Page 10 of His Queen

“Open your eyes, Mira.”

“You know you want to.”

“Open them. Open them now!”

My eyes peel open and I stare at the results, and for a second my mind goes blank, sweat clinging to my top lip.

Nothing. Not a single result.

A wave of sadness washes over me and anger rises in my chest. The wave of grief I’m feeling is much stronger than I had anticipated, and I close my eyes, trying to keep the tears from coming. I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and try to push away the many thoughts and questions that come rushing to the surface. I know I won’t find the answers here, but I can’t help but feel a deep longing I haven’t felt in years.

Pressing my lips together, I slant my head to the side and slowly type in my father’s name. But again…nothing.

Okay, now this is weird. I know my father was the head of the drug cartel in this city, which is also what got him and my mom killed in the end. But I find it hard to believe there’s not a single article about him or his death. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

It’s like my parents didn’t even exist.

How is that possible?

CHAPTERFOUR

NICOLI

What a fucking day.

Whenever we have new girls coming our way, tensions run high. There are so many things that can go wrong. We’re at our most exposed when our packages reach the port or cross the border. That’s when we have to make absolutely sure that our security is tight. It takes weeks, if not months, of extensive planning before we’re ready to receive a shipment safely and without problems. Dealing with customs alone is a pain in the fucking ass. Luckily for us, we have Gabriel King dealing with that shit, and he’s a shark when it comes to paperwork and blackmail. I can’t imagine what my mental stability would be like if I had that shit to deal with as well. Running Myth while Alexius’ presence remains ghostly between those walls is bad enough, but I also have Mirabella. She’s been on my ass about going back to Myth ever since the night I almost gave myself a Christmas present by killing that Fererro fucker. Not a single day goes by without her asking me to take her to Myth. And not a single day goes by without me giving her a very blunt and resounding no. But she never gives up; she’s nothing if not tenacious. I’m waiting for the day she’ll get me close to saying yes. But I’ll still end up saying no. Not because I think she’s too innocent for the club, because God knows, my wife is about as dirty as I am—a fact that was a hard pill to swallow at first, but now…now I appreciate the fuck out of it.

Speaking about appreciation, I distinctly remember promising my wife I’ll eat her pussy before dinner. And what am I if not a word-fulfilling husband?

I’m about to enter the front door when I pull out of my phone and text Mira. This house has too many square feet to cover. My wife can be anywhere. But the only place I want her right now is on my goddamn face.

‘Bedroom. Now.’

I’m already halfway up the stairs when I get a text back from her.

‘Be there in twenty. Pilates class in the studio with Jean-Luc.’

I come to a screeching halt, fingers flying across the screen.‘Our studio?’

My Italian leather shoe makes a click sound as I tap my foot impatiently on the lacquered steps while I wait for a response.Tap. Tap. Tap.

Nothing. No reply.

Christ. She’s probably twisted and tangled like a pretzel, her feet behind her head while Jean-whatshisface admires the perfect outline of my wife’s…Oh, no. No. No. No. No.

“It better be our studio,” I hiss and grit my teeth as I charge back down the stairs, stomping through the halls, which are eerily quiet for this time of day. Where is everyone?

I’m a few feet away from the studio when the soothing music assault my ears. The calming, meditative music sure doesn’t make me feel zen. On the contrary, it makes me want to peel my ears off the sides of my head and throw them at Jean-Luc’s ugly face.

As I slide the barn door open, a rush of heat slaps me in the face, and I swallow a large mouthful of humidity.

Sweaty bodies.

Spandex.

Flexible body parts.

I’m gonna kill him.

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