Black Collar Queen (Black Collar Syndicate Book 2) (15 page)

Chapter 20
.
Graystone Apartments. New York City. November 15
^th

Seth
Murmurs Something
and then lowers his phone, slipping it in a pocket while he
stares out the massive window into the darkness. Behind him, Emma is sleeping
on her couch, curled into a blanket and pillow. Her arm is bare and free of the
blanket, a startling white against her pale skin. A hint of pink is starting to
seep through and he stares at that, his hand clenching around his phone in his
pocket.
 

Behind him, the elevator
dings and he forces himself to take a deep breath, forces some of the tension
from his shoulders as he turns away from Emma to watch Rama approach.
 

The Asian prince is
watching him with cautious eyes. His dark gaze darts past Seth and he stares at
Emma for a moment.
 

The emotion in the
younger man's eyes is stunning—all warmth and fury and pride and love. It eases
the tight feeling in his chest and at the same time, he wants to smack Rama—any
man—for looking at Emma with such a possessive stare.
 

“What did you need?”
Rama asks, dragging his gaze away from her reluctantly.
 

Seth loosens his grip on
the phone and nods at her. “She’s packed and the plane will be here in the
morning. Can you stay with her for a few hours? I need to pack and tie up some
loose ends before we leave.”
 

Rama’s eyes widen a
little, and Seth makes a small smile, acknowledging the oddity of his request.
“I can’t leave her alone, not after last night. And you’ll take care of
her.”
 

There is so much
unspoken in those small words. Rama stares at Seth for a long moment, and he
can feel the trust in the Morgan king. Even Caleb had not trusted him enough to
share Emma.
 

Rama doesn’t speak,
merely nods, a deep, courtly gesture. “I will stay until you return.”
 

Seth grips the younger
man’s shoulder, a brief gesture of solidarity. Then he gives Emma one more
stare and his face closes, locking away the turbulent emotions he’s been
fighting since the world erupted in a wash of plate glass.
 

Then he walks away, and
trusts his ally with her.
 

The elevator swishes
softly, a noise that relaxes some of the tension in Rama. He toes off his dress
shoes, aware of the blood still on the soles, and pads deeper into the
apartment.
 

She’s still wearing her
dress, the green stained by blood dried rusty red. Sleeping, she looks young,
impossibly innocent—the same way Caleb did when he finally found rest after
nights together. Rama shoves a hand through his hair and breathes a low, Thai
curse. There is no room, just now, for ghosts. No room for anything but this
princess blinking at him sleepily.
 

“Rama?” she says, his
name wrapped in questions.
 

“Seth asked me to come.”

She shifts, perking up
at her cousin’s name, and it hurts. More than he wants to admit, it hurts. “He
left. He’ll be back in the morning.”

Emma nods and shifts,
sitting up and stretching. She grimaces, pain creasing her face and Rama moves
to her side, sitting and taking her arm. There is still blood, dried on her arm
and in the tiny creases of her fingers.
 

“You should shower,” he
says. “And then sleep.”
 

She stares at him for a
long minute, and then stands abruptly and goes to the bar.
 
“
Mali
,”
he says, worry seeping into his tone, but he doesn’t stop her as she pours her
drink—scotch on the rocks.
 

“Caleb would be so
pissed I got shot,” she murmurs. “He never did, you know.”

Rama doesn’t answer. He
knew—Caleb didn’t carry physical scars from the violent life they lived. Just
the ones on his soul that he hid from all but those closest to him.
 

Emma would know about
those. He moves, stepping into her and wrapping his arms around her waist. Her
head tilts to the side, and his lips find the soft curve of skin, laying a
gentle kiss there as the uneven feeling settles. Here, with her safe in his
embrace, the fear recedes. He can breathe and think, and the ghosts loosen
their grip, just a little.
 

“Emma,” he murmurs, “let
me take care of you.”
 

