Black Collar Queen (Black Collar Syndicate Book 2)

by An Latro

  He sighs, and slips the phone from his pocket. He reads the message once. Twice. And then curses, not quite under his breath. Vera eyes the phone questioningly. His dark eyes are wide, earnest when he says, “I have to go.”

  She can't quite hide away the disappointment that falls over her features and sags her shoulders. He frowns, and gently takes her arms in his hands, pulls her closer. For a moment, she thinks he's going to kiss her, right here in front of everyone, but he doesn't.

  He just levels his gaze at her, and says, “I'm sorry, seriously, but I can't ignore this.” “Family business, right?” she asks with a hard edge.

  He nods. “Trust me, that's the only thing that could steal me away right now.”

  She sighs, but covers most of her disappointment as he escorts her to the exit. He doesn’t, and seeing her frustration reflected in his eyes eases some of the sting that they night is ending early. She’s startled when he pulls her against him in the car, and even more startled when he seems content to do no more than hold her hand, his fingers steady on hers.

  Most of the ride back to her house is silent, but just before they pull up to the sidewalk,

  Seth says, “Thanks for being my date. We'll look damn good on the cover of the papers tomorrow.”

  He gives her a deflated smirk, which she returns.

  “I’m sorry, that I had to cut it short” he adds.

  She stares at him for a moment, and finally, goes for the familiar, says with a smirk,

  “Well, I guess you'll just have to make it up to me that I don't get to fuck you at the end of said date.”

  He shakes his head at her crudity, something he loves about her, and before he can act, she presses a heavy kiss to his lips. It's a hot, fast thing that leaves his head spinning as she slips out of his Bentley.

  Chapter 13. Morgan Estates. New York City October 24th

  Everyone Has Gone For The Evening—the executive suites are empty and still, except for one. She’s sitting behind her desk, legs crossed beneath her as she nibbles at her lip and stares at the reports from accounting. She looks young and inexperienced in an oversized sweatshirt, hair down around her shoulders.

  Emma frowns at the numbers. She knows what it should be——what it says. But the numbers aren't adding up properly. She glances at Dom, sitting on the couch with his laptop propped on his knees. The bodyguard looks absurd, all big body and huge hands and tiny computer.

  “Look at this.”

  Dom comes behind her, leaning over to stare at the numbers. It takes a few minutes— longer than it took her, but still remarkably quick for a man whose primary skill is his use of a gun.

  “Someone is skimming,” he says softly.

  Emma nods, and the bodyguard retreats to stand in front of her. The office is quiet— Seth's office is dark. She shouldn't be here, but couldn't stand a charity event. Couldn’t stomach watching Seth with Vera, playing socialite. She has always been like Caleb in her distaste for schmoozing.

  “What do you want to do?”

  She glances again at the name on the report.

  Johnny Hughes. A man who came up under Mikie.

  Rage crystallizes in her veins. After the coup, Seth didn’t clean house. He wanted to give them the chance to prove their loyalty. He called them together and gave mercy and a clean fucking slate.

  And this is how they repaid him.

  “Emma?” Dom asks, shifting to draw her attention. She stands and pulls off the sweatshirt. Fluffs her hair and smooths the white silk top over her gray pencil skirt. Then she looks at Dom.

  The smile she gives him is cold and remote and terrifying. “Let’s go visit the docks.”

  He opens his mouth and Emma lifts her gun. It's not a threat; she likes and trusts him too much to threaten him. But it is a reminder and his mouth closes again without protesting. Instead, he follows his boss out of the office.

  She should calm down as they glide through traffic. But she sees the man at the family dinner, his sneering dismissal of Seth and his greedy eyes, and all she can feel is rage. They are facing threats on every side—Remi’s people are still a threat, and word is filtering into the city from Cuba. There is even pressure from the Thais, although Rama’s feelings for her are hardly something the syndicate can handle.

  There should not be division within their own ranks, people willing to lie and steal. Mikie would never have stood for it, and neither will she. She won’t tolerate threats to Seth, not right now.

