Black Collar Queen (Black Collar Syndicate Book 2)

by An Latro

  And Emma.

  The staircase folds down, and now he straightens as well, out of his slouch against the wall. He runs a nervous hand through his hair and licks his lips. Vaguely, he is aware of the wryly amused look Tinney gives him.

  A flight attendant is talking to someone, her dark hair obscuring his view of the passenger. She blushes, and then Seth steps into view. He straightens as he clears the plane. He’s wearing a gray suit with a black button-down and a skinny tie, dark eyes hidden by sunglasses, face blank. His left arm is held in a sling, startling white against the suit.

  Emma, all golden skin and red-gold curls in a pale blue sundress, steps up to his side, and Seth wraps an arm around her shoulders protectively.

  Rama realizes, abruptly, that he isn’t breathing, and lets out the held breath slowly as Emma laughs at something her cousin says, then begins a casual descent.

  She is still so damn beautiful it hurts. And moving with a loose grace that is telling— she’s relaxed around him in a way Rama hasn’t seen before. A month of seclusion would do that. He tamps down on the surge of envy, the ever-present wish that he had been the one with her in a tropical paradise. She doesn’t belong at his side—she will never be his queen. She gives the pilot a sultry smile, all Morgan charm and unconscious sex appeal. Even from here, he can see the man’s eyes widen and his hard swallow. Seth’s amused, stormy eyes as he steers Emma away.

  And there is that. Seth will never have her in his bed—in that, Emma is his alone. For all the Morgan king’s bluster, he won’t forbid that. Not after the dinner party.

  Tinney steps out of the shadows, and Seth smiles as Emma hurries across the tarmac to embrace the assassin. The giant wraps her in a hug, almost swallowing her from view.

  “Welcome home, princess.”

  Seth clears his throat and Emma steps away from Tinney, a flush in her cheeks. She looks uncertain for a moment. She is still so young—it’s easy to forget that sometimes.

  “Did you bring my car?” Seth asks.

  Tinney nods. “And Dom, as requested.”

  Emma’s eyes turn hard and Rama chooses that moment to step into view.

  He watches her, distantly aware of Seth as the Morgan king steps back, murmuring to Tinney. He doesn’t matter—not right now.

  She’s nervous, her eyes wide and almost panicked, but as he stalks across the tarmac, he sees the subtle change in her—the tension draining from her shoulders, the slightest softening of her eyes. A smile plays over his lips as he approaches, invading her space, standing close enough that there is no doubt who he is to her. Behind them, he hears the sharp inhale from his own security. She sways a little, leaning into him without realizing it.

  She might spend a month with Seth in the tropics, but she still wants him.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice like a balm.

  There is something he should say here—some kind of declaration for the alliance, to further his family. But what he says instead is, “I’ve missed you, mali.”

  Then he leans down, brushing a kiss over her lips, a chaste greeting. She’s stiff and confusion is filling her eyes. So he steps away, and turns to Seth. The Morgan’s dark eyes are sharply assessing. “It is good to see you,” he says simply, a greeting of equals. Seth nods, and Emma takes a half-step away from Rama, a tiny retreat that he doesn’t miss. “What have we heard from the Olivers?” Seth asks, shifting to business as he glances at Emma. Tinney rumbles an answer, and Rama takes a moment to take them in.

  Seth is different. Calm and composed in a way he wasn’t before they left—quietly collected. Dangerous.

  Emma mirrors his movement, never far away. Even as she greets her personal guard, she is aware of her cousin. When Seth shifts his bag, she makes a quietly disgruntled noise and moves to take it from him.

  “And you, Rama?” Seth asks, abruptly pulling him from his musing. “What are your people hearing?”

  “Remi is furious. They’ve attacked two of your shipments to Brooklyn and one of your properties in the Hamptons was burned—it was empty so no one was killed, but financially, it’s a big hit.”

  “He has the right to be angry,” Seth murmurs. Emma stiffens and Seth seems to shake himself, his thoughts. He focuses on Emma and leans in, brushing a kiss over her cheek. “Have your driver take you home, Em.”

  “You aren’t going into Remi’s office alone, Seth,” she snaps back. All of them still— more because of her words than her challenge. “It’s suicide, and you damn well know it.”