He feels her shudder as
the words and his breath wash over the sensitive skin on her neck. He bites and
she makes a half-aborted noise, leaning back against him. And just that easily,
he’s won, and he’s stepping away to take her hand and lead her out of the bar,
her scotch forgotten as he pulls her into her bedroom and the large master
bathroom. For a moment, he is angled toward the wide, stone rainforest shower.
He stops when he sees the tub. It’s a shiny stainless steel affair, sunken into
the ground with two steps leading down into the water. Two faucets feed into
the tub, with jets inset. Half-burned candles occupy the corners around the
tub.

“Undress,
mali
,” he orders, roughly, and goes to
the tub, turning on the water and adding some bath salts. Below the splash of
the water, he can hear her moving, the rustles of fabric and her tiny
whimpers.
 

She would hate that he
heard her sounding so broken, so he ignores her and runs a lazy hand through
the water as steam curls through the bathroom.
 

“I need to pack,” she
says softly.
 

Rama shakes his head.
“Seth took care of that before he called me. You need to rest.” He stands and
turns to her, and he goes still. She’s still wearing her panties, a black lace
thong, and nothing else, and it makes him hard, seeing her like that, so
delicate and beautiful.

“Get in,
mali
,” he murmurs, and she reaches for
the thong.
 

He makes a low noise and
she hesitates, her blue eyes wide as he drops smoothly to his knees, and peels
the thong down.
 

He is careful, almost
chaste as he peels the tiny scrap down, his eyes holding hers, hands carefully
not straying. Until she balances on one foot, to step clear of the lace, and
for a moment her hand is on his shoulder, and her nails dig in and he shudders,
leaning forward. Presses a kiss to the soft skin of her inner thigh as she
makes a low noise of protest, her hand in his hair, pulling him closer. Rama
laughs, a soft noise against her skin, as he pulls away and lifts her foot to
pull her thong off. He slips it in his pocket and her eyebrows rise, a lazy
question.
 
He shrugs, avoids it and
stands lithely. “Get in.”
 

Emma makes a petulant
noise, but moves to the tub, and he watches. Her skin shines, a soft sheen from
the steam filling the room, and her hips twitch, just enough to draw his gaze.
She steps down into the tub, and the water coats her skin like a warm
blanket.
 

She sinks deep into the
water, her red-gold hair turned dark and weighted down, and stares up at him,
her eyes wide and empty. “Are you joining me?”
 

He strips without the
finesse he has learned. There is nothing calculated or seductive about it and
still she watches, lazy interest in her bright blue gaze. And when her gaze
dips down, tracing over the muscled abdomen and thin, sculpted hips, his thick
erection bobbing slightly, his whole body goes tight and he makes a soft noise.
She laughs a little and shifts in the tub, making room for him to slide in
behind her and settle her back against his chest. One hand rests on her belly,
the other tangling their fingers together as she sighs, a noise of
contentment.
 

“We need more nights
like this,” she says, sleepily.

His fingers work gently
at the blood on hers, watching it flake and swirl in the water.

“More nights when people
make attempts on your life?”
 
She huffs.
“Maybe not that part of the night.”
 

He shifts, easing her
down until his erection is nestled against her ass and she whimpers, shifting
against him. His hand slips down, brushing over her and she gasps, jolting at
the sudden contact. “More of this?” he murmurs.
 

Emma makes a noise that
can only be assent, and he smiles against her skin as his fingers skim over her
again, twice, until she’s writhing against him, her fingers tight and demanding
on his. He shifts her again, and she screams as he slips into her, a deep
thrust that has her shuddering. The warm wet heat of her pulls a low groan from
him and he stills, whispers, a low stream of Thai.

All the fear and worry,
all the uncertainty of the night and the morning, poured out in nonsense she
will never understand. She doesn’t want that concern, not from him.
 

So he hides it in plain
sight and gives her what she does want. When she is almost calm, her anxious
movements slow, when she’s waiting and still—he moves, lifting her and sliding
back down. Powerful thrusts as his clever fingers work her clit. He gathers her
hair in his free hand as she finds the rhythm, riding him with her head bent,
her lip caught between her teeth, and needy noises spilling from her, almost
helplessly.
 