  She taps a quick message to him, and tucks her phone back into her purse. Then she settles against the seat to wait, watching the city crawl by as they angle toward the docks.

  Dom blocks her in with his body as he pulls the door open and she glares up at the bodyguard. “Emma, it's dangerous. You should not be here without protection.”

  It's the wrong thing to say. Her temper, already hot, flares. “Would you tell Seth that?”

  Irritation fills Dom's eyes briefly but he shakes his head. She steps out of the car, and he gives ground. The alternative is to have her flush against him and that is not a line he will cross, not with his queen.

  Emma leans into him, and he can smell the soft scent of perfume on her skin as she whispers in his ear, “Do not coddle me, Dom. I won't have it.”

  Her lips brush against his ear and he shivers, and then she steps away.

  The dock office is a squat, solid structure. She doesn't bother to knock as she enters, just steps into the dingy room with all the confidence of her position. Inside, Johnny and four other men are clustered around a table covered in poker chips and playing cards.

  None of them are in uniform.

  There's a moment of quiet, and Emma lets her gaze sweep them before Dom shifts behind her and the four men scramble to their feet. “Get back to work,” she says, not bothering to look at them. There is a heartbeat of hesitation and her gaze, coldly furious, snaps over to the men.

  She arches an eyebrow and they move, almost amusing in their haste to obey.

  Once the door swings shut, Emma summons a smile, all easy warmth and loose limbs as she sits down.

  “Didn't know we was getting a visit from the higher-ups,” Johnny says, leaning back and letting his cards fall.

  “Do you mind?” she asks, voice soft and girlish. Johnny shakes his head. “I realized that we had neglected you since our return. Mikie was always very attentive to the operations here.”

  “He knew we made the family a good bit of money, ma'am.”

  She smiles. “Yes. I saw that when I was going over your reports. But I was also curious about a steady dip in profits.”

  Johnny's eyes narrow at her and she props her elbows on the table, crossing her arms and leaning in. His gaze skims down over her low neckline and she struggles to maintain her temper. “The profits being reported each month have been dropping. Since April, we've lost almost fifty thousand in this operation alone.”

  “Business isn't always steady.”

  “Mmm; that's true.” She smile, and Johnny’s tension eases a little. Her expression chills suddenly, the demure princess gone as she taps the table with one fingernail. “But you messed up, Johnny. If you want to steal from the syndicate, at least make it look like we’ve lost business to account for it. As it stands, our warehouses are full and we have four shifts of security covering half this dock. Profits should be up, and they aren't.”

  Anger flashes across his face. “Are you suggesting I'm stealing from the family?”

  Emma sighs, a soft noise of regret, and reaches into her bag. Johnny tenses, his hand twitching toward his gun. Dom takes a step forward and Johnny stills.

  Emma smiles, putting the folder on the table. “According to our records, the warehouses are at capacity. You actually brought a proposal in June to expand the operation. That doesn't explain a dip in business.” She tosses it across the table and Johnny catches it. “I'm not suggesting anything.” She says coldly, “I know someone is stealing. I think it's you—but even if it’s not, this i
s your division and you are responsible for your men.”

  Johnny drops the folder and glares across the table. “Fifty thousand is nothing. That’s why it took you so fucking long to notice it was missing. I've earned that money. I've given my life to this family——I've been loyal. I've proven myself and done everything the family has asked of me. And what? I was given this shit operation. And I made it profitable—made the family a fortune.”

  “Which would make me wonder why you would risk this,” Emma says slowly.

  “Because it doesn't matter. The prince came home and it doesn't matter what I've done, how well I’ve served. Seth would change everything. He didn't earn his place—he doesn't even work the streets.”

  Her temper breaks and she snaps, “He is Gabe's son. You serve. He was born to this.”

  “And that means less than me choosing it? I deserve more than a pittance and an untried kid controlling my life.”

  “He is the king,” Emma says, her voice tight.

  “He isn't my king. I didn't join the syndicate to follow a kid and his whore.”

