Black Collar Queen (Black Collar Syndicate Book 2) (26 page)

Chapter 34.
Upstate New York. December 10
^th
 

The
Town Car Is Quiet
. Emma is sitting, tucked against Rama's side, a sleepy smile on
her lips as low jazz fills the space. Dom glances at her occasionally, from the
driver's seat. Something Rama catches too easily. The bodyguard is devoted to
Emma, and that is all that keeps the Thai prince from lashing out at him.
Devotion isn't a bad attribute in a bodyguard.
 

She's relaxed in ways he
doesn't see often. Being Seth’s right hand has stressed the young queen, and
she wears that stress in minute lines on her face, a tightness around her eyes
that is new. She has been all stress and sharpness almost since they returned
from Santa Lucia. To see her soft and unconcerned makes him happy. That it is
curled next to him where she can let go of her stress enough to relax makes him
absurdly proud.
 

The car glides through
the deep, wooded countryside, and he lets his head rest against hers. She
hasn't said much about where they are going or why—Seth called and told him she
was coming to pick him up and Rama accepted it.
 

She is coming to him
again, after all the distance between them and their fight while she was away.
That was enough.
 
They follow another
black Bentley, and he doesn’t need to ask to know Seth is inside.
 

“I’m sorry,” he says,
the first thing either has said in a long stretch. Emma tenses minutely before
she shrugs, a tiny ripple of her body against him. “I should not have argued
against your accompanying him to Cuba. Or while you were there.”
 

“It’s not important,”
she says, burrowing closer.
 

“Do you mean it? Caleb—”
He cuts off the words, and lets his gaze go back to the window as they clear
the trees. The lake and Valhalla stretch out for them, a glittering
kingdom.
 

“He left me a letter in
the care of our lawyer. DNA proof and everything,” she says, her voice empty.
She shifts away from him and stares at the resort. “It was something that
killed our parents. He didn’t tell you for the same reason he didn’t tell me—he
couldn’t. Ignorance was how he protected us.”
 

There is the bite of
anger, that the golden Morgan son felt the need to protect either of them, but
he ignores it, gathering his calm around him as the cars come to a smooth halt
in front of the resort.

Rama slips out before
Dom can move, needing the fresh air and a moment to clear his head. The air has
turned cold since Seth brought him here, and it stings his nose a little as he
stands by the back of the car.
 

Emma emerges slowly,
elegance in motion. She’s wearing a pair of black wool pants, a silver sweater
that dips in a low v-neck. Black boots that end just below the knees, her
red-gold curls pulled back in a complex braid that his fingers itch to explore.
A tiny smile turns her lips, but her gaze is hidden behind her sunglasses.
 

Seth steps out of his
town car, and Rama shifts, watching. He’s wearing a suit, and hasn’t tugged his
tie off. His expression behind his sunglasses is bland, but a small smile turns
the corners of his lips when he sees Emma.

Aleja follows him out,
startling Rama. He hasn’t spent much time around her since she arrived in the
city with the Morgans. She looks formidable and severe in a feminine black suit
and white silk. Her hair is caught away from her face in a knot at the nape of
her neck. With nothing to soften her features, she is even more striking.
 

The Cuban’s eyes slip
over Emma and then Rama, assessing before she looks around.
 

“It is yours now?”
 

Seth smiles, looking
around at the expansive grounds proprietarily, and nods. “It’s ours.”
 

Emma is shivering, feet
stomping slightly. “Inside,” she says, and Seth laughs, turning away.
 

She’s watching Rama, and
she sees his expression stutter, confusion clearing as she waits. He slips an
arm around her waist, pulling her into him, and they follow Seth and Aleja into
the quiet hotel.
 

It’s been deserted, and
it is almost eerie, their steps echoing in the wide lobby. Aleja’s eyes are
wide and assessing, and Emma squeezes Rama’s hand briefly before slipping away
to lean against the oak reception desk. “The renovation crews will arrive
tomorrow,” Seth says.

“And we’ll begin the
traveling parties as soon as Rama’s girls arrive.”
 

Emma nods toward the
staircase that leads toward the second floor. “The bulk of business will
continue as-is; the amenities will stay the same. And we’ll work the extras in
for those who are interested——the girls, a private club. Cuban blow.” Her eyes
skim over to the assassin.

Aleja aims a wicked
smile at Emma, her eyes dancing as she prowls the room, taking in the
details.
 

“It’s a beautiful
facility,” she says. The admiration in her tone makes Emma want to preen—this
is the first venture of the new regime, and the approval in their partner’s
eyes soothes some of her nerves. She glances at Rama again, relaxed a few feet
away. His hands are tucked in his pockets, a serene expression on his face.
He’s watching her, Seth and Aleja almost forgotten.

From the way Aleja eyes
Rama speculatively, she has forgotten no one.

