Sabine Valley.
It’s unlike anywhere else. I’m honestly not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I stare out the window of the office Monroe and I have traveled to every day for the past two weeks. It’s the tallest building in the Amazon faction, and Monroe’s office presents a stellar view to the south, showcasing the river that branches around the island where the three factions hold their feast day rituals. At the island, it splits to the south and east, creating a natural barrier between the factions. Amazons to the north. Raiders to the west. Mystics to the east.
They all look identical from up here.
Really, for all their superficial differences, the factions aren’t that different from each other. One ruler, a family that surrounds and supports them. Each nursing a superiority complex that might be funny if they didn’t hold so many lives in their hands.
Both Ciar of the Mystics and Aisling Rhodius of the Amazons are ruthless to a fault. I’ve never had reason to deal directly with Ciar, but the rumors that abound about the Mystics say he holds them in a tight grasp of superstition and fear. Aisling uses cold logic to make her leadership decisions and the Amazons might appear to love her, but she’s not above sacrificing a few for the greater good. She won’t lose sleep over it, either.
At least I know Abel cares about the people within the compound. I’m honestly not sure about the rest of the Raider faction. Some days, it seems like the only time he has compassion for them is when Harlow is insisting on it.
And Monroe, heir to the Amazon faction?
Three weeks of being glued to her side, and I still don’t have a good read on the woman. She’s gorgeous and infuriating and strides through life as if nothing can touch her. She also flirts as easily as she breathes and has no concept of personal space. There’s a savvy mind behind that pretty face, but she does a damn good job of concealing it.
At least, she does when we’re not in this office.
I glance at Monroe’s desk, where she and her mother, the Amazon queen, currently have their heads bowed together and are speaking in low voices. They look nearly identical, though Aisling’s beauty is icier and Monroe’s is far too earthy for my state of mind. When I first started acting as Monroe’s babysitter during these forays into Amazon territory, they banished me into the hallway when they had their little meetings.
They don’t bother any longer.
I kind of wish they still did. Being in the same room as Aisling is hell on my control. It’s far too tempting to grab the nearest item that can be used as a weapon and throw it at her gorgeous face. It won’t do much but get me killed, but it might drown out the memories that lurk at the edges of my mind whenever I’m in Amazon territory.
“Profits are trending up this quarter despite the fiasco at Lammas.” Aisling’s cool voice cuts through my thoughts as she points at a spot on her tablet. Being in the same room at this woman has me clenching my fists and striving to keep my rage off my face. “In particular, the trade agreements with Carver City are doing well.”
“Of course they are. Aunt Malone is overseeing them on her end.” For once, Monroe doesn’t have a mocking expression on her gorgeous face. She’s utterly concentrated on the report in front of her. “Still, there’s room for improvement.”
“There’s always room for improvement.”
Spending so much time in corporate headquarters for the Amazon faction has only driven home how much I prefer the Paine brothers’ way of doing things. The top tier Amazons are all CEOs and COOs and CFOs. They have hierarchies within hierarchies, and the constant dancing around each other exhausts even me, who’s outside it. As heir, Monroe is as close to the top as she can be without holding the throne, but that doesn’t stop others from challenging her in ways I barely understand. It’s a giant fucking headache. In the Raider faction, people seem to say what they mean and follow through on it, for better or worse. There are a lot less thinly veiled insults and undermining a person at every turn.
The Amazons like to pretend they’re so much better than everyone else in Sabine Valley. Superior in every way.
They’re all a bunch of fucking hypocrites.
“Monroe, can you take this report down in person? I don’t trust Rachel to understand our shorthand without having to double-check with me, so talking through it with her will cut down on my headache later.”
“Of course, Mother.” Monroe doesn’t hesitate to gather up the paperwork and start for the door. She might be the baddest bitch when it comes to dealing with everyone else, but when her mother issues commands, she doesn’t push back.