Fallen Empire (Dirty Empire Book 4) Read online

  I jolt at the blast of a gunshot and my blood turns cold at the deathly silence that follows.

  Did he just kill her?

  Am I next in line?

  Will I be screaming and begging for my life soon, too?

  Something tells me pleading with this guy would be useless.

  I slip my robe back on and pull it tight around my body for comfort as terror threatens to overwhelm me. And I focus on positive thoughts: that Gabriel will find me.

  He’ll save me.

  I can’t say how much time passes before I hear heels dragging across sand, shortly before boots climb the metal steps. My pulse races in my ears as the mobile door creaks open. “Gimme a minute. I was in the middle of the other job when you called,” my kidnapper says, his voice gruff and annoyed. “Yeah, yeah… you know I don’t normally cater to this shit.” He talking to someone on the phone. Cupboard doors slam. “Okay, shoot…. Yup. As soon as I hang up with you.” A heavy sigh and curse follow, and then footfalls approach slowly along the hallway.

  I scramble to stand and tie my robe tight around me, my bladder threatening to loosen from my building nerves. I dart to the far corner.

  Is this where he drags me out to his shed to show me his gun?

  I’ll fight him, if I must.

  A series of latches and locks flip and turn and then the door to my room swings open and the man steps through the doorway. My knees buckle at the sight of the beige butcher’s apron covering his torso, drenched in fresh blood.

  He has an old flip phone pressed to his ear. “You got ten seconds,” he barks, before closing the distance and holding it out toward me.

  I swallow my terror. “Who is it—”

  “Talk to him or don’t, I don’t give a shit, but stop wasting my time!”

  There’s only one him it could be. I snatch the phone from the man’s grip. “Hello?”

  “Mercy. Thank God.” Gabriel’s raspy voice fills my ear. “Are you okay?”

  Hot tears stream down my cheeks, unbidden. “I don’t know?” I’m being held captive by a man wearing an apron covered in what I assume is human blood. I’m far from okay. But, as terrified as I am, a small bloom of hope swells in my chest. Gabriel has already tracked me down. I’m closer to getting out of here than I was two minutes ago.

  “Has Bane hurt you in any way?”

  So that’s his name. Gabriel knows this guy. Then he must also have figured out that his father is behind this. I swallow and shake my head, then remember that he can’t see me. “No.”

  “Okay, that’s….” His heavy sigh screams of relief. “Don’t be scared. He’s not going to lay a finger on you. I promise.”

  The man—Bane—eyes me like a coiled cobra, looking ready to strike. I don’t share Gabriel’s confidence. “Please get me out of here,” I plead.

  “I swear, babe, as soon as I can figure out where you are, I’m coming to get you, and no one will ever do this to us again.” That last part he says through gritted teeth. He’s furious. Good. But there’s also something else lingering there in his voice, an emotion I’ve never sensed from Gabriel before.

  Fear.

  He’s afraid.

  And that terrifies me.

  “We’re somewhere in the desert—”

  Bane snatches the phone from my grasp, spearing me with a warning glare before pressing it to his ear. As if I could tell Gabriel anything useful to tracking me down. “You wanted proof of life and you got it,” he barks. “Now I got things to finish up for your old man.” He scowls at the wall. I can’t hear what Gabriel is saying but the deep, angry hum of his voice carrying through the receiver is surely laced with harsh threats. “What do you think I am, a babysitter? You’re in no position to be ordering me around.” He laughs. “I work for your father, not you. And no one tells me what to do. She’ll stay unharmed as long as she isn’t a pain in my ass.” He spears me with a glare. “And you’ll hear from her again when I feel like it. Maybe I won’t feel like it. Eat shit.” He jabs the end call button with his thumb in a poor replacement for slamming a receiver down. “Call him every hour on the hour so he can talk to you,” he mutters under his breath. “Who the hell does he think he is.”

  Is that what Gabriel demanded? It brings me an unexpected shroud of comfort, but it’s quickly consumed by the reality that Gabriel is legitimately afraid for me.