“Will your girls be up
to the task?” Aleja asks, curiously. It’s a question that borders on
inappropriate in this formal setting, but neither Morgan moves to intervene,
and Emma can almost see everything click into place for Rama suddenly. The
formality, and the four of them, the location—the Cuban assassin is gauging
him, weighing his syndicate’s value. Something that is overdue. It makes her
nervous for reasons she isn’t quite ready to confront.

There’s a breath of
hesitation, and then Rama smiles, a slow thing. Were they in any other
situation, with anyone besides Emma and Seth, he would flex his skills, show
the assassin just how talented a whore could be. Instead, he lets a wicked
smile play over his lips and his lashes lower. His voice is teasing as he says,
“We have never had complaints about our girls. But you are always welcome to
come to Bamboo and see them.”

Amusement flickers in
the woman’s eyes, and she nods. “I would like that.”
 

Rama inclines his head
and Seth speaks. “We will bring her to Bamboo. It would be good for her to see
the way you run your operation.”
 

Rama smiles. Bamboo is
his territory, and where he is in his element, a natural king—to be seen there
is to be seen in his best light.
 
Emma’s
eyes are wide and startled, but Seth is smirking. “Come,” he orders softly.

Emma resumes her place
at Rama’s side, and they follow the king and Aleja through the empty building
as Seth spins out their plans.
 

A lunch is waiting for
them in the presidential suite, a chef standing nearby looking anxious. Relief slides
across the man’s face as they enter the suite. A fire is burning in a wide
fireplace, and for the first time since they’ve arrived, the place looks alive
and inhabited. The room is done in white silk and dark wood, and there is
something elegant and seductive about the softness against the hardwood. It’s
an understated, earthy beauty that effortlessly drips wealthy and begs for
decadence. The change is startling and Rama gives Emma a quick look. She
smiles, a secretive thing, releasing his hand to flank Seth. “Please,” she
says, motioning to the table.
 

Aleja recovers first,
and moves gracefully to sit across from Emma, reaching casually for the wine
that is waiting. Rama takes the seat to Emma’s right. When both Morgans are
sitting, Seth clears his throat. She’s waiting, watching him, and her smile has
died. All of her nerves have gathered around her, but there is something very
calm in her solemnity.
 

“I wanted to bring you
here because after this, everything changes,” Seth says. “This—all off this,
has been a long time coming. And is the product of my brother’s efforts, as
much as mine and Emma’s. You have been patient through the changes in our
organization. Now that it is ours, things will move faster. But I wanted to
take this time to thank you. For your trust and loyalty.” His gaze skates to
Emma, and she nods once. Aleja is watching them, curious and assessing. Rama
looks distant, his eyes dark and haunted. Emma watches him and she can almost
feel Caleb, leaning over them both, shaping things even now. She touches Rama’s
leg gently and he blinks, his eyes widening a little as he stares at her.
 

What does he see, when
he watches her in times like this? Does he see her, or the ghost of their
dead?
 

“I am honored,” Rama
murmurs, voice rougher than usual, “that you chose to follow Caleb’s wishes. He
would be pleased.”.”
 

There is a beat of silence, and Aleja speaks, unexpectedly. “I
wish I could have met

Caleb Morgan.”

Seth shifts, and Emma
does not need to look at him to know the pain in his eyes. Instead, she lifts
her wine glass and says softly, “To our continued success.”

Chapter 35
.
Bamboo.
New York City. December 11
^th
 

Emma
Can Feel The
music in the soles of her feet. Aleja is watching the scene with
a predatory smile—but there is excitement in the assassin’s eyes that reminds
Emma of herself.
 

Aleja hooks an arm
around Emma’s waist and gives the younger girl a conspiratorial smile.
“Vodka?”
 

Emma’s cheeks burn and
behind them, Seth snorts softly, the noise almost lost in the music. Aleja’s
eyes are laughing as Seth pulls Emma away from the Cuban and toward the stairs.
His gaze is questioning and Emma gives him a quick smile, all shiny bright
reassurance. His expression goes doubtful, but she ignores him.
 
She’s getting better at ignoring him.
 

Emma moves through
Bamboo like a queen in her kingdom—something that is faintly disturbing because
it isn’t hers. The pretty working girls don’t catcall. They watch her with a
grudging respect, aware of their prince’s choice. The security greets her
warmly, by name.
 

She is comfortable here,
in a way that she isn’t in their own operations. There is still a slight
distance—a disconnect—in her at the office, and when she and Seth venture into
the syndicate’s street level operations.
 

She wonders, suddenly,
if it is because here, there are no expectations. There is freedom in that—in
the delicious lack of demands and duty and constant fear. Isn’t that what
drives Seth to Vera?
 

“
Mali
,” a familiar voice says, and she blinks out of her thoughts.
Emma steps onto the landing of the VIP section, and into Rama’s arms. The Asian
prince wraps an arm around her waist, holding her snug to his lithe body as he
kisses her.
 

