He’d never grown out of the spoiled brat syndrome—just like Daniel.
I didn’t know the full story of how my father became heir, but my mother had dropped hints. Emma, too—when she was alive. Cut was many things, but he’d told some of his darkest secrets to Emma, knowing they’d die with her with no repercussions.
Livid rage heated my veins, better than any heater.
Now, he’ll pay.
And I knew exactly how I’d do it.
Pulling out my phone, I sent a message to Nila.
Unknown Number:I love you with every breath and heartbeat. Stay true to yourself. Trust me. You’re strong enough; you’re brave enough. You’re my inspiration to end this. Don’t give up on me, Nila. Two days and it’s over.
I didn’t wait for a reply. Waiting would drive me crazy and horrid conclusions would consume me. I had to trust that Jasmine would keep Nila safe and allow me to do what was needed.
Reaching into the duffel, I pulled out the little black address book I’d kept hidden in my room. I’d given Flaw directions on where to retrieve it when he collected me. An address book was archaic nowadays with phones and computers, but I’d never been more thankful for old-fashioned practices.
I had no clue where my old phone was. This was my last record.
Flicking through the dog-eared pages, I sighed with relief, grateful for contacts I could rely on. Men I’d met and were loyal to me, not my father. Men who were ruthless in their own right. Men who could help me win against Cut and his legalities.
My eyes skipped over numbers for acquaintances I’d met on smuggling routes. Outlaws and pioneers, tanker captains and bribed coastguards.
I might have a need for them in the future, but not for this.
I had one man in mind.
There it is.
Arthur ‘Kill’ Killian, Pure Corruption MC.
I doubted many heirs to an English estate would have the personal contact of a president of an American motorcycle club.
But, thank fuck, I did.
Inputting the number, I pressed call on the phone and held it to my ear.
The line crackled, lacking a proper signal in the woods—struggling to connect Buckinghamshire to Florida.
The ringing stopped, followed by a loud screech. “You’ve reached Kill.”
My hand tightened around the phone. “Hawk calling.”
A pause, followed by some shuffling. “Hang on. Let me get somewhere private.”
“Sure.”
I waited for faint voices to fade; Killian came back on the line. “What’s up?”
“I need your help. Do you have trusted brothers in the UK?”
“I might. Why?”
“I need your help overthrowing someone. Give me some men, don’t ask questions, and our alliance will be cemented for whatever you need in the future. Diamonds, smuggling—you name it. It’s yours.”
Now wasn’t the time to mention that when I was in power, I planned on ceasing that side of the business. Diamonds to me were covered in blood and death. I wanted no part in it.
Silence for a moment.
