Page 38

DECLAN

“ T hey’re all in,” Reggie tells me as he takes a seat opposite me.

“Good job. First impressions?”

He tugs at his collar. Someone has riled him. I can see it in his wild eyes.

I’ve been on calls with Enzo about our mystery Russian intruder that I missed the last two entering.

“One is a complete brat. Contestant two.”

I roll my eyes and pick up the decanter of whiskey. If I remember correctly, contestant two is Tara. Comes from a very wealthy family of arms dealers and human traffickers.

The absolute scum of the earth.

“Taming can be fun.” I shrug, pouring the first glass.

“No, boss. She’s irritating. Daddy’s money. She wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Daddy this, Daddy that. And not in the sexy way, in the ‘needs psychological testing’ way.”

His Boston accent really adds a flair to that statement.

“You can drop the accent, Reg,” I chuckle.

“I’m keeping in character. Do you know how long it took me to perfect this?”

“You’ve perfected it?” I smirk.

“Fuck off.” His Dublin accent shines through, and I lose it, bursting out into laughter.

“Ah, there he is.”

“Fuck, that feels better. My accent is better than Conan’s. Have you heard that shit?” He rubs at his neck and leans over to grab his whiskey.

“And that, Reggie, is exactly why Conan is under instructions to not open his damn mouth.” I smirk.

As hard as Conan tried, that Irish accent wouldn’t leave him.

“Why can’t we be Irish anyway? No one has a clue it’s us,” Reggie asks.

To start with, it was to conceal us, protect us in a way. We’re the new empire.

“Well, now, purely for my own fucking entertainment, Reg. Now, tell me more about my contestants.” I tap my rings against my glass and sit forward.

“My personal favorite is Contestant Three. She’s sassy, in a different way.”

My ears perk up at the clink of my whiskey glass as I take a large gulp.

“Different?”

“She’s intelligent. Asking the right questions. Assessing everything and the calmest of the six. She even fucking laughed that we’re in a chocolate factory.”

I wonder if it’s the one that caught my attention initially.

Miss no hard limits.

“Fearless? Or stupid?”

He shrugs.

“I can’t get a read on her. Absolutely stunning, though,” he gushes, and my fists clench.

“Ah. The best kind of submissive. The ones who crave it. Naturally fierce, but demand to have control ripped from them in the bedroom.”

My cock throbs.

“I think she has a good chance. Physically, she’s perfect.”

I chuckle.

“Well, you and Rowan keep up the good work. Maybe you’ll host your own games one year.”

“That’s the dream.”

The worn leather of my chair creaks softly as I recline, with my hands clasped loosely in my lap.

“I don’t know what a dream is anymore,” I say, accidentally out loud.

“You don’t dream?”

I shake my head, a sigh escaping my lips.

“Nope. Nightmares.”

The same woman’s face every time. The bloodied knife. My father’s body. Everything merges into a hell loop every damn night.

The fact she vanished without a trace. I’ll never know the truth. Why did she try to frame me? Why did she hunt me out in Italy?

Was that night as real for her as it was for me?

Sighing, I reach for the bottle of whiskey, its smooth glass cool against my fingers.

Burn away the pain. The embarrassment.

Since that day, I became as cold as ice, numb from my father’s death. I’m every bit the angry mafia boss Enzo wanted me to be.

I fill my days with distraction. And the Decadence games are perfect for that.

My gut tells me she’s still out there somewhere. Probably laughing that she got one over on me.

I wonder if she still thinks about me?

If I haunt her nightmares like she does mine.

“You okay, boss?”

I crack my knuckles and stretch my neck. Fuck, I’m tense.

Pouring out a generous second serving, I toss it back and stand.

“Yeah. I’m heading off to get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”