Black Collar Queen (Black Collar Syndicate Book 2)

by An Latro

  “We both want things that we can’t give. Maybe it’s time to realize that. I deserve more than a little girl who can’t decide what she wants. And you—you need to grow up before you fuck your way into the wrong syndicate and end up getting someone killed.”

  Emma makes a noise, not quite a sob as she reaches for him, and Rama steps back. Straightens his tie. And then he leaves her.

  Chapter 36. Graystone Apartments. New York City December 13th

  Seth shifts as the elevator slides to a stop. It’s been two days since the night at Bamboo. Two days of utter silence from Emma. She was on edge and sharp after emerging from Rama’s office, but nothing to set off alarm bells.

  But two days of silence from her—that has every protective instinct going off. She’s ignored his texts and calls, and that isn’t Emma. Not showing up at the office—that isn’t her either.

  The apartment is dark and smells faintly of alcohol and weed. Shattered glass gleams in the dim light as he hesitates in the doorway, and panic spikes in his chest, a thousand possibilities running through his mind as he stares into the deserted penthouse. “Emma!” he shouts. Her bedroom door is open, and he leans into the darkened room. She’s curled on her side, wearing a cream and black pair of panties and matching bra. A dress suit is tossed over the foot of her bed—clearly she was in the process of dressing when she decided not to.

  Seth pauses. She’s asleep, an ashtray half-full of joint roaches on the bedside table near her head. A bottle of vodka sits next to it, almost empty. A small pile of white powder gleams on a small, plain mirror.

  He curses, softly.

  It's Monday. She's due in the office, and instead she’s drunk, trashed, nearly naked.

  “What the fuck, Em?” Seth murmurs. She stirs, and he turns away. Rifles through her dresser to come up with a faded t-shirt emblazoned with the logo from Irving Prep. It’s soft and worn, the swim team lettering patchy and missing.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, hoarsely.

  Seth tosses the shirt at her. “Get up,” he says.

  Emma watches as her cousin moves around the room, emptying the ashtray and capping the vodka. He ignores the blow, and gives her a patient look when she doesn’t move. “Come on,

  Emma. Time to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

  Tears fill her eyes, and Seth goes still and tense. She sniffles and nods, scrubbing a hand over her face. A shiver shakes her and she tugs the oversized t-shirt on before she crawls deeper into the bed, and pulls her blanket around her. “It’s cold,” she mumbles.

  There is something off—everything is screaming it, her quiet acquiescence to his orders a habit she hides behind. Even her voice has softened and edged toward the shy cousin. Not his queen. Not his equal.

  “What happened?” he asks, and her gaze flicks up to him, her eyes darkening. There is a hint of challenge there, the first flicker of her he’s seen.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says, burrowing deeper into the blanket.

  Seth stares for a long moment, and then bites off a curse. Emma’s gaze, wide and blue, swings up to him as he drops on the bed. Seth makes a huff of displeasure, and then he settles against the headboard, and pulls her against him. Emma is stiff for a moment, fighting his grip, before it drains away abruptly and her head comes down to rest on his shoulder. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” Seth says softly.

  “Rama and I fought.”

  So much in those little words. So much that she isn’t saying.

  “What about?”

  She shrugs against him, “He overheard a comment from Aleja. Put shit together, made some accusations and got pissed when I told him who I sleep with has nothing to do with him.”

  His grip on her tightens, and she looks up at her cousin. She looks so young and vulnerable, and it kills him a little, seeing her like this.

  “Do you really believe that?” Seth asks, his voice blank.

  She shrugs. “Who I fuck is my choice.”

  “Emma,” he sighs.

  “You had affairs so don’t,” she says sharply.

  Seth’s grip tightens and then he relaxes, and she lets out the breath she’s holding.

  “If you want more than what I had with Nic, maybe you should avoid making my mistakes,” Seth says.

