Black Collar Queen (Black Collar Syndicate Book 2) (3 page)

Chapter 4
.
Private
Airport. New York City, September 26th.

Rama
Stands In Shadows,
flanked by two bodyguards. Men like them belong to shadows, and
he rests easily there, watching the sky streaked with orange and red as the sun
sets. The plane coasts down the runway, a gleaming, sleek machine that reeks of
indulgence and privilege.
 

Tinney straightens as
the plane glides to a halt. The bodyguard is tense, his eyes darting around
uneasily.
 

"Relax," Rama
says softly, a hint of command in his tone. "We're well
guarded."
 

It is true. Both the
Morgan family assassin and the Thai prince have brought the best of their
security to welcome home the new king.
 

And Emma.
 

The staircase folds
down, and now he straightens as well, out of his slouch against the wall. He
runs a nervous hand through his hair and licks his lips. Vaguely, he is aware
of the wryly amused look Tinney gives him.
 

A flight attendant is
talking to someone, her dark hair obscuring his view of the passenger. She
blushes, and then Seth steps into view. He straightens as he clears the plane.
He’s wearing a gray suit with a black button-down and a skinny tie, dark eyes
hidden by sunglasses, face blank. His left arm is held in a sling, startling
white against the suit.

Emma, all golden skin
and red-gold curls in a pale blue sundress, steps up to his side, and Seth
wraps an arm around her shoulders protectively.
 

Rama realizes, abruptly,
that he isn’t breathing, and lets out the held breath slowly as Emma laughs at
something her cousin says, then begins a casual descent.
 

She is still so damn
beautiful it hurts. And moving with a loose grace that is telling— she’s
relaxed around him in a way Rama hasn’t seen before. A month of seclusion would
do that. He tamps down on the surge of envy, the ever-present wish that he had
been the one with her in a tropical paradise. She doesn’t belong at his
side—she will never be his queen. She gives the pilot a sultry smile, all Morgan
charm and unconscious sex appeal. Even from here, he can see the man’s eyes
widen and his hard swallow. Seth’s amused, stormy eyes as he steers Emma away.

And there is that. Seth
will never have her in his bed—in that, Emma is his alone. For all the Morgan
king’s bluster, he won’t forbid that. Not after the dinner party.
 

Tinney steps out of the
shadows, and Seth smiles as Emma hurries across the tarmac to embrace the
assassin. The giant wraps her in a hug, almost swallowing her from view.
 

“Welcome home,
princess.”
 

Seth clears his throat
and Emma steps away from Tinney, a flush in her cheeks. She looks uncertain for
a moment. She is still so young—it’s easy to forget that sometimes.
 

“Did you bring my car?”
Seth asks.
 

Tinney nods. “And Dom,
as requested.”
 

Emma’s eyes turn hard
and Rama chooses that moment to step into view.
 

He watches her,
distantly aware of Seth as the Morgan king steps back, murmuring to Tinney. He
doesn’t matter—not right now.
 

She’s nervous, her eyes
wide and almost panicked, but as he stalks across the tarmac, he sees the
subtle change in her—the tension draining from her shoulders, the slightest
softening of her eyes. A smile plays over his lips as he approaches, invading
her space, standing close enough that there is no doubt who he is to her.
Behind them, he hears the sharp inhale from his own security. She sways a
little, leaning into him without realizing it.
 

She might spend a month
with Seth in the tropics, but she still wants him.
 

“What are you doing
here?” she asks, her voice like a balm.
 

There is something he
should say here—some kind of declaration for the alliance, to further his
family. But what he says instead is, “I’ve missed you,
mali.”
 

Then he leans down,
brushing a kiss over her lips, a chaste greeting. She’s stiff and confusion is
filling her eyes. So he steps away, and turns to Seth. The Morgan’s dark eyes
are sharply assessing. “It is good to see you,” he says simply, a greeting of
equals. Seth nods, and Emma takes a half-step away from Rama, a tiny retreat
that he doesn’t miss. “What have we heard from the Olivers?” Seth asks,
shifting to business as he glances at Emma. Tinney rumbles an answer, and Rama
takes a moment to take them in.
 

Seth is different. Calm
and composed in a way he wasn’t before they left—quietly collected.
Dangerous.
 

Emma mirrors his
movement, never far away. Even as she greets her personal guard, she is aware
of her cousin. When Seth shifts his bag, she makes a quietly disgruntled noise
and moves to take it from him.
 