  Dom moves before she can react, or even process the words. She hears a flat thud and a shout, rising above the roar in her ears.

  Johnny bounds to his feet, swinging at the bodyguard. Dom dodges easily, wheeling in a roundhouse kick. With a muffled roar, Johnny drops again.

  “Stop,” she says.

  Dom stills instantly, glancing back at her with murder in his eyes. She stands and walks over to Johnny. He glares up at her. All her feelings are raging, a riot of fury and dread and disgust. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

  “Nothing that you haven't earned,” Johnny spits. “You must give amazing head, to have risen this high. Everyone knows you fucked him—killed the Oliver girl because you were jealous.”

  She kicks him in the face before she can think it through, her temper breaking. “You piece of shit,” she snarls.

  “He doesn't deserve it,” Johnny gasps, and she kicks him again.

  “Enough.”

  She goes utterly still, staring down at Johnny while Seth's voice fills the room. There's a subtle tension vibrating against her skin, and she feels lost, suddenly, unsure of herself and her position.

  Is he right? How could she possibly deserve to rule?

  Seth clears his throat behind her and she turns, leaving the older man bleeding on the floor. His nose is broken, his mouth a mess of blood and spit.

  Emma meets Seth's eyes as she walks toward him. There is worry and fear, but it is tempered by the fury raging there. She shivers—that look promises murder. He touches her arm, gently, and she flinches away, Johnny's accusation ringing in her head. He’s still wearing his tux. From behind her, there is a wet, broken laugh.

  Anger flashes in Seth's eyes. The gun is out and pointed before she can follow the motion. “Seth!” she gasps, but he ignores her. Walks over to Johnny and crouches.

  “If Mikie found you stealing from him, he would kill you. You know that.”

  Emma goes still, suddenly very scared. Seth’s voice is low and even, and that scares her more. “I won't kill you for that. I would discipline you for it——but I wouldn't kill you.”

  Sprawled on the floor, Johnny relaxes a little as contempt darkens his eyes. Seth shifts, his gun barrel pressed between the other man's eyes. His eyes bulge, and Seth's voice lowers, a soft croon. “You'll die for insulting Emma. She is family, and my equal, and you dare call her a whore?”

  Rage fills Johnny's eyes. “Fuck you, Morgan. You and that slut'll—”

  The gunfire sounds like a cannon, echoing through the small building as the man's head snaps back, a small hole in the forehead. Gore splatters the ground, blood forming a pool. Emma swallows a scream dying to break free, fighting to maintain a dispassionate facade.

  Seth crouches there next to the dead thief for a long time, until she finally moves to him and touches his shoulder hesitantly. His grip on her hand is tight, painful desperate.

  “Cut his tongue out. Let them all know what will happen if they cross me. Either of us.” Seth's words are cool and remote, but they make her shiver. Dom murmurs an affirmative and Seth sighs as he rises, tension easing from him. Frowns at the mess of blood and brain. “Get his crew in to clean this shit up.”

  He doesn't wait for a response, merely steers Emma out the door, tucking his gun away.

  He waits as she climbs into the Bentley, then settles next to her.

  Dark eyes meet blue, and she flinches, looking away. She wants the last hour gone, those vicious words unsaid.

  Seth doesn't say anything as they pull away from the docks. It is only when they stop in front of her building and she moves away that he catches her hand. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  She stares at him, at the dark eyes. There is still anger and danger there, the promise of violence that scares her a little.

  “We protect each other. Always,” he says.

  She nods, leans over and kisses his check briefly. Pulls back and sees the shadows in his eyes before he has a chance to hide them. “You ok?” she asks.

  His barely-there smile dies, and he gives her a sad look. “Killing should never be easy,

  Emma. If you learn anything at all, learn that.”

  Concern makes her pause, and Seth forces a smile. “Go.”

  He waits until she is safely inside her building, with its carefully selected Morgan security, before he signals to his driver.

  She stands behind the glass, ignoring the buzzing phone in her bag, and the concerned security guard behind her, watching until Seth's car is swallowed by the gleaming taillights of the city.