  “Maybe I don’t,” she whispers. He’s quiet, letting her sort through her thoughts and emotions. “Maybe it’s too much. Rama is furious because my loyalty is to you. Because I love you. If he can’t understand that, who will?” Seth doesn’t respond for a moment. She says, softly. “Quinn never understood it—no one at Irving did. Caleb called, and I went. That simple. Family came first, and it didn’t matter what I missed. And I didn’t expect them to understand, because they aren’t us. They can’t understand our world.” She glances up at him. “But Rama is. He knows and he still won’t accept it. Won’t accept that I have to put you first.”

  Seth rubs her arm, pulling her closer. He can hear the tears she’s fighting in her voice. His fingers smooth over the scar, a pale pink of newly healed skin, the first scar this life gave her. Not the last.

  He would do anything to keep her from the scars of their world. But doesn’t she have them? Doesn’t she carry them on her soul? It’s her right, as a Morgan. Scars are their birthright.

  “Emma, you treat him like Quinn—or any guy from Irving.” She makes a noise of protest, and pulls away from him. He doesn’t stop her. Just stares at her, dark eyes too steady. “Rama is our equal. Would you tolerate any of the guys at Irving doing to you what you’ve done to him?” Emma goes still, but he doesn’t let up. “You took his protection. You let him kill for you. You accepted him taking our mark. You’ve let him in your bed and our syndicate, and he loves you. If you did that for any man and found out he’d fucked another woman, how do you think you’d react?”

  Rage flares in her eyes, and her cheeks color as she clenches fistfuls of blanket. Seth nods. “That’s what I thought.”

  “He used Caleb to hurt me,” she snaps. He knows her well enough to know that part of her is furious with him for being so fucking logical about this—for seeing Rama’s side of the fight too clearly.

  For making her see it.

  “Caleb will always be a ghost between you. He can bring you closer, or you can let that ghost destroy you.” Seth shrugs.

  “Why the fuck are you so calm about this?” she snaps, pulling away. She stands next to the bed, arms crossed.

  “Because I can’t protect you from everything, Emma. Not from having your heart broken. Rama isn’t perfect—he’s a jealous fucker who will probably always resent the place I have in your life. But he loves you, and he’s one of the few people who will understand what your life is.

  What being at the top means. And Caleb trusted him.”

  That takes some of the wind out of her sails, and she slumps on the side of the bed. “I know. Sometimes I think he trusted Rama more than he trusted me.”

  She isn’t looking at Seth, so she doesn’t see the rage that fills her cousin’s eyes for a moment. “Caleb didn’t feel the need to protect Rama. If he kept that part of his life a secret, it was only to protect you.”

  She nods, chewing her lip and staring at nothing. A tear falls, splashing fat and wet on her leg. Seth hisses softly and pulls her into him.

  “Did I fuck up everything?”

  He kisses the top of her head. “No, Emma. You fucked up your relationship, but that’s fixable, if you want.”

  “What about the alliance?” she whispers.

  “That wasn’t decided in your bedroom, Em. It won’t be affected by it now.”

  She nods, and he hugs her tightly, pressing his lips against her hair. “Get some clothes on, sweetheart.”

  “Why?” she asks, dully. Swipes at the tear trailing down her nose.

  “Because I’m going to take you somewhere.” He smirks.

  “Where?” she asks, curious despite herself.

  A shadow slips over Seth’s face. “The same plac
e Caleb took me, when one of us was upset. The Empire State Building.”

  Emma stares at Seth for a moment. Tear tracks cover her face, her blue eyes red-rimmed and puffy, the tip of her nose bright red. She’s a mess.

  “Thanks, Seth,” she says softly. He nods, and squeezes her hand once as he leaves the room.

  Chapter 37. Central Park. New York City December 15th

  The Sky Is Clear, and the New York City afternoon is as bright as it is crisp. It's uncharacteristically warm, yet Central Park is quiet. This will most likely be the last passably warm day they get until winter breaks its hold on the city.

  Seth's hands are pressed into his long coat's pockets, and his wire-framed sunglasses are in place. There's something peaceful about the trees that line the path, and he thinks of the car ride to Valhalla, when Rama was talking about the forest. He was right.

  Beside Seth, Rama is a mass of brooding tension beneath a sleek expression of calm and a long, gray coat. The high sun loves to glint off his black hair as it tousles in the almost playful breeze. Shades also hide the only tell of his emotion, his hard black eyes.