She screams, a broken
noise, when he pulls her hair and shifts under her, changing the angle. Her
body goes tight and still as she comes, and she moans, almost a sob as Rama
fucks her, forcing her through the climax and coaxing her into another. Again
and again, until she’s whimpering and limp against him, a shuddering wreck of
sensation. He grits his teeth and lifts her, twisting her so she faces him, and
fitting his cock to her again. She groans as he slides deep, and he gathers her
close, against his chest as he fucks her. He feels the tension gather in her,
feels the moment she slips over the edge, her wet pussy clenching around him,
and his eyes close as his orgasm tackles him. Emma shifts and kisses him, her
tongue sweeping into him as he comes apart and the edges of the world fade, so
that there is only this moment, this girl, this tiny slice of eternity.
 

They lay like that for a
long time, her nestled against his chest as her arm slowly leaks fresh blood.
He is still hard inside her. Still wants her.

“Rama?” she says, as the
water begins to cool.
 

“Hmm?”
 

“I’ll miss you
too.”
 

His eyes close, and he
swallows the bittersweet pain. Sometimes, he thinks that loving Caleb’s cousin
is the biggest heartbreak of his life.

Chapter 21.
International Waters. November 19th

Seth
Leans On The Railings Of The Yacht
, watching the huge sun leak over the waves as
it slowly sinks beneath the horizon. The brilliant orange and pink sky ripples
across the ocean, and in the warmth on his face, he smiles. He takes a sip of
his champagne and imagines that it's the light that he swallows, that the heat
slides through him.
 

It seems like forever
ago that he handed his heart to this ocean, so long, and it was these waters
that let him hold onto his faith in love. Now, she welcomes him back with open
arms and whispered words. Now, he has nothing to give her—his faith and love
died in a cold city to the north, a lifetime away.

Beside him, Emma's
champagne has been abandoned on a small table. He glances at her from behind
his brown-lensed aviators in time to catch her snapping a picture of him with
her phone. He tenses, and she smirks. She says, “Don't worry; it's for the
family album.”

The lines along his jaw
tighten, but he doesn't give her the pleasure of an answer. He releases his
frustration to the sea with a sigh. Somewhere in their past weeks of barely
contained chaos, she has gained another level in the game. It's exactly what he
wanted, but he couldn't have imagined the amount of damage he would take from
constantly fielding blows. She has not taken lightly to continually upping her
game, constantly standing up to him. He's so tired, and just for a moment, he
slips— and lets the verbal jab pass. Then he takes the low road.

“We'll dock soon, when
the sun goes down. Remember that you are in a place of extreme honor to walk
into this meeting with me. And my ass in on the line as well. Please show
respect.”

She scoffs, and it feels
like a hit to his still healing shoulder. She won't have his lessons and
warnings, not now. She says, “Don't insult me, Seth.”

She drops her phone into
her purse and takes a drink. He can't help but watch her sidelong, watch the
stony expression never waver, and the emotional mask go blank.
Damn
, he thinks. This is what it's like
to be a teacher, to watch your protégé learn and adapt. It's infuriating, but
it makes him proud.
 

He thinks of that moment
at the pool, that one flash that sent the world off-balance. That was it, when
she owned her familial disregard for rules. He makes a humorless laugh and
turns back to the last moments of sunset. The brat prince rears his head,
shakes his fantastic feathers, and straightens himself. Two will always play
this game, so he feels his mask go up in answer.
 

She has dodged an
ill-placed jab, but she still doesn't know the gravity of Havana's presence.
This is not a test, a fact she has realized by now, and he must let go of the
back of the bike, let her stand or fall on her own.
 

They are silent until
the yacht pulls up along a dock. Seth can see the lush vegetation along the
darkened shoreline. He can see the torches that lead along the path up toward
the sprawling villa. Stars glitter above them, like diamonds waiting for the
hands of the royals. This place is what he has missed the most in his blackest
times, this strangely magical escape from reality.
 

He takes a steadying
breath as they follow the men with guns. Somehow, he thought it would be easier
this time, to return here with familiarity and a new rank, but his nerves are
just as wrecked as they were the very first time. And in a way, it's exactly
the same as then. He carries the whole weight of his family's empire.

One of the guards at the
end of the docs calls out. “welcome back,
yuma!”