  Seth’s eyes are dark and blank when he looks at her, all of the warmth and easy affection gone. Rama suppresses a shudder—this is the man he knew was there. The deadly king. Tinney speaks before Seth, “What is she talking about?”

  Seth makes a small noise of discontent—a huff of displeasure. “I’m going to negotiate a ceasefire. He won’t kill me in his damn bank.”

  “Let me come with you,” she says abruptly and Rama’s heart trips. No.

  “Absolutely not. I won’t put you in danger.”

  She laughs. “But you have no trouble risking yourself. Remember that if you die, I’ll be left alone, Seth Morgan.”

  Emma turns away, stalking to her car. Rama twists to stare after her, unsure of what to do. He hates not knowing what to do.

  “This is hard on her—harder on her than anyone. She’s afraid.”

  Rama glances back at Seth. The guards have withdrawn some, and they stand in a circle of empty space. “She has reason to be,” Rama says bluntly. Seth’s eyebrows twitch, but Rama doesn’t back down. He stood before Seth once as a foreign prince seeking favor—but he has allied himself with the Morgans, and taken risks on their behalf, taken a bullet for their queen. He won’t continue to place himself as subservient—not to Seth.

  “She is in danger, and the one person she loves is walking into a death trap. Emma has every right to be terrified,” heh says.

  Seth eyes the other man and nods. “She does. But she doesn’t have the luxury of indulging in that. We don’t have time for me to coddle her—and it doesn’t help when I do. God knows, she hates it.”

  There’s annoyance in Seth’s tone that soothes Rama—the displeasure of a sibling. “Take care of her. I’ll be in touch soon.” Seth says, touching his elbow briefly before walking to where

  Tinney stands. “If it helps, Ratchaphure, she did miss you. Even if she refuses to admit it.” He smirks, all insolent charm, and slides into the car.

  Rama approaches her as the Bentley pulls away. Her arms are crossed, fury and fear etched in the perfect lines of her face.

  “Where do you want to go, mali?”

  She stares after Seth for a long time, chewing on her lip, looking for all the world like a lost little girl. “What do I do if he’s wrong?” she says, and he struggles to keep the shock from his face. That she would ask at all.

  “You do what he taught you, Emma. You are where you are because Seth trusts you.” Because I trust you.

  She sighs, and Dom shifts a little at her side. “Thank you for coming.” He dips his head slightly, and she smiles. “Can you meet tomorrow morning? To discuss business?”

  For her? “Of course.”

  She smiles again, a brighter, real smile. Shifts to lean into him. His pulse speeds as she inhales his scent, her lips tickling over the bare skin of his throat, moving up to nip at his earlobe as she murmurs, “Until tomorrow.”

  Chapter 5. Oliver Bank and Trust Bank. New York City, September 26th

  The First Twenty Or So Minutes of the car ride are spent in tense silence, accented only by the thumping of the New York streets. Seth quietly watches the traffic from the passenger seat as Tinney navigates through the mess. Seth's Head of Security is uneasy. He doesn't like the sudden change of plans, doesn't like that Seth didn’t mentioned it before they landed. The element of surprise that Seth means to use as momentum can backfire—there are too many ways for things to go wrong. Tinney has become an advisor, resuming a role he hasn�
��t had since Gabe died. Even so, the new king is ignoring him.

  Finally, Tinney says, in a tone of resignation, “You're more like your dad than you can know.”

  “Christ, Tinney, do you have to do that shit now?” Seth says, letting his anxiety slip into his voice. He doesn't quite mean to look at the older man, but he finds his eyes gravitating that way in time to catch the small smile that dances across Tinney's expression. It's the same sentiment Seth showed Emma when he told her she was acting like Caleb. He keeps his silence, but inside he viciously curses.

  “You look good, Seth, less like a shell of yourself,” answers Tinney. “It seems Emma's fussing paid off.”

  Seth lets the moments pass into a heavy hush. If he has learned anything from his monthlong hiatus, it's that it's better to shut up and center his thoughts than to let his temper pop. He takes a long breath to focus and calm down. He can't go strolling into the heart of Remi Oliver's kingdom a nervous wreck, which is certainly Tinney's lesson in poking at Seth's ghosts.

