off?”
Puzzled, he shrugged. “Lately… No one.”
“You sure about that?” Lawson said heavily.
On the defensive, Julius snapped, “Yeah.”
Harden grunted. Brow furrowed, lips curled into a scowl, his canted to the side in deep thought. “Two separate shootings. You and I are the only common denominator. Who knew you were coming to the club?”
“All of social media,” Julius answered. “Your publicist leaked the guest list.”
Harden scratched the stubble on his chin. “True. Who knew you were coming to Vegas?”
“Who knew you were coming to the Oriental?” Davien interjected.
“I got the invite from Joshua.” Harden’s scowl transformed into an eager, deadly grin. “Don’t even think about it.” No one threatens his brother. Not Harden. Not anyone.
“It’s not Joshua,” Davien said. “At least I don’t believe it’s him. The boy doesn’t have the balls to have a sniper shoot up a room he’s inside of.”
“The boy won close to seven million playing poker. He has plenty of balls.” Harden snorted.
Davien shook his head. “That’s just money. We’re talking about life and death here.”
Harden nodded slowly. “You may have a point, Davien. Joshua was raised soft. Tutors and country clubs with Mommy wiping his ass until quite recently. I’d be surprised if he had a mini-Julius in him.” Harden waved a hand at Julius, who stiffened more than he already had.
“I resent that,” Julius snarled.
“I’m not saying you don’t have the balls to hire a sniper, a hitman, or whatever. I’m saying Joshua doesn’t.”
“And you know that how?” Lawson chimed in.
Harden settled into the chair. “I know that type. Joshua Morgan ain’t it,” he said dismissively.
“You’re cor
rect. He’s not the type.” Julius defended his brother. “But your brother is the type.” He locked eyes on Harden. “How is Colin enjoying prison? He did promise to kill you when he gets out.”
Harden’s cold blue eyes practically froze along with the rest of his body. “Point. Taken. However, he’s in protective custody. Away from gen pop. His lawyer is his only visitor and he’s paid by me. It’s not my dear brother.”
Julius could buy what Harden was selling, just not all of it. “Instead of digging in my closet to find a suspect. You need to start digging in your own.”
“He’s right,” Davien said. “All this speculation is pointless when the obvious culprit is someone in your organization.”
“Someone close,” Lawson said.
“Probably someone who travels with you.”
Nostrils flaring, Harden lunged to his feet. A vein popped in his temple and his hands curled into tight fists. A grimace twisted his face and his fist went through the glass coffee table.
Julius sat back in his chair and watched Harden bleed all over a priceless Persian rug. No one moved to help him as he plucked glass from between his knuckles. They waited for him to regain his composure, a process that couldn’t be rushed. Julius settled in his chair for a long wait. Harden had a lot to process. When the bleeding went past ninety seconds, Lawson retrieved a towel from a nearby restroom.
Patience rapidly thinning, Julius decided to give Harden a little help. He was kind enough to wait until Harden had wrapped his hand to ask, “Who in your organization wants you dead?”
They made a list. It was long.
“Now. Who in your organization do you trust?” Julius pressed.
That list was much shorter.
Julius tapped the sheet of paper, his finger pointed at the short column. “Start there. This type of betrayal usually comes from close to home.”
“Don’t I know it.” Harden’s voice was weary…but his smile was eager.
Chapter 33
Plain Jane and the Billionaire (Plain Jane Series) Page 21