I sigh. I wish I could believe him, because he really does sound believable. The problem is, I know he’s lying, because I have proof of his involvement in the coup. Not a smoking-gun proof, where I’ll be killing the two of them tonight. But proof enough to strip them both of their territories and council privileges within the Syndicate.
AndIhave proof becauseQuentinhas proof.
“Well?” Gideon murmurs quietly, turning his back on the two men to speak quietly with me. “They’re both Syndicate lifers. Neither of them is going to spill anything about anyone they may have been working with. You might as well cut their throats now.”
I’d love to take his advice. But I can’t kill two senior members without a smoking gun andnotexpect it to turn into a massive problem.
“Well?” Jameson spits venomously. “You gonna kill us, young kinglet?”
“I have a better idea.” I eye them both coldly. “You’re both hereby stripped of your territories, leadership positions and council privileges, until further notice.”
Jameson balks, his face going ashen. Gordon just grits his teeth.
I glance to Sebastian. “Cut them loose.” I turn back to them. “You’re both welcome to stay the night. There are guest quarters for you, and I’ll provide a doctor and fresh clothes, if you wish.”
“Fuck you,” Jameson snaps, rubbing his wrists as Seb cuts him free.
Gordon just bows his head. “I thank you for your justness and mercy, Marquis,” he says quietly and without malice. “I would be an honor to stay under your roof tonight.”
I smile sadly.
Gordon is a good man. I wish he wasn’t involved in this shit. But unfortunately, proof doesn’t lie.
“CanI assume you’ve been playing Dungeon with the other boys?”
I smile as I step through the hidden passageway in the bookshelf of my study and see the brunette with the pretty blue eyes.
“You’re early.”
Sabine shrugs, grinning at me as she wheels over. I meet her halfway, dropping down on my haunches to give her a hug.
“Pfft. I was bored with Paris.”
I snort. “Really.”
“Vraiment.” She winks. “Trust me,” she purrs in her mild Parisian accent, “a little Paris goes a long way.”
I chuckle as I walk over to the bar cart near the windows. “Are you drinking?”
“Oui. Whiskey,merci.”
I pour us each a splash and walk back to her wheelchair, handing her a glass and then clinking mine against it. “So…what do you think?” I arch my brows and then raise my eyes to the room around us.
She whistles as she looks up at the gilded ceiling. “Mon Dieu,thishouse! Fuck!” She laughs and shakes her head, running her manicured nails through her dark chestnut hair. “I mean, I’d seen pictures, but… This is a castle, Vaughn.”
I chuckle. “Well, they do say a man’s home is his castle.”
“And you, as always, take things so literally.” She shakes her head and takes a sip of her drink. “Seriously, the house isgorgeous. Andmercifor the elevator,” she adds, looking away as she takes another sip.
“I considered ordering Seb and Carson to be your designated mode of transportation whenever you needed to go up and down any stairs.”
She laughs. “I’m sure they’d have loved that. But the elevator is probably easier.”
I grin, lifting my glass. “Fuck, it’s going to be great having you here.”
I gowayback with Sabine Lourde, almost as far as Seb, Carson, and Gideon. When I was a kid, her father, Stellan, became a mentor to me. He was in the upper echelons of the Syndicate, and I guess he saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself yet.
He nurtured it. He showed me the ropes and a path up through the ranks so that I didn't spend my whole life as a low-level thug or street enforcer. He became like a father to me—more than my actual dad ever was.