“And you, Rama?” Seth
asks, abruptly pulling him from his musing. “What are your people
hearing?”
 

“Remi is furious.
They’ve attacked two of your shipments to Brooklyn and one of your properties
in the Hamptons was burned—it was empty so no one was killed, but financially,
it’s a big hit.”
 

“He has the right to be
angry,” Seth murmurs. Emma stiffens and Seth seems to shake himself, his
thoughts. He focuses on Emma and leans in, brushing a kiss over her cheek.
“Have your driver take you home, Em.”

“You aren’t going into
Remi’s office alone, Seth,” she snaps back. All of them still— more because of
her words than her challenge. “It’s suicide, and you damn well know it.”
 

Seth’s eyes are dark and
blank when he looks at her, all of the warmth and easy affection gone. Rama
suppresses a shudder—this is the man he knew was there. The deadly king.
 
Tinney speaks before Seth, “What is she
talking about?”
 

Seth makes a small noise
of discontent—a huff of displeasure. “I’m going to negotiate a ceasefire. He
won’t kill me in his damn bank.”

“Let me come with you,”
she says abruptly and Rama’s heart trips.
No
.
 

“Absolutely not. I won’t
put you in danger.”
 

She laughs. “But you
have no trouble risking yourself. Remember that if you die, I’ll be left alone,
Seth Morgan.”
 

Emma turns away,
stalking to her car. Rama twists to stare after her, unsure of what to do. He
hates not knowing what to do.
 

“This is hard on
her—harder on her than anyone. She’s afraid.”
 

Rama glances back at
Seth. The guards have withdrawn some, and they stand in a circle of empty
space. “She has reason to be,” Rama says bluntly. Seth’s eyebrows twitch, but
Rama doesn’t back down. He stood before Seth once as a foreign prince seeking
favor—but he has allied himself with the Morgans, and taken risks on their
behalf, taken a bullet for their queen. He won’t continue to place himself as
subservient—not to Seth.
 

“She is in danger, and
the one person she loves is walking into a death trap. Emma has every right to
be terrified,” heh says.
 

Seth eyes the other man
and nods. “She does. But she doesn’t have the luxury of indulging in that. We
don’t have time for me to coddle her—and it doesn’t help when I do. God knows,
she hates it.”
 

There’s annoyance in
Seth’s tone that soothes Rama—the displeasure of a sibling. “Take care of her.
I’ll be in touch soon.” Seth says, touching his elbow briefly before walking to
where

Tinney stands. “If it
helps, Ratchaphure, she did miss you. Even if she refuses to admit it.”
 
He smirks, all insolent charm, and slides into
the car.
 

Rama approaches her as
the Bentley pulls away. Her arms are crossed, fury and fear etched in the
perfect lines of her face.
 

“Where do you want to
go,
mali?”
 

She stares after Seth
for a long time, chewing on her lip, looking for all the world like a lost
little girl. “What do I do if he’s wrong?” she says, and he struggles to keep
the shock from his face. That she would ask at all.
 

“You do what he taught
you, Emma. You are where you are because Seth trusts you.”
Because I trust you.
 

She sighs, and Dom
shifts a little at her side. “Thank you for coming.” He dips his head slightly,
and she smiles. “Can you meet tomorrow morning? To discuss business?”
 

For
her?
“Of course.”

She smiles again, a
brighter, real smile. Shifts to lean into him. His pulse speeds as she inhales
his scent, her lips tickling over the bare skin of his throat, moving up to nip
at his earlobe as she murmurs, “Until tomorrow.”
 

Chapter 5.
Oliver Bank and Trust Bank. New York City, September 26
^th

The
First Twenty Or So Minutes
of the car ride are spent in tense silence, accented only by the
thumping of the New York streets. Seth quietly watches the traffic from the
passenger seat as Tinney navigates through the mess. Seth's Head of Security is
uneasy. He doesn't like the sudden change of plans, doesn't like that Seth
didn’t mentioned it before they landed. The element of surprise that Seth means
to use as momentum can backfire—there are too many ways for things to go wrong.
Tinney has become an advisor, resuming a role he hasn’t had since Gabe died.
Even so, the new king is ignoring him.

Finally, Tinney says, in
a tone of resignation, “You're more like your dad than you can know.”

“Christ, Tinney, do you
have to do that shit now?” Seth says, letting his anxiety slip into his voice.
He doesn't quite mean to look at the older man, but he finds his eyes
gravitating that way in time to catch the small smile that dances across
Tinney's expression. It's the same sentiment Seth showed Emma when he told her
she was acting like Caleb. He keeps his silence, but inside he viciously
curses.