Emma curves into him, a
hand coming up to clutch at his arm. Her lips part under his touch, and Rama
goes stiff with surprise for a brief moment, before all of that surprise melts
away and he pulls her closer, a hand in her hair as he deepens the kiss.
 

A low feminine laugh
brings Rama’s head up, and he blinks at his royal guests, a slightly shy smile
turning his lips. Aleja is watching with a smirk that isn’t quite a leer, Seth
with amused tolerance. He steadies Emma as he steps away, and gestures at the
booth reserved for them.

“Come.”
 

The club is packed and
the VIP section is no different. Seth had made it clear that Aleja wanted the
full experience, wanted to see exactly how the Asian syndicate ran their clubs.
Rama took him at his word, and they weave through drunk socialites as they make
their way to the empty booth that sits toward the back, offering a little
privacy. One hand wanders a bit too close to Emma’s ass, and she makes a low
huff of displeasure before the offending asshole is pulled away by Rama’s
security. It happens quickly, fast enough that it doesn’t cause a scene, but
there is a murmur of awareness in the crowd that draws more eyes to them.

Rama stands next to the
table as Aleja and Emma seat themselves, and gives them a slow smirk. “What can
I get you, ladies?”
 

“Tequila,” Emma says
immediately.
 

“But we have so much fun
with vodka,” Aleja says, offering a pretty pout. Emma’s expression turns severe
and the other woman laughs.
 

Seth watches them. How
did that even happen? Somewhere between Cuba and New York, and a drunk night of
sex, the two have bonded. Emma squirms away from older woman whispering
something in her ear, and Aleja laughs, that low noise that brings to mind sex
in Cuba, and the soft purr of pleasure she makes when he moves inside her.
 

Seth shifts, and Emma’s
eyes flash to him, questioning. With Aleja’s head bent toward her and Emma’s
eyes on his, it’s hard to see anything but the two of them naked in Emma’s bar.

“Fuck,” he mutters and a
blush fills her cheeks.
 

“Let’s dance,” Emma says
suddenly, scooting out of the booth. Aleja’s eyebrows rise, but she doesn’t
argue, just slips free of the table and follows Emma. They pass Rama on the way
to the stairs, and Aleja leans into the Morgan princess. “If I get you drunk
enough, will you share him?”
 

Emma’s smiles sweetly,
“Not a fucking chance.”
 

Aleja laughs, and they
descend the stairs onto the dance floor. Rama stands next to the table, his
eyes on Emma as she falls into the dance, Aleja writhing against a drunk
playboy. Seth watches Rama, and finally asks, “What’s wrong?”
 

Rama blinks, startled to
have been called out so abruptly. Seth pours a shot of tequila and pushes it to
Rama. Takes his own in hand and waits, staring expectantly.
 

“I’m losing her,” Rama
says, ignoring the drink. “And I don’t know why.”
 

Seth follows his gaze
down to Emma. Her head is tipped back, long red-gold hair hanging down. She’s
wearing a one-shoulder green dress with a short, tight skirt and a black corset
wrapping around her slim waist. It’s sexier than she usually favors, daring in
a way she typically avoids. Paired with fuck-me red heels, she’s gorgeous and
sexy, and there is no hint of the little girl she once was.
 

He still has trouble
letting go of that little girl.
 

“Then find out why. Or
you will lose her,” Seth says softly.
 

Rama stares at him,
liquid dark eyes full of questions and doubt. Seth keeps his face blank. Emma’s
secrets and demons are hers to share. He leans across the table, and says
softly,

“Secrets destroyed my
family once. We could all learn from that.”
 

Then he takes the
tequila shot and rises. Rama watches him move through the VIP section, watches
the way women and men alike move away and toward him, almost as if unaware of
their actions. Emma’s head comes up as he comes down the stairs, tracking her
cousin, and jealousy kicks in his gut.
 

Rama takes two shots
quickly, and stands. Enough. He seduced her first on a dance floor.

Maybe it is time to
remind her of that, and the base level of their courtship.
 

A dangerous smile twists
his lips and he stalks down. His girls and staff scatter as he moves, pulling
the dancers aside until there is nothing between him and Emma. Seth has Aleja
in his arms, a rare unguarded smile on the Morgan king’s lips. Aleja twists,
catching Emma’s hands until she is pressed between the Morgan queen and king. Seth
sees Rama and knowledge flares in his eyes.
 

Aleja leans down,
pulling Emma close, and everything slows—time seems to stutter—as the assassin
kisses her.
 

There is a natural ease
to it. A softening of Emma against the older woman, and Seth’s hands on Aleja’s
waist—the throwaway comment overheard upstairs makes sense in a sick way that
churns Rama's stomach.
 

Without thinking, he
grabs Emma by the arm and yanks her around.
 