  They're here for business, but they are content to walk along in thick silence. Lately, Seth has taken a cue from his brother, and has kept far fewer office hours. In the wake of the fight between his cousin and his partner, he thought Rama might appreciate the open space. Central Park, as neutral as it gets, and their security details trail at an acceptable distance.

  Rama takes a drag from a cigarette, his other hand in his pocket, then he flicks the smoke away. His breath is visible on the air when he says, “Everything is in place. I just need my family's blessing.”

  Seth's brow furrows and his lips press into a thin line. His voice is edged when he says,

  “What do you mean ‘your family's blessing?’ I thought you came on their behalf.”

  Rama's lips also thin, evidence of his aggravation, so quick, so unusual. He says, “I did, but our customs say they must physically bestow their blessings upon us before the alliance is complete. In person.”

  “Us?”

  Rama bristles, and Seth shifts so that there's more space between them. This is a flashing moment when Seth can see the aggression that waits beneath the calm of the Buddha. He's seen it before, but Rama's self-control is enviable—he is always calm and centered. Just now though, the Thai is strung like a tightrope, close to snapping under the pressure of his world. How strange, for these roles to be reversed.

  Rama says, almost offhanded, “One of you, anyway, since Caleb is dead.”

  Seth winces, the pain of that jab very real. Another piece of the shattered puzzle slips into place. Caleb spent months in Bangkok and secured an alliance for his family. He did the same thing Seth was doing. Now, Rama has left this very last detail until the deal was carved into stone. Sometimes, it's easy to ignore the fact that the Morgans have effectively fucked over the Ratchaphure in the past. It's easy to forget the sins of the fallen, until they come back around to haunt him.

  “It should be me,” Seth says. Rama turns his attention to Seth, eyebrows arched and shrewd gaze hidden. Seth keeps his eyes on the path, adds, “Emma doesn't have the experience to represent us on her own, and I won't have both of us gone from the city again. We have too much that needs attention here.”

  Rama watches the ground for a stretch, vying against the anger that rises at her name. It takes him several steps to grasp the truth in Seth's words. The Morgan king isn't trying to keep his queen from the foreigner. No, he has been fairly hands-off since their return from Mexico. But Seth is right. Didn’t Rama say it himself? Emma still has so much to learn.

  “You're right,” says Rama, “but I wasn't going to make suggestions on how to handle your empire.”

  Seth makes a quiet laugh, his shoulders shaking the slightest bit. It's an easy sound, as rare to Rama as Seth's sporadic shows of concern. Mostly, it's a reaction that says that Seth recognizes the snide tinge in the undercurrent of Rama's words. They are suddenly playing a precarious game of court.

  Seth says, “So you would let me set her up to fail instead?”

  Seth's tone is light enough, but his question is a heavy one, tricky. Rama matches the tone and the ferocity when he answers, “I never presumed you to be that foolish.”

  Seth nods. The quiet fire in Rama reminds Seth again of that first meeting, in the VIP bar of Bamboo, and the talk they had in the office. Seth had been the one raging, and when he was looking for someone to blame, he found someone he could relate to. That strange respect has carried him to this point, so that he actually feels for Rama. The pimp is hurting, once again at the hands of the Morgan family. His fortitude is admirable.

  Seth says, “You mean foolish enough to send her into a business occasion when love is involved?”

  Rama's steps slow. Seth’s words could be a low blow, but then Seth has stared down the barrel of a gun in his lover's hands. A frustrated sigh leaks from him, almost too quiet to hear.

  Seth doesn't seem bothered to match Rama’s’ pace; he just keeps his eyes forward, and a good grip on his natural grace. Despite his cousin’s current emotional trauma, a brotherly sort of concern manifests. Perhaps because Seth knows what it's like to suffer from the top, knows the cold, lonely peaks of greatness. Or maybe it's because in a world crowded by enemies and alliances, there aren’t many he can call friend.

  Rama is silent, locked in the rage that waits beneath his surface. So Seth continues, “Emma is young. She's not the same kind of young that I was. Innocence was never a natural attribute for me, or for Caleb, but she was different. My father wanted her to be different, and everyone kept her sheltered. She has changed so much since I came back, but there’s still a lot she doesn't have a clue about. So much she can’t know because she hasn’t experienced it. No one’s ever broken her heart before.”

