Page 10 of High Stakes

My queen always gets what she wants in the end.

4

HAYDEN

“You fucking killed my twin brother,” Declan growls and slams his palms down against the tabletop. His entire body is quivering with barely restrained rage. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet between your eyes and burn this whole fucking place to the ground.” His voice is harsh and shaking with emotion.

Mr. O’leary leans back in his chair with a smirk curling up the corner of his mouth. “That was an unfortunate turn of events, though entirely avoidable if you all had done. Your. Job,” he sneers at Declan and crosses his right ankle over his left knee, the picture of ease. “If you had just listened and your brother had not decided to play the hero…” His voice trails off and he waves the rest of the sentence off with his hand.

“We were not privy to all the information of the job,” I snarl and fold my arms across my chest. “That’s just sloppy work, Samuel, and you know it.” My tone is low and condescending. I have no more patience for this fuckery. I want this job done. Now.

“No,” Samuel disagrees with a slight chuckle. “That’s keeping my options open and not putting all my chips in one pot.”

I grind my teeth together and my eyes trail across the room, taking in the muscle lining the wall behind him. I wonder how many of his men I can drop before they kill me. My guess would be probably 3 of the 5. My eyes focus on the large man with olive skin, rippling muscles, and a mop of dreadlocks tied into a bun on the top of his head. His hand rests lightly on the gun hanging from his hip and his fingers twitch every few moments. That fucker would be too trigger-happy and would get me as soon as I started raining bullets.

Declan pushes off the desk and starts pacing the room like a caged animal. In this small office room, it feels like we’re both caged and ready to go feral. Well, one of us is already there. “The deal is off,” Declan states curtly without looking at Samuel. “We’re done.”

“You’re done, Mr. Kennedy, when I say you’re done,” Samuel says with a dangerously calm voice. “You signed the contract. The job is done when Em is dead. I’d hate to see you lose another asset.”

“Is that a threat?” I growl. My chest tightens and my arms and hands begin to vibrate with tension. I look at Declan and note the stiffness in his shoulders.

Come on. Just give the signal, Big Guy, and we’ll blow a hole in this operation. I’m ready.

Declan meets my eyes and shakes his head slowly, a deep sigh leaving his lips. He knows that I will follow him anywhere, including straight to Hell.

“No,” the Irishman says, maintaining his calm demeanor. “That’s a promise. Another failure will result in further consequences.” He nods at two of the men standing against the back wall. “Either start killing or start digging your own graves,” he calls after us as the brutes escort us out of the building.

“I fucking hate him,” I grumble as I climb onto my bike and pull the helmet over my head, hiding my face from Declan.

“I’m going to kill him,” he vows and kicks his bike into gear. He shoots off with a roar of the engine without bothering to look back to see if I am following. He knows I always have his back.

As we weave through traffic my mind races, blurring around me like the lines on the asphalt. I think back to the conversation with Hector the other day at Emelia’s house. We had no idea that her past was so twisted.

“I’m heading to do some surveillance on the Black Crown.” Declan’s voice echoes through my helmet.

I look up to see him hang a hard right and head toward the casino. “I’m going to check the security feeds at home. Let me know if you need anything,” I respond and hit the gas, speeding forward.

In reality, I’m probably just going to stare at the little squares on my computer until Emelia comes home, and then I’m going to lose every ounce of self-control and beat off to her while she takes a shower, or makes dinner, or just goes to sleep. It never matters what she does. Just watching her and remembering what she feels like is always enough to get me so hard that I can’t focus on anything other than relieving the pressure.

My tires squeal as I stop in the garage and close the door behind me. My feet carry me through the house and toward my room without a second thought, but I stop short. I look at the closed door to Silas’s bedroom. My stomach twists and my heart jerks painfully in my chest. I typically try to avoid making eye contact with the offending piece of wood, but it seems to be calling me today. Tempting me to enter the forbidden territory.

I push the door open before I can talk myself out of this stupid idea and step into his room. I’m immediately hit by the smell of him. His cologne and hair gel invade my senses and I drop to my knees in the middle of the floor, gasping for breath. I was not expecting grief to knock the air from my lungs, especially after all this time.

Being in this space and surrounded by the essence of him is enough to rip a broken gasp from my lips. Tears stream down my cheeks as I pull myself up and sit on the edge of his still unmade bed. I look around the room, trying to decide what the fuck is wrong with me. His clothes are still folded in a laundry basket in the closet, his bathroom is still in a state of disarray, and his gaming setup is still spread across his desk.

My fingers flex against his black duvet as I look at the pile of dirty clothes in the corner of the room. Before I can talk myself out of it, I stalk over and grab one of his band t-shirts off the top of the pile and let the door click shut behind me as I head to my room.

I bring the fabric to my nose and inhale deeply, basking in the scent that is uniquely Silas. My chest tightens painfully as I blink away another wave of tears and inhale again, trying to commit the smell to memory. I only have a small pile of shirts to go through, so I’m going to need to make them last because I am not resorting to using his boxers. Even I have a line, and sweaty ballsack is it.

The light of my computer screen brightens as I click the mouse, bringing the security feeds to life. Four small squares come to life, revealing the inside of Emelia’s house. The bottom right square shows movement in the kitchen. “Well, hello, Angel,” I whisper and enlarge the image to reveal her cooking eggs on the stovetop. Her demon dog sits dutifully by her feet, watching the door intently, ready to maul anyone who dares open that door without permission.

I smile slightly, because I would be doing the exact same thing if I was there with her now. The dog tried to kill us, but I have to admire the loyalty there. I kick off my shoes and stretch out on the bed, placing the shirt on the pillow beside me. My eyes track her movements as she eats, cleans up, and then heads to get ready for a shower. I wonder if her thoughts are plaguedby vicious memories like mine are. If she fights her demons just as vehemently as I do mine.

My beautiful angel of death. It seems like her darkness goes so much deeper than she lets on. It’s rooted into her foundation, obtained by going through trauma that no one has any business experiencing. My heart clenches at the thought of a younger version of her standing in the blazing inferno of her home, surrounded by death and destruction.

Before I can stop it, a vision of orange and red flames fills my mind. It’s so vivid that I can almost feel the heat radiating off the fire; almost hear the shouts and gunfire echoing through the halls.

A fire in a hotel.

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