She’s smiling—a dazed,
drunk smirk that digs knives into his gut. He’s killed for this girl. Bled and
sworn his allegiance. Does she even care?
 

“Come with me,” he
snarls. Emma’s eyes go wide, and she licks her lips. There is a shiver of
apprehension in her that slays him—he never wants to see fear in her eyes when
she looks at him. But another part—the furious part—says that it’s about damn
time.
 

Emma trips once, her
heels twisting as Rama pulls her through the club, and Rama reacts by yanking
her up into his arms, and carrying her into his office. He kicks the door shut
behind him and dumps her into a chair. Emma bounces up, her blue eyes wide and
furious—a mirror of Caleb. Always ready for a fight.
 

“What the hell, Rama?”
she snaps.

“Did you fuck her?” he
asks, without preamble. Emma freezes, the blood draining from her face. He
prowls closer to her, and fear tightens in his belly. “Or did you fuck
Seth?”
 

“Whom I fuck is none of
your business,” she says, her voice shaking. And that, without admitting
anything, tells him everything.
 

Rama jerks his sleeve
back and shoves his wrist up, inches from her face. She flinches away from the
ouroboros that marks him as hers. “
That
says it is. The man I killed to protect you, the bullet I took, the mark I gave
you—all of them say I have a right to know just who the fuck I’m sharing your
bed with.”
 

“I didn’t promise you
anything,” she snaps, stung.
 

“You wouldn’t. I’m not
one of your precious cousins,” Rama spits. Emma pales, and he pushes, because
this is where she’s weak and he knows it. Because after months of being strung
along, and losing his lover, this is one insult he can’t look past. “Does Seth
fuck as well as Caleb? Did you fuck him because Caleb is gone? Maybe I should
take him to bed and we can compare notes.”
 

She slaps him, hard, and
his head snaps to the side. His eyes are furious, and she’s torn between anger
and shock that she hit him. Anger is easier. “Don’t you fucking talk about
Caleb.

He was
mine
. My
brother
.”
 

Rama smiles cruelly. “He
was my lover. And he didn’t trust you so much that he shared that, did he,
mali
?”
 

The word has always been
an endearment. It’s always been a way for him to tell her how much she means to
him. But now, it comes out like a curse, mocking, designed to hurt. She
flinches. His face is a mask of anger as he taunts, “Caleb didn’t trust you,
Emma. Because when it comes right down to it, you’re a child. A little girl
playing games. But these games will get someone killed. Do you think I’ll let
the woman I’m with fuck her way through the city? Do you know I would kill for
that? For less? Fuck, did you even think?”
 
“Rama,” she starts, stricken, and he shakes his head. Emma reaches for
him and he backs up a step, out of her reach. Her eyes are so wide, big pools
of hurt.
 

“I’m not your toy, Emma.
I’m not Dom or the little shitheads you went to Irving with. And I will never
be your cousins.” There is none of her coaxing sweet prince in him. This is
Rama furious and every inch a royal.

“I don’t want you to
be,” she says, her voice strident.
 

He laughs, bitter. “No. You want me when it’s convenient and you
need someone to use.

When you want to get off
or someone needs to be handled. When the syndicate needs to expand. But even
when I’m fucking you, you’re with
him
.”
 

She goes still. Looks
away, her expression distant, and he waits for her to deny it. To argue with
him. Emma stands quiet, and he finally sighs. Softly, he says, “You left me
with a bullet hole in my lung to take him to a fucking beach. Left me with an
assassin to chase him to another syndicate’s court. And you want to fuck her like
I have no right to say anything.”
 
Everything crystalizes suddenly and the tension drains out of him, all
of the anger cooling. He steps back, aware suddenly that he’s crowded her, her
back pressed against the wall.
 

He remembers, suddenly,
pressing Caleb against the same wall, going to his knees, and sucking him off
until the Morgan son cursed and came, his hands buried in the black silk of
Rama’s hair. Sometimes, he can still feel Caleb, larger than life, all lazy
lion grace.

“I should never have fucked
you,” he says, softly. “You are a ghost of the one I loved— but you’ll never be
Caleb. And I will never be Seth.”
 

“I don’t want you to
be,” she says, weakly.
 

He smiles, but it’s
different. Not the slow, sexy smirk she sees when he fucks her, or when they
sit across from each other in a business meeting. It isn’t even the smile he
directs at any of his girls, any of the many people who serve in his
syndicate.
 
It’s the smile he gives
strangers.
 

“We both want things
that we can’t give. Maybe it’s time to realize that. I deserve more than a
little girl who can’t decide what she wants. And you—you need to grow up before
you fuck your way into the wrong syndicate and end up getting someone
killed.”
 

Emma makes a noise, not
quite a sob as she reaches for him, and Rama steps back. Straightens his tie.
And then he leaves her.