Page 5 of Stolen Temptation (Irish Kings #3)

Rory

How did they even find this place?

As I enter the main section of the auction venue, I try not to be too awed by this cavernous geode of a venue that could double as the subject of a National Geographic special. Purple-black crystals and gemstones sparkle in the walls and along the ceiling a hundred feet overhead.

Guests in white ties perch on balconies that jut out at irregular intervals around the tiered room. Thick and thin candles line the meandering walkways and tunnels that lead to the various lookout areas above and around the main floor.

The main floor is where the action is: gourmet food stations; wait staff floating around with deconstructed crab cakes in cocktail glasses; the high, standing tables where auction-goers lean and whisper; and on the far side of the floor, a grand stage.

Well-groomed men in expensive suits circulate and mingle.

The handful of women in attendance don’t reflect the formal dress code for men and wear skimpy black dresses as they fawn over their companions.

Mistresses, or possibly even hookers. Not wives.

A beady-eyed announcer stands behind a podium with a knowing smile on his face, scanning the crowd as attendees inspect the various auction items.

“Any sign of him?” I speak low and quick into the microphone hidden in the bow tie around my neck.

After a moment of silence, Darren’s gravelly voice comes through. “Not yet.”

“I’ll check the bathroom, see if I hear anything.”

Darren’s somewhere in the bowels of this place, trying to secure an easy exit for us in the event that we manage to walk out of here with Leo De Luca’s prized possession, whatever it may be. We’re both keeping an eye out for the fuckface in question, but so far, he’s been elusive.

We know he’s here somewhere.

I bank left down a small ramp that leads toward a sign that reads Gentlemen . Every time I see that word, I want to laugh. As though any of the men here know anything about being gentle, myself included.

If any one of these assholes here tonight recognized me, I wouldn’t hesitate to dig my thumbs into their eye sockets until their eyeballs popped, the jelly of them oozing out with the blood. And just like that, they’d never see again.

Gentlemen, my ass.

A lanky attendant stationed outside the men’s room pulls the door open for me with a flourish, and I stride into the palatial washroom on the other side, listening for voices.

Nothing.

This mole business has been swirling through my mind ever since we first discovered the leak’s existence. It’s a cancer diagnosis with an uncertain prognosis. Can we cut out the tumor? Or has the sickness metastasized into our organization’s bones? Will we survive, or are we already dead?

No matter which way I slice it, this mole, whoever they are, must be motivated by the promise of power. They must believe that bringing down Shane will topple the rest of the Kings and carve out a hole for them to fill.

They don’t call Shane Gallagher Old Bulletproof for nothing, but maybe the mole’s plan isn’t to kill Shane but to shred his reputation. Getting the ranks to turn their backs on him, to lose confidence in his leadership and his choice in Finn as the next head, would be enough to build a coup on.

Theory after theory, angle after angle boggles around for space in my mind.

If I’m right and the mole is someone in Shane’s upper echelon, that means the one who’s been betraying us all these months—hell, maybe they’ve been at this for years —is someone I know well.

At first, I couldn’t understand why Shane wouldn’t want to lead the mole hunt himself. This isn’t the first time the Kings have experienced this type of problem, and Shane was part of uncovering the treachery in the past, or so the story goes.

But Shane’s reason for staying out of this has become clear. As his successor, Finn needs to learn who stands by him and who doesn’t if he wants to have any hope of running the Kings successfully, and a mole hunt will reveal exactly that.

Everyone—Kings, De Lucas, and mobs everywhere in between—is watching Finn, hoping to pre-judge the outcome of this war. They want to evaluate the strength of our family. Finn’s reputation as the future leader of this organization will be born in this turbulent time.

When Cian and Finn aren’t concerned with work, they’re knee-deep in pussy. Did I say pussy? I meant pre-marital bliss . By comparison, Darren and I don’t have shit going on, so naturally, I assumed Shane would call us to the front line first.

The bow tie is trying to strangle me, so I fidget with the stupid thing in the mirror. The attendant’s gaze sears the back of my head, but my desire to punch him is the least of my problems right now.

The De Lucas are a free-range bachelor party full of angry, disorganized, violent killers.