  “These Eastons and all their fucking requirements. I’ve about had enough of them.”

  I swallow my trepidation and try to seize an opportunity. “Sounds like you should make a deal with Gabriel then. You know he’ll pay you to let me go. A lot. More than what his father is paying you to keep me.” Would he?

  “That’s the problem with your generation. No loyalty. You’ll flip on a dime.” Bane shakes his head. “I’ll say one thing though, Vlad was right, that guy sure is riled up about you. Don’t know what’s so special….” His narrow eyes drag over my robe, down to my bare ankles, where they stall a moment.

  I shrink back, afraid where those thoughts are veering. I don’t see any hint of lust burning in those dark eyes, but I don’t see much of anything, which is far more alarming.

  Thankfully his gaze shifts, wandering around my room, stalling on the empty water bottle. He purses his lips. “Don’t get any ideas,” he warns and marches out.

  Leaving the door wide open.

  In my mind, I’m sprinting down the narrow hall, shoving his wiry frame aside and escaping. But my body is frozen in place, my gut telling me that plan won’t end as I’m picturing it. Besides, wandering in the vast desert in bare feet and a terry-cloth robe—in August—would be a guaranteed death sentence.

  He returns ten seconds later, a small brown leather suitcase clattering behind him. In his other hand is a fresh bottle of water. He tosses them both to the floor. “Here.”

  I eye the Louis Vitton branding on the suitcase. “Whose is it?” Someone with money, clearly.

  “Don’t matter. She won’t be needing any of it anymore.”

  He must be talking about the woman who just finished screaming into the end of a gun barrel. Is that her blood that Bane’s wearing? It must be.

  Because if it’s not hers, then who else has he murdered today?

  With a thin, vicious smile, he leaves, this time pulling the door shut behind him. The multitude of latches click in place.

  5

  Gabriel

  I’ve always preferred arriving in Sin City at night, its lure of flashy signs and bright lights an intoxicating start to any visit. Tonight though, as Farley pulls into the Mage’s laneway after the arduous trip to and from Fulcort, all I can think about is the fear that drenched Mercy’s voice.

  “Fucking find her!” I hiss, squeezing my phone to try and release some of this never-ending tension that’s gripped me since Mercy was kidnapped.

  “I’m trying, Gabe! I told you, it isn’t that easy!” Stanley says. “I don’t know which burner Vlad’s using to contact him but it ain’t any that you gave him, and Bane must be using an encryption on his end to stop a trace. I can’t find any record of where he’s been living. He’s a ghost, past his military record.”

  I’ve already called the P.I. a dozen times today, hounding him to break every law and pay every shady fuck he knows whatever they want in order to track down this lair where Bane’s holding her. If I had to guess, it’s remote and well fortified. I doubt our father knows where it is. But someone must. That it’s in the desert is disconcerting. That’s a lot of ground to cover.

  I know Stanley’s trying and he’s one of the best at what he does, but even that isn’t good enough right now.

  My phone rang sixty-seven minutes after I passed through Fulcort’s gates, seven minutes after the one-hour deadline I gave my father, as I was toiling with the idea of calling Donny and arranging for Chops to pay a special late-night visit to my father’s cell. Dad made me wait just long enough to reinforce who’s in control here, and it sure as hell ain’t me.

  The call with her was so quick, I had no time to think, to say what I wanted to say. She was there and then she was gone, and I was left dealing with that prick, spewing threats that I knew wouldn’t persuade him in the least.

  Please get me out of here.

  Hearing her plead for me to rescue her nearly broke me. My father might as well be holding my heart at knifepoint. He’s not going to give Bane the release order any time soon, not when he can force me to do his bidding, not when taking Mercy from me ensures he’ll stay cozy and warm in his cell. I’m his puppet now. I can’t escape his life plan for me anymore, not as long as he holds what I care about most in this world.

  Well played, father.

  The only way out of this mess is to find Mercy. We find her, and Vlad Easton is going to learn a lesson of his own.

  A final lesson, one I’ll happily deliver myself without an ounce of guilt tied to it.