  Chapter 14. New York City. November 1st

  Rama Is Watching Her, his dark eyes patiently curious. She didn’t tell him where she wanted to go—just that she needed him to meet her. That had been enough to bring him from Bamboo and his own syndicate concerns to her side. She’s been fluctuating—pushing him away and pulling him close, needy and distant. It’s maddening, but he’s being patient—trying to understand the princess. She’s been through so much change in the past year, and she is still so young.

  He arrived alone, in low-slung jeans, and a black cable-knit sweater, hands in his pockets and his hair in his eyes. Dressed down, without his security detail, Rama is easy to lose in the city—an attractive young professional.

  Emma tugs nervously at her sleeves. She’s in a pale blue sweater with wide sleeves, black skinny jeans, and low boots. She looks impossibly young, with her blue eyes wide and strawberry curls blowing in the wind. Innocent.

  “Emma,” Rama murmurs as she turns them down another street. She glances at him, sidelong. The Asian prince hasn’t pressed for answers but they can both feel the tension, the questions, hanging between them. She gives him a quick smile and pulls a small set of keys out as she climbs the stairs to a large, stately brownstone. Rama stares for a long moment as she unlocks the front door and pushes it open.

  Then he climbs the steps to the impressive private home, and follows her inside.

  It smells wrong. The air is musty and stagnant with the heavy scent of wet ash clinging to everything—like no one has been here in months. Since that dinner party that changed everything and her mother vanished completely. Emma certainly hasn’t been back to her childhood home. She assigned a security detail to watch it, and kept her distance.

  “What are we doing, mali?” Rama asks, and his voice grounds her as memories threaten.

  “I need to get into Mother’s safe,” she says.

  Rama makes a soft noise of surprise, but he doesn’t say anything to stop her as she pushes past him and up the stairs. She ignores the living room and the dusty bar with its memories of drinking alone, and her cousins. Instead, she angles for the bedroom upstairs.

  Beth’s room is as untouched as the rest of the house. It makes her skin crawl. There is the undeniable stamp of her mother on everything, and despite the fury she feels, there is a small part of her that whispers tha
t she is doing something wrong, invading Beth’s space. She silences it and moves to the large, framed picture of Isaac hanging over the bed.

  “Who is that?” Rama asks, curious as he stands behind her.

  Emma shrugs and says, voice flat, “My brother.”

  She turns away before she can see his expression—she doesn’t want to see the knowledge of who Isaac was, what he meant to the syndicate, in Rama’s dark eyes, doesn’t want this piece of her life to be already handed to him by Caleb.

  On the rare days when missing Caleb doesn’t make it hard to breathe, she wonders if she doesn’t hate him a little, because Rama loved him first.

  She climbs onto the bed and swirls the dials of the safe with quick ease, until the tumblers slip free and the door opens.

  It’s been cleaned out. No matter what the house looks like—how neglected and abandoned it appears—Beth has been back since that night. All of the cash and papers, her fake passport—everything is gone.

  “Shit,” she murmurs, falling back on her heels in defeat. She steps off the bed, and Rama catches her hand, steadying her as the heel of one boot twists. She offers him a distracted smile as she retracts her hand and heads for the bedroom door. “I want to try her office.”

  “Emma? The picture?”

  She hesitates in the doorway, and looks back, at Isaac dethroned, even in this pathetically small way. “Leave it,” she says and turns away.

  Emma can feel Rama’s surprise rippling along her skin as he follows her downstairs. She doesn’t want to face it, or the quiet censure in his eyes.

  There is something deeply vulnerable about returning to a place where you were forgotten and unhappy.

  She shoves the thought aside, and steps into the office. It is pathetically easy to jimmy the file cabinets open. She isn’t surprised to find them empty. Beth was never good at keeping things from her daughter, but she wasn’t so stupid that she would leave incriminating evidence behind. She would burn everything before she bolted to whatever hole she was hiding in. Emma mutters a soft curse, and picks up the phone on her mother’s desk. Without much hope, she hits redial.