A voice he would know
anywhere, and one that brings an instant smile to his lips. Miguel. Of course
he would be among the welcoming party.

“
No podia defar que me extrañas durante demasiado tiempo
,” Seth
answers, spreading his arms in a sarcastic bow.

He hasn't used what he
learned here in so long that the words feel heavy on his tongue. Emma flashes
him a surprised glance full of heat, but looks away just as quickly. He's never
told her that he got pretty damn good at Spanish in his two years down south.
There is a lot he hasn’t told her.

“Who would miss you? We
forgot all about you when you left,” says Miguel with a wide, even smile and
dimples.
  

“Your mother missed me,”
Seth answers, and they hug roughly, both laughing.

“That's right, you're a
big shot now. Got some
cojones
on
you. I taught you well,” Miguel says with a sly smile. Then he looks to Emma,
as if he just noticed her beside Seth. He says,

“
Quién es esta delicada flor
?”

Seth's smile fades the
slightest bit, and he says, “
Ella es
veenoso para cualquier persona que le toca
.”

Miguel's smile darkens,
and Emma narrows her eyes at him. Miguel says, “I see. I have a feeling I'll
see you later, Seth. We will drink together again.”

Seth's tension cools,
and he cocks that royal smirk. He says, “See, I knew you missed me.”

An easy laugh rolls from
Miguel, as his men take Emma's purse, and the contents of Seth's pockets.

Emma can't help but look
around at all the vivid greenery and the full expanse of stars that still wake
above them. Seth has tucked his shades in his linen button-up’s breast pocket,
and he can clearly see the wonder in her eyes. Maybe, just maybe she can begin
to understand what Cuba is to him. When she meets Havana, then she will
know.
 

There's no party
tonight, and so the island is covered by a sacred hush. The lights of the villa
burn against the heavy darkness, and the sound of a violin drifts from
somewhere on the property. Seth's skin thrills, though it's so warm.
Anticipation is electricity in his gut. Memories are thick of long, hot nights
of endless blow and women, booze and abandon. He tucks his hands in the pockets
of his jeans as they grow damp.

They're stopped at the
main door to the house, a huge double affair, by two hulks of security guards
whose expressions say they would just as soon put bullets in the guests as
listen to them speak. Number One eyes Seth then Emma from head to toe, with a
lasciviousness that makes Seth's muscles tense. Then he says in heavily
accented English, “Strip, both of you.”

“Excuse me?” Seth snaps,
taking a step forward.

The guard shifts his
assault rifle, but doesn't move otherwise. He repeats, “Strip. It would be very
unfortunate if New York brought with it one of his little three-lettered
agencies.”

The calm Seth has been
building since Santa Lucia shatters at the bottom of his gut. He puts an arm
protectively in front of Emma, stopping her before she can move, and says, “She
will not—”

“It's ok, Seth,” she
cuts him off. His eyes flash fire toward her, and his fury is apparent in the
tension along his jaw. She nods, once and gently pushes away his arm. “If
that's what we have to do to prove that we're not wired.”

She holds the demure
smile, dipping her head down, that fake innocence, as she fingers the hem of
her sundress. Seth's rage consumes him and he looks away, staring blindly at
the ferns, and bites his lip to ignore the overly appreciative murmurs of the
guards as she pulls the pale fabric over her head. In his peripheral he can see
the dress hanging from her hand as she stretches her arms in a shrug, and says,
“See, no wire.”
 

And she twirls, red gold
hair flying, and there is no hint of his demure princess in her.

Suddenly, Seth doesn't
mind to lose the clothing for a moment, just to let some of his heat escape. He
makes quick work of his jeans, shoves them down to reveal his silk boxers. Then
he rips linen over his head and he is nearly naked, all streamlined and
furious. He levels a heated glare at the guards, and they smirk. The second
meathead says, “Ok, you're good.”

Seth burns into the
heady humidity as he dresses, still staring off at the jungle of his memories.
As if either would be stupid enough to enter this place armed, or worse, wired.
Seth learned his first trip to this place that you come with nothing, and
anything you need will be provided. Their luggage will arrive later, thoroughly
searched. Always, he will be a foreigner. He hopes she takes note in the midst
of her little victory that the tests will never stop coming.

