Page 25 of Forbidden Empire (Sinful Gods #1)

Twelve

A IDON

Empty whiskey bottles littered the floor of my office. I kicked one, hard, and it clanked against the wall, rattling across the mess.

Three weeks… three weeks of searching, planning, waiting. I was so damn close. I could feel it. Any second now, I was going to find out where they’d taken Esme.

After she’d been dragged away, I’d managed to get out of Rhea’s compound in one piece. There was no way I could have taken on all her men by myself, so I slipped into the woods behind the place and called Ares’s team for backup.

While I waited, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do except watch.

Two of Rhea’s goons hauled Esme toward a black SUV.

She fought like hell, kicking and twisting, until one of them smacked her across the face.

The slap echoed in the night air. They shoved her into the backseat and sped off, taillights vanishing around the bend.

My hands curled into fists. I was too far from my own car to do anything but curse and glare into the dark.

I’d been drowning in information for days and still had nothing.

My office was a disaster zone: walls, desk, floor, every inch buried under satellite images, property records, informant reports.

A paper war, and I was losing. I stared until the words blurred and my eyes ached, hoping for one thread, one slip, that would unravel Rhea’s whole operation and lead me straight to Esme.

I needed that last piece in the puzzle: a name, a stray rumor, any scrap of a place that could get me to Esme and to the throats I’d have to cut to reach her.

My reflection in the window stared back at me, some stranger with bloodshot eyes, stubble crawling up his jaw, and a shirt splattered with proof of what I’d done tonight.

The skin over my knuckles was split, raw flesh peeking through clotted blood, and I’d circled my office at least a hundred damn times already.

Vegas was my calling card: bartenders with their jaws wired shut, bouncers hobbling on broken knees, informants spitting out teeth, and still, nothing.

Not a damn thing to show for it.

I’d left a trail of broken men across the city.

Every single one of them swore up and down that they didn’t know where Esme was.

It didn’t matter. I knew they were lying.

I could tell, just by the sound of their bones snapping under my hands.

There was still blood on my face, not even mine, from some guy who thought he could hold out longer than the others.

He couldn’t. None of them could.

My knuckles were wrecked, throbbing with every beat of my heart, but in truth, I liked it. It kept me sharp.

I would have set myself on fire if it meant getting Esme back. I wasn’t stopping, not for anything.

She belonged next to me. Safe. No marks on her unless I put them there.

The next idiot who got in my way, he’d find out I could do a whole lot more with a knife than just threaten. I had patience for days, and I was just getting started.

One of Rhea’s men slumped in the corner chair, wrists zip-tied, blood dripping in slow, ugly dots onto my twelve-thousand-dollar Aubusson.

Every drop, a new blemish. I couldn’t even bother caring.

His face was a mess, all shifting colors and swollen flesh, one eye sealed shut, the other a slit open. Only the spasming vein in his neck told me Ares and I hadn’t pushed him over the edge.

Not yet. Not that it mattered. He hadn’t told us a damn thing.

I pulled my attention back to the surveillance wall, screens flickering with feeds from Rhea’s properties. Estate after estate, all sterile, all quiet.

No Esme. No flash of dark hair, no stubborn tilt of her chin.

Rhea wouldn’t slip up so easily. She’d hide Esme somewhere off the map, somewhere only she knew. Personal.

The clue was out there. In someone’s memory, or some small thing we’d missed. I just had to get to it before the clock ran out.

Ares and Helena watched me from the plush red velvet couch, eyes glued to my every twitch like I was about to explode and take half the room with me.

Maybe they weren’t wrong. My hands wouldn’t quit shaking. I kept glancing at my watch, then the clock on the wall, over and over, like maybe if I stared hard enough the minutes would reshuffle themselves and give back what I’d lost.

Every second made the anger in my veins twist tighter, heavier, colder.

I slammed my fist against the desk, not caring about the jolt of pain burning up my arm. Pain was easier than this…this gnawing emptiness hollowing me out.

Somewhere, Esme was breathing, bleeding, screaming.

Or maybe not breathing at all.

Rhea wouldn’t blink before hurting Esme. That was the whole damn point of it all.

Taking Esme was the perfect revenge play.

Rhea had sniffed out my weakness, the one thing sharp enough to cut through everything else and bring me flat on my face.

But I was still breathing. And unless I saw a body, Esme was too.

The clock was running. I spun around to face Ares and Helena, both of them staring at me like I might go off at any second.

“Your men find anything?” I snapped.

Ares pressed his lips into a tight line.

“They placed her anklet in a Faraday bag in under two seconds and attached a tracker to a courier. We monitored the broadcast for thirty minutes before realizing the signal wasn’t coming from her.

We’ve checked the band’s internal log up to the moment just before the kidnapping; after that, it was silent until they removed the tracker sleeve. ”

“Fuck.” The word just blew out of me, loud and ugly.

I stalked over to the balcony, grabbing the rail and squeezing until my knuckles ached.

Down below, the Underworld was dead quiet, the dance floor a black sea.

