Cash: In the Underground. The one place you promised you’d never go.
He’s with Zara. Cash is her fucking date. I’ve been on edge since I left her in the lobby, got on the elevator, and immediately searched the security cameras to discover that she went down tothe Underground. Then I decided not to think about it and move on to dinner.
That lasted about three minutes because Cash wasn’t here, and maybe it was clairvoyance or just a need to control anything I could, but his absence had me vexed. It took a few messages for things to click. I started pacing the penthouse when the text mentioning cherries came through—less than a minute ago.
The family drones on in the background, none of it registering because my head is buzzing with wrath and chaos. Cash is a more suitable match for her—the right age, no KORT responsibility, not her direct supervisor. I should leave them to it.
That thought prevails for about a tenth of a second.
Motherfucker. He’s playing me. And she’s playing me. How can she not view this as crossing a fucking line? The thought of her in those goddamn leather pants and him flashing that smile that seems to cast a spell on the entire female gender has my bones bursting into flames.
“Cash needs me to take care of something. I’ll be back. Can someone tell the chefs to delay dinner by a half hour?”
“On it,” Ryker hollers as I storm out the door and into the elevator.
I’m going to fucking kill him.
By the time the elevator spits me out, I’m so hot, so engulfed in rage; I can’t see straight. I veer into the vintage library, dash to the back, and flip the light switch beside a door markedLibrarian’s Office, No Admittance. It unlocks, but when I venture inside and scan my thumb, all hell breaks loose.
The wall slides open to permit me to pass, but red and blue lights flash. I’m guessing those and the blaring alarm are my welcome. I haven’t been down here in more than a decade—a deal I made with Maddox and Cash when they took over that piece of La Lune Noire.
When I reach the entrance to the main auditorium, which is home to the majority of their asinine competitions, gaming tables, and bars, my employees are scowling at me.
Probably because the alarm has now morphed into an animated message:Warning: Intruder. Warning: Intruder. Axel Noire is in the Underground. Please remain seated and do not panic.
Jesus fucking Christ.
It’s easy to spot them. He’s the jackass with a smug grin on his face.
And she’s the most stunning creature in existence.
He’s crowding her with his hand on her back, beneath her thick mahogany locks. My eyes ping-pong between his and the hand I want to break, until he subtly flips me off and moves it. He’s thirty-one, but I bet this is payback for that time I grounded him for a month.
The second I cruise up to the table, Cash opens his trouble-stirring mouth. “That’s a five-hundred-thousand-dollar fine, Papa Axe.”
That would be my trespassing fee, to which I agreed, assuming I’d never need to come down here unless it was to murder one of them, which meant I wouldn’t have to pay. I’m a damn fortune teller.
“It will be wired to your account within the hour, but you’ll only be alive to see it if you get the fuck away from her.”
He grabs his chest and howls, enjoying this far too much. Then he leans around me and addresses Zara, who is smothering a giggle. “If you meet a woman who will rob me blind, send her my way. Sounds like a good time.” With a pat on my chest, his affection for me slices through his smart-ass energy. “I wasn’t insulted because there is no better man than this one. But just to be clear”—he spins his finger in a circle—“this wasnotmy routine.”
Donning the same smirk he wore the entirety of his teenage years, he shakes his head at me. “Make a call. You’re late for family dinner, old man.”
Make a call.About her. About what this means. In so many ways, I already have, whether Zara sees that or not.
Once Cash is gone, I let my gaze latch to the emerald beauties that have me so untethered. “Let’s go.”
“You ruined my date,” she responds, not budging.
My jaw and fists clench with white-hot ire. “Do not call whatever the fuck this was with Cash a date again.”
“Fine. It wasn’t a date, and it definitely wasn’t dinner.” She folds her arms, resting them on the table, which affords me a glorious view of the swell of her breasts. “All you Noires like to steal my snacks, so I’m too hungry to do this with you.”
I might be losing my mind because the thought of him watching her eat a cherry has me fully prepared to throttle him—a man I raised and love and would die for. Even in my head, it sounds ridiculous. And yet also completely rational when I recall how sexy she looks, consuming them.
“You’ll eat with me, Zara, as soon as you get your sweet ass off that chair.”
Her lips pop open with either lust or outrage, and there is irrefutably a snarky response readying to fly out of that gorgeous mouth that will make it clear which direction she’s leaning, but I don’t have the patience to wait for it while the intruder alarm is still blaring and my employees are gaping at us.
