Blackbeard?The broken nose and two bruising eyes make that nickname even more fitting. I stifle a chuckle even though my veins are still boiling with rage. This place is so fucking weird. I’m not sure if I want to know what the No More Competition is.
Flashing a conspiratorial smirk my way, Maddox offers me his hand. “It’s about time I got an introduction. You’ve been scarce since you started your employment, Zara.”
I can tell he’s someone that I’d like. He’s probably funny. He certainly seems to be the kind of guy who leaves mayhem in his wake, and I’ve admittedly not had enough of that in my twenty-nine years. Mercy told me some wonderful things about his wife, Tessa, but I’ve yet to meet her. Unfortunately, I’m not in the mood for niceties.
“Well, I wish I could say it’s a pleasure.” I shake his hand, firm and brief, before I throw my arms out to showcase the interrupters of my morning. “But as you can see, it hasn’t been the warmest welcome. I was just trying to go for a morning run.”
He hitches one shoulder. “Beating the shit out of these guys was probably a lot more exhilarating, but don’t worry; I’m gonna get you a damn good workout. Come with me.”
All my muscles tighten. I appreciate his levity, but being held captive at his establishment is not something I’m going to laugh off.
Scanning his professional attire, I shake my head in resignation. “You aren’t really dressed for it, I wasn’t looking fora running partner today, and I agreed to lay out the other two guards before I left, but fine.”
The first guard—who I will now be referring to as the snitch because I’m guessing he summoned Maddox—scoffs. The last and smartest guy keeps his mouth shut.
A sound that would certainly qualify as a guffaw bellows from Maddox. “Shit. You’re gonna be fun. I certainly won’t be running off property today. I’ve got a morning date with my wife.” He waggles his eyebrows, like we’re old friends. “But I’ll take you to someone who can sort this out.”
“There is nothing to sort out.” I pluck my weapons off the ground, tucking them back in their designated spots, as I contemplate bolting. “This is another fucked-up power play from your brother.”
“Oh, that much I guessed.” He lights up with a grin that is downright demented. “And like I said, I’m taking you to someone who can sort this out. Your morning workout was disrupted. What do you say we crash Papa Axe’s?”
Now that could be entertaining.
With a brisk perusal of the poor guards who doubted my abilities, I flick my focus back to Maddox and let my lips quirk with a morsel of mirth. “Do I get to throat-punch him?”
“Christ, I’d fucking enjoy that.” He bites back another guffaw and flings a demand at the snitch. “Get these princesses patched up.”
Once I agree to follow, he guides me into an elevator and then through some passageways in the walls, and the 1920s Prohibition vibe comes alive. The mostly brick corridors are lit only by sconces, and maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear there’s a faint scent of smuggled booze from a century ago.
The entire jaunt, Maddox flicks a butterfly knife around with admirable skill. He navigates the path with ease, barely payingattention to where he’s headed. It all looks the same to me, but I do my best to back-pocket subtle variances as we go.
“So, what’d you do?” he finally asks.
“Apparently, I dared to leave.”
He arches a menacing brow, never losing his balisong rhythm. “You know that’s not what I’m asking. And you also know we don’t trap most of our employees, members, guests—or whatever the fuck you are this week—at the resort. So, I’ll ask again. What did you do to warrant the special treatment?”
“In all honesty, I haven’t done anything …” I let that hang there for a laden pause before adding, “Yet.”
He stops at a screen, scans his retina, and nudges a hidden door on the opposite wall open. But there, he freezes. “I like you, Zara. I don’t fucking trust you, but … I think you’ll be good for him.”
Since I’m being treated like an assassin with a sinister plan against them, I don’t pretend to be anything else. “I’m not here to be good for anyone.”
“Noted.” He stuffs his knife in his pocket and ushers me inside to a tight spiral staircase.
This is by far the oddest place I’ve ever been—the people, the behavior, the myriad of clandestine routes. I have no clue where I am, which is unquestionably part of their plan. I’d have a hell of a time escaping anyone here.
We end up at another scan, in front of another hidden entrance. This time, when he pushes the wall open, we emerge in a massive gym that has countless machines, acrobatic stations, and a less covert door near a wall of windows.
But there is only one rat.
Axel Noire—the formidable, sharp-witted, glasses-wearing suit who is king of the underworld and the author of my torment—is clad in a tight navy T-shirt that clings to every ridge of his physique and running pants that hide absolutely nothing.There’s a shimmery sheen of sweat coating his biceps, forearms, and neck. And while I don’t have a straight-on view, when he pulls the bar down to work his lats, it’s clear that his back is chiseled.
For a split second, I forget to breathe. I forget that I’m enraged.
But then, without ever glancing in this direction, he reminds me. “You assaulted three of my guards. Did you come to finish the job, Miss West?”
“That definitely warrants a throat punch,” Maddox murmurs beside me, his arms and ankles crossed as he braces himself against the threshold, ready for a show.
