Page 37 of Desperate Crimes (Mergers & Acquisitions #6)

A nother midnight flight. Another godforsaken corner of the world the maps barely acknowledge anymore.

The kind of place where warlords wear suits and smiles are lined with razors.

Caas left more of a mess than I thought.

Broken contracts. Bribed officials.

Paper trails that double back on themselves like snakes swallowing their own tails.

But I’m handling it.

For me. For her. For us.

This—this is the foundation of the empire I’m building.

Not just for legacy.

For Leanna.

Our fathers carved empires with blood and brilliance, left their names smoldering in the dirt like brands.

I won’t ride their coattails. I’m no fucking nepo baby.

I’m a Fury. A Viper. The fucking Prince.

And for my Princess?

I will raze the whole goddamn planet.

The days bleed together now. Sleepless nights soaked in whiskey and war-room strategy sessions.

The burn of jet fuel in my lungs.

The ache of her name beneath my skin.

Seventy hours. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve heard her voice.

The satellite phone’s jammed.

My calls don’t go through.

The rage is acid in my blood, and I haven’t breathed easy since.

I doubled security at the estate before I left. My teams send daily reports—her meals, her movements, her visitors, everything logged with precision.

Sammy’s got eyes on her too. Just in case.

Still not enough. It’ll never be enough.

My father checked in once. Told me he’s proud.

Said I’m doing what he never could. He likes I’m building something new, something pure, something that’s mine.

And yet none of it matters if I don’t get home to her.

Because there’s only one thing keeping me grounded.

One tether to sanity in this chaos.

Leanna.

My wife.

My reason.

The wheels screech against the cracked tarmac, a sharp lurch pulling me from thoughts of her.

We’ve touched down.

Some barely lit private airstrip in the middle of a jungle nobody gives a shit about, save for the minerals buried beneath it.

The hum of the engines dies.

My team unbuckles around me, efficient, silent. We’ve done this before. We’re Vipers— we don’t rattle .

But something's off.

Too quiet.

No welcoming committee. No jeep headlights. Just the buzz of insects and the low crackle of static in my earpiece.

I reach for my gun.

BOOM.

The blast rocks the fuselage—rear of the jet. The cabin screams metal and fire. I’m thrown against the opposite seat as sparks rain down and smoke fills the space. One of my men slams into the bulkhead. Another’s screaming. Blood. Too much blood.

We’re hit.

The door rips open before we can regroup.

Boarders. Militia.

Faces masked in scarves, eyes wild.

Not Caas’ men.

These are freelancers.

Mercs with nothing to lose.

Fuck.

Gunfire erupts. One of my team takes a shot to the chest.

I return fire with dead aim, dropping two in seconds.

“Get him out!” someone yells.

“Negative,” I snarl. “We hold until the second unit flanks?—”

But we’re not flanking shit. Not this time. They timed it too well.

Smoke thickens. My lungs burn. My shoulder’s grazed. My vision goes white for half a second.

And through it all?

I think of her.

Leanna’s face. Her voice.

The way she looked that last night we were together, in our bed, naked, bound to the headboard with my belt around her wrists. Submissive. Sexy. Mine.

I won’t die here.

Not when I promised I’d come home to her.