Page 6 of Forbidden Empire (Sinful Gods #1)

One

A IDON

My heart pounded a wild beat as I stared at the monitor, transfixed by the flickering image of the woman on the surveillance footage. Esme Theodorus’s presence on the screen was like a live wire, sending jolts of electricity racing through my veins, setting every nerve ablaze.

It was maddening how just the sight of her could unravel me so completely.

Since the last encounter we had in person, I’d been locked in a futile battle to extinguish the fiery reaction she ignited within me.

Esme had an uncanny knack for drawing out the most primal urges from the depths of my being.

I found myself caught in a tempest of conflicting desires: the longing to lose myself in her until she was insensible and the urge to squeeze the life from her until she hovered at the brink of consciousness.

No one else in the world evoked such intense emotions in me. And no remedy seemed able to quench this unrelenting obsession.

I tried everything. Other women were mere shadows, leaving a hollow ache in their wake. Alcohol, like gasoline, fueled the blaze of my desire for her.

Even the thrill of a high-stakes brawl couldn't match the way my heart raced for her, though it beat with a darkness as black as night.

It was absurd to be so consumed by one woman, to feel as if I were a marionette dangling on the strings of my infatuation for Esme.

The realization that she could make me feel like a lovesick fool infuriated me to my very core.

After all, I was a kingpin in the glittering city of Las Vegas, a man whose mere name could cause both allies and adversaries to pale in fear or reverence.

My enemies feared me as much as they aspired to emulate me.

Whenever I strode through the vibrant, pulsating streets bathed in the glow of neon lights, I was a figure of awe, respected not only for my immense influence and wealth but for the empire I had constructed with my own two hands.

I demanded respect in every area of my life, and as a result, it was given to me by everyone I met. Everyone except Esme, that is. Damn, I couldn't shake the feeling that Esme had never truly respected me. If she did, she had a strange way of showing it.

Sitting in the quiet of my personal office in The Underworld, my mind spun as I fixated on the image of my nemesis and obsession on the screen.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, watching as she slipped into a private elevator at one of the most opulent resorts in the world.

I tapped the button on my laptop to replay the footage, my eyes narrowing in concentration as I scrutinized every frame. The video was grainy, and the angle was distant, obscuring her face more than I’d like.

However, I was sure it was her. There was no doubt in my mind, not even a little. Esme had a unique walk, one that no one else in the world could imitate.

She carried herself with the regal grace of a queen, her long raven hair flowing down her back, catching the light as she moved. Her emerald eyes, bright and sharp, scanned her surroundings with an alertness that suggested nothing escaped her notice.

But it was the confident sway of her curvy hips that was unmistakably Esme.

As I watched her stride purposefully toward the elevator in the grainy security footage, my cock twitched, a familiar jolt.

This was the last image of her we had recorded, a haunting video loop I examined for any missed clues about her current location. Each replay was pointless, but I still hoped to find something new.

I tried to tell myself I was analyzing the footage for details I might have missed, but deep down, I knew I was fooling myself more than ever.

I pretended I didn’t ache for her presence.

I convinced myself that the endless, restless nights filled with tossing and turning were unrelated to her absence.

And most of all, I tried to believe I could move on, that life would continue seamlessly even if I never laid eyes on her again.

But the truth was as persistent as the image of her in that video—inescapable and undeniable.

I was obsessed with finding her.

She’d fucking used me, betrayed me, and then disappeared.

Now, here I was, pressing the rewind button once again, at least the hundredth time, as my eyes traced every detail of her image on the screen.

My thoughts drifted back to the last time I saw her, her laughter echoing in my ears, the warmth of her skin beneath my fingertips, the lingering taste of her lips.

Damn it all.

I shook my head, trying to snap out of this trance that deceptive woman had me trapped in.

Forcing my gaze away from the screen, I let my eyes drift over the dance floor below, where colorful lights flickered and bodies moved to the rhythm.

It was a reminder that I was more than just a man consumed by an impossible woman.

