Savage Queen (The Dark Elite 3)

Hale holds my gaze for a moment, his dark blue irises shining in the warm lamplight. Then he nods.

“All right. As long as he can help root out the bigger problem, I’ll extend him an extra few hours of life.”

5

Hale

I’ve come to terms with the fact that working in my father’s office doesn’t feel pleasant. His favorite leather chair doesn’t feel like mine. Walking into this room always brings a surge of regret and sadness.

Maybe someday, it will feel different.

For now, all I can do is forge ahead and try to live up to the memory of a great fucking man.

It’s been several days since we released Leland from our hold, and I still don’t know if we made the right choice. I know Ciro was right—we can’t waste this opportunity. And I saw the regret in Leland’s eyes when I spoke of his betrayal of my father. He regrets what he did, I think. Don’t all cowards, after the dust settles and they have to face the consequences of their actions?

But I can’t help the gnawing fear that he’ll betray us to Camilla. The only thing that reassures me is the knowledge that he knows doing so would be suicide. If she found out he agreed to help us, she’d kill him on the spot just to make sure he couldn’t betray her again.

Like I should’ve done.

I quiet the thought, shoving it away. It took everything in me not to kill him with my bare fucking hands, and my fingers curl slightly even now as I imagine wrapping them around his throat. I would’ve taken pleasure in it, and I’m not generally a sadistic man.

Only Grace and my three most trusted friends know about Leland. They’re the only ones who have any idea we have a traitor in our midst, still playing the role of Camilla Weston’s little rat. Leland insisted he was working alone, but until all this is over, I don’t want to involve any of my father’s old captains. I won’t risk another betrayal like this.

So for now, things are proceeding as they would after a syndicate leader is killed. Endless legal meetings, going through papers, statements, his will—things I don’t want to have to see or think about yet, but that I can’t avoid.

After several more hours of work, I leave the desk full of contracts and reports and things to sort through tomorrow, shutting off the light and locking the door behind me. I could stay in that room for hours, swallowed up whole by duties and business, but the lack of sleep is catching up to me, and I want to go home.

Home.

My father always said this place was his home—his work, the Onyx Cocktail Club. As I head toward the door, I realize I don’t feel that way. Maybe my father didn’t either, when my mother was still alive.

Because my true home is a pair of hazel eyes. Soft skin and honey-blonde hair, and a face that’s both delicate and strong.

Grace.

The house I share with my three closest friends never felt as much like a home as it has since she joined us. Now, there’s nowhere else on earth I’d rather be. There, with her. With Zaid and Lucas. With Ciro.

As I step out of the elevator beneath the building and head for my car, I’m thankful as hell that out of the sea of people in this dark world, at least I have them.

Before I’m even two steps inside the house, I’m seeking out Grace. Restless, needing her. Her body. Her scent. Her mouth. It’s a different type of longing that I feel right now, not the lust I’ve felt and still feel for her, just a need. A need to be near her. With her.

Lucas and Zaid are out on business, keeping track of Leland, and I know Ciro is downstairs, coping with the stress, so it’s just her in the living portion of the house. Just me and her, alone.

I move to cut through the kitchen on my way to the stairs and am surprised to find Grace already there. She’s frowning at a piece of paper that’s set out on the counter, a knife in one hand and veggies piled around her. Setting the knife aside, she picks up the piece of paper, staring at it intently.

She’s so lost in her own world that she hasn’t noticed me, and I hang back for a second, lingering in the arched doorway and taking her in.

“Cut into strips?” she mutters under her breath. “How the hell do I cut a carrot into strips? A pepper too? You’ve got to be fucking kidding. They’re messing with me. I swear they’re messing with me.”

My lips pull up into a smile. I step inside and round the corner of the kitchen island, striding toward her. When I wrap my arms around her from behind, she lets out a startled yelp and squirms against me. But I don’t let her go. I hold her in my embrace, burying my face in that place between her neck and shoulder that I love.

Fucking hell. I could spend my entire life trying to breathe her in, and I’d never be satisfied. I can never get enough of her. The softness of her hair, the sweetness of her scent.

“You smell fucking delicious,” I growl softly.

“You’re supposed to say that about the food,” she shoots back, melting against me. My cock twitches at her closeness, and I pull her a little tighter against me, letting her feel what she does to me.

“Grace, there isn’t a food on earth that will ever make me as hungry as you do.”