Page 94 of Brutal Knight

It was too late to rescue him, as they'd probably extracted the most vital details already, and his life wasn't worth starting a war for. They would kill him as soon as they were done with him, and that was good enough for us.

In the meantime, I was under attack.

Someone had cleared out my bank accounts and ruined my credit. All my credit cards were frozen. I had a few of my experts working furiously to trace the perpetrator, but if they couldn’t recover the money, I was fucked. I had cash in hidden accounts but was hesitant about using them in case I was being watched.

Fortunately, they hadn’t gotten to anything associated with the Kings but I was down to borrowing money from Coulter.

This person had also sold photos of me having sex with several people to the media. This person clearly had a score to settle with me, as they’d tracked down women I’d been with years ago, looking for every sex tape possible. The photos and videos were years old, but I was splayed out in the media like a man-whore.

It was something I didn’t usually care about, sex was something that should be celebrated, not shamed, but I was worried what Tatiana would think.

As, most importantly, she had disappeared from my bed, from my house, from my fucking life.

Out of everything happening to me, that was the worst.

I'd woken up to an empty house, furious that Phee hadn't seen her go. Both her and Rook weren't answering my texts, except to reassure me that she wasn't back to using. I was officially shut out.

I'd opened myself up to her and she'd shut me down.

Clearly, my mom knew my life better than myself, the memory of her voice unfurling into prophecy:You're rotten to the core, Knight. No woman will ever love you.

She was right, because not evenshehad ever loved me.

I'd been surrounded by them my whole life. Heir to the vast Cadwell estate and best friend to the King prince. My bank accounts were bigger than the GDP of some small countries. All this drew the attention of the women surrounding me.

They loved the expensive gifts, the social status, and the doors that opened when they were by my side.

And yet, I knew that each and every one of them would leave me in a second if another, better, offer came by. I knew it by their wandering eyes when we were out. That ever present look on their face--expectant, greedy, and always looking for somethingmore.

Their look of adoration was fake, even if their orgasms weren't.

There had only been one women in my life who'd liked me for me, and I'd betrayed her in the worst way possible. And now, she was done with me.

I’d decided to give her what she wanted. Our standing meeting was tomorrow night. I would go there and say my goodbyes, then let her move on with her life.

"They're here." Coulter was suddenly by my side. We were at Prohibition, one of the King's most exclusive clubs, where we were meeting with someone from the Fernandez cartel. They’d gone through the channels to put out an official complaint about me.

Coulter placed a hand on my shoulder. "Look, I'm not sure what the hell is going on, but I have your back in there, okay?"

I nodded, grunting my thanks.

After a short squeeze on my shoulder, he turned, and I followed him to the elevator, where he used his special key card to take us up to the VIP section.

I entered the large, open floor, the sound of the dance music below still loud enough here that it vibrated through my body. We passed by a long row of a deep, royal blue seating filled with notable guests, including a popular singer, a talk show host, and a group of high powered Japanese business men. Hot girls were rushing around, taking drink orders in sexy, royal blue cocktail dresses and four-inch heels.

One of them winked at me as we passed by. A blonde with large tits and a tiny waist, holding a tray filled with empty glasses. At her look of interest, my eyes glazed over and I stared past her, focusing instead on the men waiting for us.

Four were sitting, legs apart, their elbows on the back of the sofa, a look of disgust on their faces. They looked like a cliché boy band, with matching black jeans, white or black tank tops, and buzzed hair cuts.

In the middle was the man clearly in charge. With dark eyes and long, black hair in two braids over his shoulders, feathers tied in the end, his gaze roamed over me the instant I came into his view, sizing me up. He wore a black leather vest, black jeans, and had a long scar across his shoulder that added to his menacing look. He was Ahanu, the man chosen to represent the cartel in these circumstances.

Coulter and I sat across from them. Their table was already cluttered with empty Corona bottles, squeezed lime slices, and white, sugary powder flaked across the table.

“How can I help you?” Coulter got right to business.

Ahanu studied him for a long moment, not speaking. Then, leaning forward, his eyes fixed on me. “Several nights ago, we discovered the dead body of Dario Walshman.”

"Who is that," Coulter asked, "and what does that have to do with us?"

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