Page 65 of Vicious Heir

Shit. Fucking shit. A thousand thoughts run through my head. “Is anyone inside?”

“Staff was evacuated already. There wasn’t anyone else.”

“You sure they’re all out?”

“Positive, we double-checked.”

“Triple check. I’m on my way.” I hang up and race over to my drawers. I throw on more appropriate clothes while Lucy watches from the bed, her hair tumbling down her shoulders in waves, the sheets pulled over her chest.

“What’s going on?”

“Fire at the club.” I stalk over to her, grab her close, and bury my mouth with hers. I kiss her hard. “Don’t leave the house while I’m gone.”

“Okay,” she says, looking concerned.

I don’t have time to ease her mind. I run out of the mansion, get into my fastest car, and burn out as I race through the city. Normally, it’s at least a twenty-minute drive, but I do it in half that time, breaking basically every traffic law in the process.

I smell the smoke before I see it. And when I turn the corner, my fucking jaw drops.

The whole place is a raging inferno.

I park and shove my way through the crowd. I recognize some of the people standing around looking stunned. There’s the downstairs bartender, a few shot girls, and bouncers gathered in a little huddle. I move through them all and hear some whispers as I pass. Everyone knows who I am and what it means now that I’m here.

Luca’s standing closest to the building at the entrance to the side alley. He strides over, looking grim.

“We don’t know how it started,” he says, launching right into a report. It was found in the storage room where we keep all ourliquor. The alcohol must’ve made the fire even worse because it spread very quickly after that. “Nobody saw who went in there.”

“My office,” I say, staring at the building. “Did you get the tapes?”

Luca’s face pales. “I was busy getting the staff out. Fuck, I didn’t think?—”

I shove past him, running to the back door. He yells and comes after me, but there’s no other option.

The handle is warm, but not too hot. I yank it open and plunge into the smoke.

Years of work. Hours of careful, patient accumulation. The biggest cache of blackmail material in the whole city is in that office, and there are no backups. That’s the whole point. If even a second leaks into the public without a carefully controlled plan, then the whole effort becomes worthless.

I stagger forward, crouching down to suck in some clean air. The steps aren’t far from here, but the heat is incredible. I snarl as I kick my way over some debris and run upward. The smoke is bad, but the fire is worse down on the first floor. I’m able to walk mostly upright as I cover my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt and cough viciously, nearly doubling over. I make it back to my office and shove the door open with my shoulder.

I’m busy catching my breath. The office isn’t terrible. A cool breeze rushes across my skin. Someone must’ve opened a window. But when the hell did that happen? I never open that thing?—

Which is when I notice him. A man standing near my desk. He’s frozen in the act of rifling through my drawers.

He’s tall and muscular. His hair is dark, and he’s dressed in all black. I don’t recognize him, but I know his type instantly.

Those tattoos. The way he holds himself.

Mafia enforcer.

No time to think. I grab an ashtray from a side table, heavy and still filled with some old cigar clippings, and throw it hard at the man’s face. He grunts in surprise and ducks out of the way, but it’s enough of an opening for me to cover the ground between us. I flick out my butterfly knife, whipping it into shape, and leap over the desk, bringing it down hard.

The man’s fast though. He slaps his arms sideways, knocking me off balance and deflecting my blow. The knife rams down his shirt and leaves a shallow cut. He snarls in pain as we fall to the floor in a heap, wrestling for control of the weapon.

I slam my knee into his leg. He curses, and I realize he’s speaking Turkish.The fucking Gray Wolves. I twist and rear back, and before he can stop me, I slam my forehead right into his mouth.

I feel a tooth break and stab me in the eyebrow.

I do it again. And again. Over and over, pulping his nose until his grip on the knife slackens. I wrench the blade free then ram it down into his chest until his blood drenches the carpet and seeps into my clothes.

---