Hours earlier, this place had been packed with the city’s finest, laughing and plotting, not a clue there was a war brewing right above them.

My fingers clenched tighter around the balcony rail. I could practically see Rhea's body flying out into the dark, limbs flapping, dress riding up, her scream cut short before she slammed straight through one of those stupid glass tables.

That sound, that last disgusting wet crunch, would be the payoff for every miserable hour I’d wasted tracking her down.

I shut my eyes, grinning at the thought like some junkie who could finally taste water. If it weren’t for the promise of her death, I’d have torched this city a long time ago.

“We’re missing something,” I gritted out, nails biting hard into my palms.

Helena cut in, no patience in her tone. “Aidon, you need to get your head on straight. Running around like a rabid animal isn’t helping. You’ll get yourself killed. You’ll get Esme killed. You know how Rhea thinks. She didn’t take Esme just to kill time.”

The door swung open, and an Olympus courier in a charcoal suit stepped in, holding a cream-colored card in his palm like a summons. He placed it on the desk and waited.

“From Zeno Theodorus,” he said. “Interdict: Esme is black booked at all Olympus properties. Access revoked. Accounts frozen. Associates flagged. A bounty is authorized for the device and any copies. Not for her life.”

I kept my face expressionless.

“To reverse the Interdict,” he continued, "return the original hardware and a verified full copy. Or cut one of Rhea’s arteries and bring proof. Until then, no Olympus, no favors, no name.”

He handed me a receipt pad, and I signed my name. The courier took the pad and headed out the door.

Helena’s eyes stayed firm, her voice steady. “Protection isn’t absolution.” The sound of the door shutting behind him echoed like a gavel, final and unyielding.

Her words barely dented the pounding in my skull. I kept pacing toward the map wall, the same maze of streets and alleys blending together as I traced them for what had to be the thousandth time.

The trail ended at Rhea’s compound. I’d tailed her there, watched her sweep in with her people.

I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, trying to breathe, feeling every inhale as if it might break me in two. I’d torn through this city for days, leaving a wreck behind me, and still had nothing. Not even a whisper.

The maps blurred in front of me, Rhea’s territory splattered over the city in red circles like bloodstains.

Zero.

We’d ripped through every property, nothing left but dust and disappointment.

The paper crumpled in my fist, veins popping along my forearm as I tried not to shred it into confetti.

“Fuck!” The shout cracked out of me, bouncing off the walls.

Over in the corner, our guest twitched, coming around like someone who’d overslept for a job interview he never wanted.

I crossed the room in three long steps, dropping my shadow over him before his brain could catch up.

My hand knotted in his filthy hair, dragging his head back. His right eye was swollen shut, purple-black and ugly, and fresh blood snaked down from the split in his bottom lip, painting his chin bright red.

"Last chance," I said, my voice dropping to a register I hardly recognized. "Where is Esme?"

My fist met his cheekbone, a sharp, clean hit. I felt the jolt run all the way to my shoulder. A fine red mist peppered the wall behind him, almost pretty if you ignored the context.

He spat a tooth onto the filthy floor. "Doesn't matter now. Rhea's got her stashed someplace you'll never find."

Something in me snapped. Before I blinked, my knuckles crashed into his face again, caving in what was left of his left eye socket. Ugly, purple, swollen.

I leaned in, so close the blood-tinged copper stung my tongue. "Then Rhea better start saying her goodbyes."

I shoved him away, hard, sending him crashing into the wall.

My boot caught the edge of a table and flipped it.

Glass decanters shattered on the marble floor.

Bourbon splashed everywhere, soaking the maps and bleeding the ink into a giant mess.

The smell of liquor flooded the room, thick and sweet, like perfume at a funeral.

Something cracked in my chest.

Not pain.

More like the sound of ice splitting on a frozen lake.

Dangerous. Final.

Every time I blinked, I saw Esme's face. The sharp eyes. That stubborn, impossible mouth.

The idiot. The gorgeous, reckless idiot.

Just waltzing straight into Rhea’s trap like it was nothing.

What the hell had she been thinking? I wanted to be mad, but something worse took over, a cold, clawing panic.

Because Rhea wouldn’t just kill her, death would be the easy way out.

My hands curled into fists at my sides.

What if that bastard was right? What if I was too late? What if I’d already lost her?

The thought was too much. Just imagining it made my chest tight. Because if I let that nightmare happen, I’d never be the same man. Losing her would rip me apart. The anger would eat me alive, day after day, until there was nothing left.

Desperation took over, winding through me like poison. I stopped fighting it. I let it in.

I grabbed the nearest table and flipped it, wood splintering, my control slipping, my rage turning into something black and ugly, so much so that it almost scared me.

I turned on my heel and stalked toward the door. I needed to get the hell out of this room. I needed air. Space. Time to think.

“Boss, where are you going?” Ares called out.

Not slowing down, I said, as I passed him, “No one takes what’s mine and lives.”

If Rhea Konstantinou wanted a war, I’d make damned sure she got one.