“You look good, Seth,
less like a shell of yourself,” answers Tinney. “It seems Emma's fussing paid
off.”
  

Seth lets the moments
pass into a heavy hush. If he has learned anything from his monthlong hiatus,
it's that it's better to shut up and center his thoughts than to let his temper
pop. He takes a long breath to focus and calm down. He can't go strolling into
the heart of Remi Oliver's kingdom a nervous wreck, which is certainly Tinney's
lesson in poking at Seth's ghosts.
  

A taxi honks a few cars
ahead of them, and Tinney is forced to step on the break.
 
He doesn't speak, but releases an aggravated
sigh.
 
Seth waits until they're moving
again to ask, “If

I'm so much like Dad, how
would he have handled this situation?”

Tinney sniffs a scrap of
dry laughter, so nearly a scoff that Seth is unsure how to read it. The
family's gun says, “By the end, he wouldn't have been so kind as to offer
peace. But before you and Caleb were born, he would have done the same damn
idiotic thing you're about to do.”

Seth mutters a curse, as
a familiar sting rakes across his nervous system. The words hurt in the same
way growing up does.
 
Tinney has to know
what that means to him—the comparison to his father. Yeah, it hurts, but at the
same time, his doubt eases against his nerves. To know that he follows his
father's path is undeniably comforting.
 

Seth says, “You mean,
once he relied on faith.”
 

Tinney releases another
humorless laugh, and shakes his head. At length, he says, “That's one way to
put it.”

“Then what
do
you mean?” Seth asks, his tone so
close to frustration, yet held within his control so that it could be audacity.

Tinney merges the car
off of an exit that will lead to downtown, to Oliver Bank and Trust.
 
He eases the car to a crawl, then says, “You
automatically lose a certain amount of optimism when you have kids, Seth.
 
Before he had that responsibility, Gabe was
ridiculously hopeful that people's natures were good.
 
But when he had sons, he tended toward the
cautionary side, for protection's sake. He wouldn't take shit from anyone, for
any reason. I think you know what I mean, though.”
  

Seth purses his lips. He
can't argue, and for once, he doesn't want to. Then, he allows a sad smile at
the warm memories of his father. Regardless of what shadows haunt their family
history, he will always know his dad loved him. He says, “Then I know he relied
on faith, because right now, it's all I have to convince me that I'm not about
to make myself a martyr.”

Seth chances a glance at
Tinney, hoping the road has him distracted enough not to notice. He sees the
elder’s eyebrows arch, watches his mouth thin to a line. Seth almost can't
believe he has taken Tinney off guard, but there's no mistaking the blankness
that covers Tinney's expression.
 

The car makes a left
turn, and in a voice barely above a whisper, Tinney says, “You're just like
him.”

Neither of them speaks
another word until Tinney pulls to a stop along the sidewalk in front of the
bank. Seth slips the sling over his head, hissing slightly as it jars his
still-healing shoulder. Tinney looks very seriously at Seth, and says, “At
least take a gun.”

Seth fields the
attention with considerable grace. With a small shake of his head, he says, “If
I go in armed, it could easily be misconstrued. If I'm unarmed, he has
absolutely no ground to attack me.”

“Goddammit,” Tinney
mutters. “You're right, but you have no fucking idea what you're doing.”
 

It's so very rare that
he shows any kind of emotion that Seth is momentarily stilled by the disquiet.
In one respect, Tinney's right. Seth has limited experience dealing with Remi.
But, Tinney doesn't know what Seth went through in Cuba. In the end, all he can
rely on is his Morgan intuition.

Seth says, “I know more
than you can realize.” Lets a couple beats pass, then adds, “You'll hear from
me within twenty minutes.” And he pushes open his door.

It's hot for the end of
September, and his lightweight button-down and skinny tie are stifling as he
looks up into the facade of Remi's home bank.
 
His heart beats against his rib cage, and he takes a thick swallow.
Retreat is no longer an option. A king can't be afraid to show his face. He
banishes all his youthful fear of Remi Oliver to hell with his uncle's soul,
and climbs the stairs to the marble columns of Oliver Bank and Trust.

Inside, he makes a quick
path past the usual bank hoopla of lines and tellers, and heads toward the
first big desk he sees.
 
He knows every
minute spent among people, he is more likely to be recognized. So he leans down
close to the bottle-blonde in her mid-thirties to speak into her ear. He sees
her lips part in a tiny O at his sudden sex appeal and proximity.
 