  A taxi honks a few cars ahead of them, and Tinney is forced to step on the break. He doesn't speak, but releases an aggravated sigh. Seth waits until they're moving again to ask, “If

  I'm so much like Dad, how would he have handled this situation?”

  Tinney sniffs a scrap of dry laughter, so nearly a scoff that Seth is unsure how to read it. The family's gun says, “By the end, he wouldn't have been so kind as to offer peace. But before you and Caleb were born, he would have done the same damn idiotic thing you're about to do.”

  Seth mutters a curse, as a familiar sting rakes across his nervous system. The words hurt in the same way growing up does. Tinney has to know what that means to him—the comparison to his father. Yeah, it hurts, but at the same time, his doubt eases against his nerves. To know that he follows his father's path is undeniably comforting.

  Seth says, “You mean, once he relied on faith.”

  Tinney releases another humorless laugh, and shakes his head. At length, he says, “That's one way to put it.”

  “Then what do you mean?” Seth asks, his tone so close to frustration, yet held within his control so that it could be audacity.

  Tinney merges the car off of an exit that will lead to downtown, to Oliver Bank and Trust. He eases the car to a crawl, then says, “You automatically lose a certain amount of optimism when you have kids, Seth. Before he had that responsibility, Gabe was ridiculously hopeful that people's natures were good. But when he had sons, he tended toward the cautionary side, for protection's sake. He wouldn't take shit from anyone, for any reason. I think you know what I mean, though.”

  Seth purses his lips. He can't argue, and for once, he doesn't want to. Then, he allows a sad smile at the warm memories of his father. Regardless of what shadows haunt their family history, he will always know his dad loved him. He says, “Then I know he relied on faith, because right now, it's all I have to convince me that I'm not about to make myself a martyr.”

  Seth chances a glance at Tinney, hoping the road has him distracted enough not to notice. He sees the elder’s eyebrows arch, watches his mouth thin to a line. Seth almost can't believe he has taken Tinney off guard, but there's no mistaking the blankness that covers Tinney's expression.

  The car makes a left turn, and in a voice barely above a whisper, Tinney says, “You're just like him.”

  Neither of them speaks another word until Tinney pulls to a stop along the sidewalk in front of the bank. Seth slips the sling over his head, hissing slightly as it jars his still-healing shoulder. Tinney looks very seriously at Seth, and says, “At least take a gun.”

  Seth fields the attention with considerable grace. With a small shake of his head, he says, “If I go in armed, it could easily be misconstrued. If I'm unarmed, he has absolutely no ground to attack me.”

  “Goddammit,” Tinney mutters. “You're right, but you have no fucking idea what you're doing.”

  It's so very rare that he shows any kind of emotion that Seth is momentarily stilled by the disquiet. In one respect, Tinney's right. Seth has limited experience dealing with Remi. But, Tinney doesn't know what Seth went through in Cuba. In the end, all he can rely on is his Morgan intuition.

  Seth says, “I know more than you can realize.” Lets a couple beats pass, then adds, “You'll hear from me within twenty minutes.” And he pushes open his door.

  It's hot for the end of September, and his lightweight button-down and skinny tie are stifling as he looks up into the facade of Remi's home bank. His heart beats against his rib cage, and he takes a thick swallow. Retreat is no longer an option. A king can't be afraid to show his face. He banishes all his youthful fear of Remi Oliver to hell with his uncle's soul, and climbs the stairs to the marble columns of Oliver Bank and Trust.

  Inside, he makes a quick path past the usual bank hoopla of lines and tellers, and heads toward the first big desk he sees. He knows every minute spent among people, he is more likely to be recognized. So he leans down close to the bottle-blonde in her mid-thirties to speak into her ear. He sees her lips part in a tiny O at his sudden sex appeal and proximity. “I need to see Mr.

  Oliver,” heh says in the smoothest bedroom voice he can manage.

  A stretch of silence passes, in which he's sure she is breathing in his cologne, and she clears her throat. “I'm sorry, sir, Mr. Oliver sees people by appointment only.”

