Page 9 of Graveyards & Greed

He handed me a glass and held his up. “Here’s to creating our own justice.” I clinked my glass against his and took a sip. Damn it, Icould notstart liking this man.

Chapter 4

Drakos

My leather chair creaked as I leaned back, gazing out at the downtown Las Vegas skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling office windows. Warmth shimmered in the distance, causing a hazy, muted glow in the evening light as my mind drifted to Sylvie Spade.

She’d been occupying my thoughts and taking up space in my head since we met at Titties, of all places. Even in that wig and minuscule dress, I knew she didn’t belong there. Though I did thoroughly enjoy watching her loose breasts and those long fucking legs.

There was something about her—beyond her sweet curves, unruly honey-blond hair, and that deceptive smile with those fucking dimples—that made my protective instincts go haywire and my cock rock-hard.

Swirling the scotch in my glass, I took another sip. I wanted to see her again, but a part of me argued for patience. Dinner last Friday night had been enjoyable, if much too short. But we’d started texting, and her prickly little jabs always made me grin.

I pulled out my phone and read through our latest texts.

Drakos: The painting you so generously gifted me is compellingly hideous

Sylvie: I know, right?! That’s why it reminded me of you. And “compellingly hideous?” Who talks like that?

Drakos: So you’re saying I’m well-spoken?

Sylvie: I’m saying “just be yourself” isn’t always good advice

My lip quirked as my gaze drifted to the painting that now hung behind my office door. The garish rendition of Dante'sInfernolooked like someone had painted it on an acid trip. The damned souls writhed in an unfortunate combination of neon orange and red paint, and I swore their twisted faces changed expressions every time I glanced at it. It was hideous and disturbing, yet it hung on my office wall.

The vintage copy ofThe Picture of Dorian Grayshe'd given me perched on the edge of my desk. I picked it up and thumbed through the pages, smirking at her subtle jabs. Based on her margin notes, she thought I was good-looking, a bit evil, and had an overinflated ego.

Ivan and Xander walked into my office. When Ivan shut the door, he stopped short when he noticed the painting on my wall.

“I used to think you had good taste, but this looks like something a psychotic toddler painted.” Ivan wore his typical black shirt, worn jeans, and motorcycle boots. The man looked more like a biker or mechanic, not a smart-as-fuck tech genius.

Xander stared at the monstrosity over Ivan’s shoulder. “It must have sentimental value.” He wasn’t far off. Xander’s wrinkled dress shirt hung untucked, mostly unbuttoned, and he’d rolled his sleeves up. I discreetly checked to see if he still wore shoes. Ivan poured two drinks from my bar, handed one to Xander, and walked over to peer out my window.

“I heard from Motorheads that a few bikers came into the shop. They were looking for an OutKast MC member who went missing a while back. Is he the fucker who hurt Todd?”

“Probably,” I hedged. The night I’d killed Grunge and met Sylvie, I’d gotten one of the mechanics at Motorheads to assist me. The Firm held an interest in the thriving motorcycle sales and restoration shop, and I’d worked long hours on that bike with Rick and Ray before Grunge broke in and stole it.

Xander sat in one of my client chairs and studied me. They both knew I’d eliminated the stupid prick and were waiting for me to acknowledge it. I sipped my scotch and propped my expensive leather dress shoes up on the corner of my desk.

Secrets always got out, and sooner or later they’d find proof that I’d taken out the biker. But for now, I wanted to keep that night—and Sylvie—to myself. I’d also promised her we wouldn’t tell anyone.

Ivan set his scotch down and leaned back. “We have another problem. Gideon just told me who Roman’s new intern is.”

“Why is that a problem?” I asked.

“Because her last name is Cross, and her father is Justice Cross from Arizona.”

My stomach pitched as rage edged my vision. Montgomery Cross was one of the corporate owners of the hellish boys’ ranch my partners and I were sent to as “troubled” teens. We’d been tortured and brutalized there, and if Roman wanted her as his intern, he had plans.

Xander exhaled thoughtfully. “That is a problem.”

“It gets worse,” Ivan continued. “I ran a background check on her. She lives with Sylvie Spade above the Palm Desert Oasis Mortuary, and she helps them out with funerals sometimes. If Roman is after revenge, we might end up antagonizing the House of Spades.”

Swirling the amber liquid in my glass, I swallowed it down. Xander was wrong, it wasn’t just a problem. It was a clusterfuck.

Chapter 5

Sylvie

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