  He wanted to see my angry side? Well, he’s damn well got it now.

  “What can I do to help you find that son of a bitch?” I ask.

  “Get me the burner Vlad’s been calling Bane on, for starters. Do that, and I might be able to track down his location.”

  Easier said than done. I could get one of the guards to toss his cell—something we pay weekly to ensure never happens—but Dad’s a master at playing both offensive and defensive. Who knows what fail-safes he has set up in the likelihood that he anticipates that? Bane could move Mercy.

  He could torture her.

  He could kill her.

  “Keep looking for them.” I end the call as Farley rolls up to the hotel valet. The staff rushes forward but he doesn’t unlock the door for them yet.

  “You wanna go in through the garage and take the service elevator up instead? Avoid people? I can park us,”
he offers.

  “Why not? Everyone else and their damn mother is using that elevator to get in,” I mutter. But no, that’s not how we operate and, with that agent and her pals watching…. “Nah. Status quo is the way to go.” Strolling into the lobby like I don’t have a care in the world.

  And yet I can’t seem to will my body to move, because pretending that everything is fine when rage and panic are coursing through my veins at a steady thrum is impossible.

  He hesitates. “We’re gonna find her, Gabe.”

  “You better fucking hope so.” I level him with a look that says the fault for Mercy being kidnapped sits squarely on his shoulders, when I know it’s not Farley’s fault that this happened, or Moe’s or even my father’s—though he is the catalyst.

  I’ve done this to Mercy. Dragging her into my life has put her in a world of danger that I can’t get her out of.

  And if anything happens to her….

  I grit my teeth against the hollow ache in my chest and slide on a mask of calm. “Let’s go.” It’s time I enlightened my brother on exactly how far down this dark hole my father has hurled us.

  Our elevator doors part to the sound of blaring music. I pause a moment to take in the horde of people milling around the penthouse. A few, I recognize. Most, I’m sure I’ve never seen before in my life. None of them should be here, but Caleb only knows how to do Vegas one way, and this is it. When Farley’s detail at the bottom of the elevator informed us of our guests, I wasn’t entirely surprised.

  I can only assume Ross’s body has long since been cleaned up. Caleb is reckless but he’s no idiot.

  I clench my jaw to keep my temper at bay—the Easton boys always like a good party after all—and shift past a group of women, brushing aside the clawed hand that reaches for me without acknowledging its owner. Maybe I know some of them—been inside a few—but none of them matter. No one matters anymore but Mercy.

  “Where is he?” I scan the terrace beyond the wall of glass, but I don’t see Caleb amongst the small crowd.

  “My guess would be in there.” Farley nods toward the games room. The doors are cracked open, the sound of female laughter carrying out.

  “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” I charge in. Sure enough, the location for a triple homicide only twenty-four hours ago is now the host of a lively game of strip poker between Caleb, Merrick, Vincent, and four women who probably haven’t seen their twentieth birthday and are sorely losing.

  The air reeks of booze and perfume and sin.

  “Hey, bro!” Caleb hollers, as if nothing’s the matter. “You made good time! You gonna join the next round?” He’s lost nothing more than the cufflinks off his shirt, though the material is rumpled, the buttons misaligned as if hastily fastened. Merrick and Vince are similarly dressed—fully, but dishevelled. Merrick, at least, grips his card hand, seemingly intent on the game, but Vince isn’t intent on anything but the woman perched on his lap, wearing only her heels.

  “Am I gonna join the next round?” I echo my brother’s question, my voice unnaturally calm. Caleb’s eyes are glossy and the table’s surface in front of him is coated in white powder, which tells me what he’s been up to all afternoon. That and the countless torn condom wrappers crumpled on the black marble floor, and his belt and shoes strewn near the leather couches. This game is just another act in the night, likely with fresh women after he finished with the last ones.

  This is just Caleb being Caleb, I remind myself, as I reach down to untangle the skimpy red lace thong that somehow looped over my shoe.

  But, while I’ve had to contend with our father and his laundry list of murder and abduction requests, and Mercy is trapped in the desert with a psychopath who could write a book on the art of torture, Caleb’s been getting high and sticking his dick in wherever he can find room.