  He smiles, small and knowing, almost sympathetic for her sudden nervousness. He waits long enough for her to notice his lips, then says, “You tell him Seth Morgan is here to see him. I promise he'll respond.”

  Then he pulls back, and smooths his gray suit coat. For good measure, he flashes a darker smirk at her. She flushes, even through her make up, and all but scrambles for her phone. In moments, she's speaking into the receiver in a tone so hushed Seth can't quite make out what she says. He doesn't need to know, or tells himself he doesn't as he forces himself not to do a quick survey of his surroundings. He can't afford to look as nervous as he is, so he keeps his eyes on the receptionist, which makes her fidget. At length, she hangs up and says, “Mr. Oliver will see you now. The elevator is through that door over there, and his office is on the third floor.”

  A real smile claims Seth's lips, and he nods. “Thanks so much,” he says with a wink. She releases a tiny gasp as he turns away toward the elevator.

  He spends the ride to the third floor forcing himself to be absolutely still, so that when he steps off the elevator, and comes face-to-face with security, he doesn't even flinch. He gives the two beefsteaks a cordial nod, and stops.

  One of the guards says, “Excuse me sir, we're gonna need to see the contents of your pocket, and run a wand on you.”

  “Of course,” he says with a hint of smile. He shows them his wallet, keys, and phone, and lifts his arm so they can run the handheld metal detector over him. They seem almost wary when the thing doesn't make a sound.

  “Have a good day, sir,” says the guard, and Seth straightens his jacket as he passes them by. He won't let himself think on the few steps to the office door, and instead feels himself slip into instinct. The situation is not so unfamiliar, just the force with which he's dealing. The door handle is so cold when he turns it.

  The office is expectedly huge, done in dark hardwood, and hosting not only Remi's big desk, but a couch, love seat, and coffee table. In-set bookshelves make up the wall behind the desk, and a minibar sits close to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Remi is sitting behind his desk, with a phone crooked between his face and shoulder when Seth enters, and Oliver is setting aside some papers into his briefcase. “I'm sorry for the short notice,” says Remi, pointedly watching Seth cross the space to stand in front of him. He says, “Yes, it's unavoidable. Yes, goodbye.”

  Remi stands quickly, but for a long time, they only stare at each other. Seth is careful to make no sudden movements with his hands that could be misunderstood. He chooses to focus on that, rather than the searing rage that surges through him at the sight of his dead
lover's father; also the foreign king who was in on the plot to usurp Seth and his brother. The look on Remi's face isn't quite surprise, but it's certainly one of quick calculation. Seth must keep in mind that though Remi is a mystery to him, Remi is also the enemy who knows him best – the old him. And so he can't let himself be that child. The Seth Morgan who watched most of his immediate family take bullets that killed them, the one who delivered some of those bullets himself—— Remi doesn't know that Seth at all. With the grace of saints he can't believe in, he reaches an open hand to his enemy.

  Several seconds later, Remi accepts the gesture, shakes Seth's hand with a steady grip. Not too hard, Seth notes. He says, “I'm here to ask for a momentary ceasefire. I come to you unarmed. Will you talk to me?”

  Remi's eyes are so dark as he searches Seth's face for any twitch of expression. Finding none, Remi's shoulders ease the slightest bit, and he says, “I will do that for you. Have a seat, Seth.”

  The clattering in Seth's chest quiets a fraction, and he unbuttons his jacket as he sits. Remi strolls to the minibar, no doubt vying for time and presence. Seth follows his progress with his eyes. Remi asks, “Would you like some scotch?”

  Caleb's favorite. Seth doesn't allow the wince he feels. He says, “No, thank you.”

  Remi pauses, then continues dropping ice cubes in his high ball. He splashes some amber liquor on the ice and turns back to his desk. When he sits, Seth wonders if he will ever be that intimidating sitting behind a giant desk, in a massive executive chair. The gray at Remi's temples is a stark contrast to the dark of the rest of his hair. To Seth, the contrast is a reminder that the other man is vastly more experienced.

  Remi says, “Why are you here?”

  There's no inflection in the question, no change in his flat features. Seth's gut is in knots. To hell with it all now; there's no turning back. Seth holds the eye contact with steely reservation. He says, “I'd like to discuss compensation.”