They used to be one of the top Italian crime syndicates in New York, but shit went sideways when their heir was sent to jail on human trafficking charges and their don, Matteo, was killed only a few years later.

By us. Well, by Finn. With Shane’s blessing.

Matteo De Luca’s death sent out a shockwave that brought their entire organization down. With their heir incarcerated and no clear succession plan in place, the family fell from grace and dwindled to nearly nothing.

For a few short years, they were practically wiped off the map. Then, this past spring, they came back with a vengeance. Led by Enzo De Luca, they’d partnered with the Red Hill Mob, an Irish outfit from Philadelphia, to take us down.

Enzo swore vengeance against the Irish Kings for his brother Matteo’s death. We all recognized the vow as just a farce—the brothers hated each other, and this was simply an opportunity for Enzo to claw back power and, with the true heir out of the way, take over as don.

Anyway, Enzo’s old news. After he kidnapped one of the Kings’ women, my friends and I ensured he didn’t live to tell the tale. That should have been the second and final end to the De Lucas.

But only a week or so after we put the man in his grave, Leonardo was released from prison on some bogus technicality.

Word on the street is that Leo’s even crazier than his half-baked uncle. Prison never improves anyone’s character, so no surprise there, but in the few months that Leo’s been at the head of his clan, the conflict between our families has reached an entirely new level.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” In a fit of irritation, I move the tiny microphone into the collar of my tuxedo shirt and rip the silk from my throat, flinging the mottled thing into the nearest onyx-encrusted waste bin.

Even the trash cans in this place are works of art.

I stride toward the door, unbuttoning my tuxedo shirt at the top.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Darren’s voice pipes into my ear as I duck back into the hallway.

“Nothing.”

“You need back up?” A faint shuffling comes through Darren’s end of the line. “I can get over to you with a couple of grenades in under five minutes.”

“Down, Rambo. I don’t think we’ve reached the grenades portion of this mission yet, but if we do, you’ll be the first to know.” A few more steps and I re-enter the grand auditorium in this underground palace. “What do you see?”

Stage lights rove around the room and cast a shimmering glow on the ceiling and walls. They’re leading up to something. The big-ticket auction item must be coming up.

A server drifts by me with a tray of Champagne. I nip a flute and down the contents in one gulp.

I’m disguised as one of the guests, and Darren’s disguised as one of the custodial staff, but I wish we’d swapped roles. I may have a better idea of what we’re looking for, but Darren doesn’t have to wear a tux.

Darren speaks in a low voice that I strain to hear. “Seems like they’re keeping most of the auction items in a guarded antechamber on the back end of the stage area.”

“Can you get in?” I trade my empty Champagne glass for a full one as another waiter slips past me.

“Might take a little work, but probably.” Darren’s voice cuts out for a moment. “What do you see on your end?”

I start to answer, but then my system short-circuits when my eyes land on a woman hovering near a group of men. Unlike the other female attendees, she’s not draped over anyone. Instead, she stands awkwardly in a deep red scrap of material that only just manages to cover an impressive set of assets.

From my side view, I get a good glimpse of her firm, rounded ass, and soft, full tits. The woman has the Goldilocks of breasts. Not too big, and not too small, but just right.

Cosplay has never been my thing, but for this woman, I’d dress up in a bear suit and slather her skin with honey before tucking her into my bed to devour.

She’s not tall, but she has long legs with deliciously strong calves and thighs displayed to perfection by a glittery pair of high heels.

Gentle, dark waves flow past her shoulder blades. Long lashes and smooth, pale cheeks present a picture of innocence that must be an illusion given the venue and her attire.

She turns her head in my direction, and the second our eyes meet, I feel as if someone punched me right in the gut. Her lips part as if I stunned her, too, and her doe-like eyes widen. I think they’re hazel, but I can’t quite tell from here.

For the first time in my life, I regret not being the type of guy who pays for sex. If I were, I’d be all over her in a heartbeat. I wonder why she’s the only one wearing red in the entire place.

“Earth to Rory. You still there? Shit, I hope we aren’t having technical difficulties already,” Darren mutters.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m here.” I give myself a mental shake. I need to keep my head in the game. We don’t have time for distractions.

“I asked what you see on your end.”