He doesn't look at her
as they are led through the rooms full of decadent furniture and cultural
style, under tall ceilings and gilded trim. They are ushered into a library of
dark, ornate wood and hard backed books. A low, round table sits in the corner,
surrounded by leather reading chairs. Soft-lit lamps cast an ambient glow around
the space from under green shades. They are left to the chairs, and Seth
instinctively takes the one facing the door. The sound of the ocean drifts
through the open windows, and still, that lilting violin.
 

Emma lets her gaze
wander the library, taking in the class and luxury. She doesn't quite hide her
fascination. She has, however, managed to banish any amusement as her
unexpected move. Good——now is not the time for that game. Still, he wonders if
any of those kids of Irving could have shown her anything close to this display
of wealth. He has to look away again, let the scenery blur for a moment. Not
those kids, but Caleb could. When he decided to bring

Emma here, he didn’t
realize how incredibly painful it would be.
 

At length the door
opens, and just like that, he is there—the smooth, sexual king of this world.
Havana enters with a feline grace that makes even Rama seem like an amateur.
The older man's hair is grayer than Seth remembers, but the face is just as
strong and tan and sultry. He is finely sculpted and, no doubt, part of their
world. Seth and Emma stand as he joins them.

His eyes are all over
Seth like melted chocolate, and his voice is caramel when he says,

“My god, I never thought
you could get more beautiful.”

For all Seth's experience
and lecturing, a blush fires immediately in his cheeks. He remembers a moment
of his past when all his senses knew was this man, in his space and his head.
He can feel Emma go rigid next to him, but she covers it well by ducking her
chin and averting her eyes.
 

“Thank you for having
us; we're humbled,” answers Seth, feeling himself gravitate into the arms that
Havana opens to him.
 

The proximity is nearly
suffocating. Seth can smell the other man's musk, Havana no doubt already
taking in his scent, as well. The Cuban's lips brush ever so slightly against
Seth's cheek as hands close lightly around his back.

“Nonsense. We are
allies,” says Havana in his faint accent and steamy tone, directly into Seth's
ear. Seth can't suppress his shudder, something he's certain Havana notices
before pulling away. Then, he turns to his other guest. “You must be Emma.
Welcome to my home.”

She, too, blushes as if
he has said something explicit to her. He folds her into a hug as well and Seth
must bite down on the inside of his mouth to keep from bristling. Emma's voice
is breathy when she says, “Thank you so much.”

Seth catches the sly
smile that curls on Havana's lips before he pulls away. A test for him. At
least he chooses to believe it's a test and not the same predatory hunger that
he encountered before. Havana's expression tames as he holds Emma at arm's
length and examines her. Seth knows she wants to squirm. Hell, he wants to as
well. Then Havana says, “And I see that beauty runs in the family. Please, sit.
Would you like a drink?”

Seth forces the storm in
his gut into a quiet tempest, and summons his father's grace as he takes his
seat. “Rum on the rocks,” he says for both of them.

“When in Rome, no?”
Havana smiles, his accent toying around the words. The house girl who followed
him in slips out of the room to retrieve their drinks.

“Rome cannot compare to
this,” Seth answers, letting dark and haunting tones into his words.
 

If its sex appeal Havana
wants, he will get it, and not from Emma. Seth pushes his shoulders back as he
leans against the chair, so that the open top buttons of his shirt pull apart
just a little. Then he cocks his head slightly to the side, and lets one corner
of his lips curl.

Havana lets both his
eyebrows lift at the heat in Seth's voice, and an answering smirk dances on his
lips. His muscled shoulders, accentuated by the thin fabric that covers them,
shake in a silent laugh. “Indeed,” he breathes.
 

His hands work separate
from his attention, which remains on Seth, as he extracts a little mirror from
the table's drawer. Seth's gut clenches. He's seen this before, with its
jewel-encrusted edge and gleaming pile of what most would call fish scales.
Finally, Havana's massive attention leaves Seth as he begins to cut out lines
with the delicacy of an artist. Seth catches Emma's stiff glance at him, but he
ignores it.
 
Her questions will have to
wait.