Fallen Empire (Dirty Empire)

He returns ten seconds later, a small brown leather suitcase clattering behind him. In his other hand is a fresh bottle of water. He tosses them both to the floor. “Here.”

I eye the Louis Vitton branding on the suitcase. “Whose is it?” Someone with money, clearly.

“Don’t matter. She won’t be needing any of it anymore.”

He must be talking about the woman who just finished screaming into the end of a gun barrel. Is that her blood that Bane’s wearing? It must be.

Because if it’s not hers, then who else has he murdered today?

With a thin, vicious smile, he leaves, this time pulling the door shut behind him. The multitude of latches click in place.

5

Gabriel

I’ve always preferred arriving in Sin City at night, its lure of flashy signs and bright lights an intoxicating start to any visit. Tonight though, as Farley pulls into the Mage’s laneway after the arduous trip to and from Fulcort, all I can think about is the fear that drenched Mercy’s voice.

“Fucking find her!” I hiss, squeezing my phone to try and release some of this never-ending tension that’s gripped me since Mercy was kidnapped.

“I’m trying, Gabe! I told you, it isn’t that easy!” Stanley says. “I don’t know which burner Vlad’s using to contact him but it ain’t any that you gave him, and Bane must be using an encryption on his end to stop a trace. I can’t find any record of where he’s been living. He’s a ghost, past his military record.”

I’ve already called the P.I. a dozen times today, hounding him to break every law and pay every shady fuck he knows whatever they want in order to track down this lair where Bane’s holding her. If I had to guess, it’s remote and well fortified. I doubt our father knows where it is. But someone must. That it’s in the desert is disconcerting. That’s a lot of ground to cover.

I know Stanley’s trying and he’s one of the best at what he does, but even that isn’t good enough right now.

My phone rang sixty-seven minutes after I passed through Fulcort’s gates, seven minutes after the one-hour deadline I gave my father, as I was toiling with the idea of calling Donny and arranging for Chops to pay a special late-night visit to my father’s cell. Dad made me wait just long enough to reinforce who’s in control here, and it sure as hell ain’t me.

The call with her was so quick, I had no time to think, to say what I wanted to say. She was there and then she was gone, and I was left dealing with that prick, spewing threats that I knew wouldn’t persuade him in the least.

Please get me out of here.

Hearing her plead for me to rescue her nearly broke me. My father might as well be holding my heart at knifepoint. He’s not going to give Bane the release order any time soon, not when he can force me to do his bidding, not when taking Mercy from me ensures he’ll stay cozy and warm in his cell. I’m his puppet now. I can’t escape his life plan for me anymore, not as long as he holds what I care about most in this world.

Well played, father.

The only way out of this mess is to find Mercy. We find her, and Vlad Easton is going to learn a lesson of his own.

A final lesson, one I’ll happily deliver myself without an ounce of guilt tied to it.

He wanted to see my angry side? Well, he’s damn well got it now.

“What can I do to help you find that son of a bitch?” I ask.

“Get me the burner Vlad’s been calling Bane on, for starters. Do that, and I might be able to track down his location.”

Easier said than done. I could get one of the guards to toss his cell—something we pay weekly to ensure never happens—but Dad’s a master at playing both offensive and defensive. Who knows what fail-safes he has set up in the likelihood that he anticipates that? Bane could move Mercy.

He could torture her.

He could kill her.

“Keep looking for them.” I end the call as Farley rolls up to the hotel valet. The staff rushes forward but he doesn’t unlock the door for them yet.

“You wanna go in through the garage and take the service elevator up instead? Avoid people? I can park us,” he offers.

“Why not? Everyone else and their damn mother is using that elevator to get in,” I mutter. But no, that’s not how we operate and, with that agent and her pals watching…. “Nah. Status quo is the way to go.” Strolling into the lobby like I don’t have a care in the world.

And yet I can’t seem to will my body to move, because pretending that everything is fine when rage and panic are coursing through my veins at a steady thrum is impossible.