  “Except you.”

  It's Seth's turn to tense, and he shoots a sharp look sidelong, so that Rama can see it from behind the sunglasses. It's a dangerous volley, but it's also a reminder that though Rama may wear the mark of the Morgans, his family’s assets do not belong to them to wield as they choose. At the very least, it’s a way of saying that Rama does not fear Seth as others do, that though he's been content in the background for the sake of his empire, he will not remain in the shadows forever.

  Seth's voice is nearly a growl when he says, “That's a deluded fantasy. It will never be a reality. Don’t talk to me like I'm your competition.”

  Rama's control is slipping. His brow is furrowed, and his voice is forcibly low lest it come out as a yell. He says, “You have always been my competition. She's fucking in love with you, and Caleb—it was your absence that drove him to me. Don’t talk to me like you know what that's like.”

  In another life, Seth's quick temper would be whistling like a teakettle. He'd have been ready for blows without Rama's provocation, much less still suffering him to speak. .But the anger doesn't come. Just a great welling sadness. He doesn't have ground to fight on this time, because Rama's right. Seth doesn't understand.

  Seth has always had what he wanted, often at the cost of someone else. There's no way to right that cosmic wrong, not when the cosmos hands Seth his world on a big, shiny platter.

  “I've tried my damnedest to change it,” Seth says, his voice quiet, completely absent of the fight that had risen its head for a flash. “I've told her it can’t be real. I thought you would change that. But she doesn't know what the hell she wants.”

  Rama turns to see what Seth looks like when he sounds so sad. It's the same expression from that Bamboo meeting, when Seth was a little brother searching for some vindication. Again, Rama asserts his position on the game board. He won't relent just because the mighty untouchable king has shown a little remorse.

  He says, “She knows exactly what she wants, and now she knows she can have it all, just like Morgans do. She wants to be your queen—and you’ve given her that. None of the rest of us matter. Do not forget——as if yo
u could— that I have an outsider's view and I have seen the orchestrated disaster that is your family. You fuck and fight your way through all who oppose you, and you don't care if you step on a few heads to get there. She’s just fucking like you.”

  Rage fills him, and his quick speed takes him. Seth steps in front of Rama, facing him so that the younger has to stop. Rama is tense, ready to spring or defend himself, but Seth keeps his hands in his pockets, his anger bright in his eyes. He doesn't want a fight, but his point will be heard.

  He says, “We have lost a hell of a lot to still be standing. She knows what she needs to know to survive.”

  Rama doesn't flinch, but he does pull his shades off so there can be no doubt of his conviction as he goes toe to toe with a king. Both security teams are a nervous collective behind him, but they don't move any closer.

  “And you are both haunted by the ghosts of your dead,” the Thai prince says softly. “And because of that, so am I. I took your mark for her, but all I can see when I look at it is him. The conflicted and beautiful soul that captivated me. Caleb held a piece of me when he died, and I’ll never get that back. Sometimes he possesses her, and he's all I can see in her. But with him, I always knew. I knew when he'd been out fucking women, or when work was getting to him. I knew when he was angry, when he was hungry, and I knew when he was missing you. I can't feel her like that, because she won't let me, because of what your family has done to her. And because she has given that piece of herself to you.”

  Seth flinches, looks away at a nearby tree, like a skeleton with its bare branches shaking. Skeletons, ghosts—of course they haunt him. His shoulders sag, exhausted suddenly, and he says, “What was done to her was done to all of us. She hasn't figured out how to deal with all of it. Someday she'll realize that I'll never keep that piece of her, that it's not for me. If you really do love her, you won't give up on her.”

  Rama grabs Seth's right arm to get his attention. It works. Seth's head whips around, and though his eyes are hidden, the hot warning is clear. There are very few who would be so brave as to put a hand on this Morgan. Rama's demeanor is still that precarious point between vicious calm and calculated violence. His grip is firm, though. He says, “What else do I have to give? What else would your people take from me?”