  That’s the last thing I need him to be doing right now.

  “Everyone, get the fuck out now!” One look at Farley, who knows better than to stall, and he’s moving swiftly out the door. In seconds, the music cuts off and disgruntled voices buzz as people are ushered out.

  But in this room, no one moves.

  “Did you not hear me! Now!” I’m seconds from pulling out my gun for a little show and scare to get them moving.

  “Sorry, ladies. Gabe’s got his panties in a bunch tonight.” Caleb throws his cards to the table in an exaggerated display of annoyance. “That’s two times today you’ve made me toss a royal flush.”

  The women climb out of their seats languidly, wearing pouts as they collect the few articles of clothing they arrived in before sashaying past me, offering everything from wariness to open disdain, as if I dared ruin their night.

  The Perris don’t even feign to wonder if I mean them, too. They stay settled like the partners in crime that they are.

  My hand twitches at my side, the Glock tucked into my pants weighty, the guilt on my conscience more so. What would they say if they knew my father ordered them dead? Despite everything, I like these two. They’re a lot like us, surviving in a world they were forced into and a path they’re trying to break free of.

  But if it’s a choice between them and Mercy, I’ll end them with a pull of my trigger, no questions asked.

  First though, I need to fully consider my options and to do that, I need to have a sober conversation with my brother, who’s currently coked out. “Are you a fucking idiot?” I stare at Caleb before pointedly looking around the room. I shouldn’t have to elaborate.

  “Actually, I’m pretty damn smart, if I do say so myself.” He reaches for his rocks glass and takes a big swig. It’s whiskey tonight instead of his usual vodka. “No one’s gonna wonder why the room is pristinely clean, almost like a professional was in here.”

  He means a forensics team. Maybe my brother isn’t a complete moron. Despite the relatively small mess made last night, the cleaner was in here for hours and was confident by the end of it that every trace of blood and brain matter was gone. At least now if the feds find a reason to search this place, they’ll discover plenty of bodily fluid, but none of it criminal.

  Still. The cocaine residue, the bevy of young female strangers who are probably in Vegas with fake IDs…, all we need is to get busted on a technicality, and Agent Lewis sounds like she’d be the type to play that game.

  Caleb slaps the table in front of him. “What happened in Fulcort? You didn’t call to update me.”

  It’s going to be a long night. “Come get me when they’ve thoroughly swept for bugs and you’ve sobered up. We have shit to discuss.” With that, I head for my room.

  The city below us bustles with life on this scorching August night, but up here on our terrace, the air is stagnant and mood somber.

  “I’ve really gotta stop drinking.” Caleb rubs his hands over his face. “For a second there, I thought you said Dad blew up our plane.”

  “That’s because that’s what I said.”

  Caleb stares at me in disbelief. “So, you’re saying our father tried to kill us.”

  “No, he just wanted to teach us a lesson.” I suck back a gulp of whatever Farley handed me in an attempt to cut some of the tension from my spine. An impossible task.

  “A lesson. He wanted to teach us a lesson. He fucking murdered our best friends.”

  “And the crew,” I remind him.

  Caleb paces the length of the bar, his palm dragging along the smooth surface as he processes this news. But all I can think about is Mercy perched on that stool yesterday in her slinky electric-blue dress, its hem barely covering her thigh. I first laid eyes on her like that, right before I slipped her graduation gift on her finger—the diamond ring that’s now sitting on the nightstand where she left it for the night, along with a silver bracelet and her phone.

  The towel on the hook is bone-dry, but one of the robes is missing.

  Bane was probably waiting for her when she stepped out of the bathroom. He didn’t even let her get dressed.

  “Exactly what lesson were we supposed to learn from this?” Caleb asks through gritted teeth. As I expected, he’s seething.

  “To watch our backs. We’re too complacent.”

  He continues his route around the bar, whatever cocaine-induced high he was floating on earlier evaporated. “And Stanley told you this morning, but I’m only hearing about this now.” His voice rises with irritation.