I’d constructed this place from the ground up, every beam and brick set according to my design.

The Underworld Club was a dimly lit sanctuary adorned with plush velvet drapes and crystal chandeliers, where the city’s elite gathered in secret.

This was where the titans of industry and shadowy figures met to network, negotiate, and seal the deals that would alter the city's power dynamics.

Were most of those deals bordering on illegality? Maybe.

But that was standard in Vegas, after all, a city built on risks and whispers. I had created a refuge where the wealthy could indulge in their high-stakes games, free from prying eyes and the relentless noise of the Strip.

From my shadowy perch on the balcony above the club, I could see everything unfold below me. The dim lighting cast an intriguing glow over the scene, where the most fascinating displays of human behavior took center stage.

In the dark red plush leather booths, men in tailored suits whispered into the ears of women in slinky dresses, their conversations masked by the ambient noise.

Deals were made with a nod or a subtle hand gesture, the currency being lives and fortunes rather than cards or chips.

This was where the real gambling occurred in this town, with not a slot machine in sight.

Beautiful women dressed in shimmering, barely-there outfits weaved through the crowd with trays of champagne flutes, their laughter blending with the clinking of glasses.

This was Vegas, after all, a place where dreams were made and destroyed in the blink of an eye.

Watching over it all, I felt a thrill surge through me, knowing my business was thriving.

The Underworld, as I called it, offered a front-row seat to the secrets that kept my power in this city unbreakable.

I dealt in information, gathering whispered confessions and hidden truths, turning them into leverage and influence.

My skill in manipulating this knowledge was unmatched, which earned me respect and sometimes fear.

Did I have to seize it through darker means at times?

Certainly, but in this world, that was the norm.

The empire I had built was vast, a testament to the power I wielded from the shadows.

It should have been enough for me. It might have been enough, too, in some alternate universe where I’d never even heard the name Esme Theodorus, but I would never truly know. Esme had snatched my focus like a hawk plucking a rodent from a field, and I could think of hardly anything else but her.

I was grateful when I saw Ares ascending the curved stairs that led up to my suite. I needed the distraction, but as soon as he saw that I was watching the footage again, he shook his head with disappointment.

“Boss, you’re just playing right into her hands. You know that, right?” he asked.

His eyes, as sharp as steel, fixed on mine with an understanding gaze.

Ares was not only my most loyal enforcer, but also one of the few I regarded as a friend.

His loyalty was unwavering, and I trusted him with my life.

That was why he was the only one permitted to speak so frankly about personal matters like this.

And, unfortunately, he was right about Esme.

That knowledge twisted in my gut like a knife. Her ability to manipulate my emotions was infuriating, and the realization that I was falling right into her trap was maddening.

Rather than responding, I clenched my teeth and reached for the double rye whiskey bottle on my mahogany desk.

The amber liquid sloshed against the glass as I poured another shot, the third in just a couple of hours. Yet, despite the burn of alcohol sliding down my throat, the frustration inside me churned relentlessly, a violent river refusing to be tamed.

I hated the fact that Esme consumed my thoughts, an obsession I despised yet couldn't shake.

Ares understood this unspoken torment. He refrained from uttering the obvious, but the concern etched across his face was as clear as a silent accusation.

“Where the hell could she have gone?” I muttered.

I poured him a whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the glass in hopes of wiping that judgmental look from his face. His eyes were sharp like daggers, assessing every movement.

“You checked Reno?” I asked, watching him lift the glass to his lips.

“Yep.” He nodded, taking a sip with a twisted smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She’s a fucking ghost in the wind.”

“What about Los Angeles?” I pressed, leaning back against the worn leather couch.

“She’s too smart to go there.” He shrugged, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “But I checked, just in case. No sign of her anywhere.”

“What about Tahoe?” I suggested, picturing the dense woods and secluded cabins. “Maybe she’s hiding in a cabin or something.”

“If she is, she’s hiding very well,” he replied, running a hand through his hair.

“She will slip up.” I gritted my teeth. “Then she won’t have a chance.”