“I need to see Mr.

Oliver,” heh says in the
smoothest bedroom voice he can manage.

A stretch of silence
passes, in which he's sure she is breathing in his cologne, and she clears her
throat.
 
“I'm sorry, sir, Mr. Oliver sees
people by appointment only.”

He smiles, small and
knowing, almost sympathetic for her sudden nervousness. He waits long enough
for her to notice his lips, then says, “You tell him Seth Morgan is here to see
him. I promise he'll respond.”

Then he pulls back, and
smooths his gray suit coat. For good measure, he flashes a darker smirk at her.
She flushes, even through her make up, and all but scrambles for her phone. In
moments, she's speaking into the receiver in a tone so hushed Seth can't quite
make out what she says. He doesn't need to know, or tells himself he doesn't as
he forces himself not to do a quick survey of his surroundings. He can't afford
to look as nervous as he is, so he keeps his eyes on the receptionist, which
makes her fidget. At length, she hangs up and says, “Mr. Oliver will see you
now. The elevator is through that door over there, and his office is on the
third floor.”

A real smile claims
Seth's lips, and he nods. “Thanks so much,” he says with a wink. She releases a
tiny gasp as he turns away toward the elevator.

He spends the ride to
the third floor forcing himself to be absolutely still, so that when he steps
off the elevator, and comes face-to-face with security, he doesn't even flinch.
He gives the two beefsteaks a cordial nod, and stops.

One of the guards says,
“Excuse me sir, we're gonna need to see the contents of your pocket, and run a
wand on you.”

“Of course,” he says
with a hint of smile. He shows them his wallet, keys, and phone, and lifts his
arm so they can run the handheld metal detector over him. They seem almost wary
when the thing doesn't make a sound.
  

“Have a good day, sir,”
says the guard, and Seth straightens his jacket as he passes them by. He won't
let himself think on the few steps to the office door, and instead feels
himself slip into instinct. The situation is not so unfamiliar, just the force with
which he's dealing. The door handle is so cold when he turns it.

The office is expectedly
huge, done in dark hardwood, and hosting not only Remi's big desk, but a couch,
love seat, and coffee table. In-set bookshelves make up the wall behind the
desk, and a minibar sits close to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Remi is sitting
behind his desk, with a phone crooked between his face and shoulder when Seth
enters, and Oliver is setting aside some papers into his briefcase. “I'm sorry
for the short notice,” says Remi, pointedly watching Seth cross the space to stand
in front of him. He says, “Yes, it's unavoidable. Yes, goodbye.”

Remi stands quickly, but
for a long time, they only stare at each other.
 
Seth is careful to make no sudden movements with his hands that could be
misunderstood. He chooses to focus on that, rather than the searing rage that
surges through him at the sight of his dead lover's father; also the foreign
king who was in on the plot to usurp Seth and his brother. The look on Remi's
face isn't quite surprise, but it's certainly one of quick calculation. Seth
must keep in mind that though Remi is a mystery to him, Remi is also the enemy
who knows him best – the old him. And so he can't let himself be that child.
The Seth Morgan who watched most of his immediate family take bullets that
killed them, the one who delivered some of those bullets himself—— Remi doesn't
know that Seth at all. With the grace of saints he can't believe in, he reaches
an open hand to his enemy.

Several seconds later,
Remi accepts the gesture, shakes Seth's hand with a steady grip. Not too hard,
Seth notes. He says, “I'm here to ask for a momentary ceasefire. I come to you
unarmed. Will you talk to me?”

Remi's eyes are so dark
as he searches Seth's face for any twitch of expression. Finding none, Remi's
shoulders ease the slightest bit, and he says, “I will do that for you. Have a
seat, Seth.”

The clattering in Seth's
chest quiets a fraction, and he unbuttons his jacket as he sits. Remi strolls
to the minibar, no doubt vying for time and presence. Seth follows his progress
with his eyes. Remi asks, “Would you like some scotch?”

Caleb's favorite. Seth
doesn't allow the wince he feels. He says, “No, thank you.”

Remi pauses, then
continues dropping ice cubes in his high ball.
 
He splashes some amber liquor on the ice and turns back to his desk.
When he sits, Seth wonders if he will ever be that intimidating sitting behind
a giant desk, in a massive executive chair. The gray at Remi's temples is a
stark contrast to the dark of the rest of his hair. To Seth, the contrast is a
reminder that the other man is vastly more experienced.
 

Remi says, “Why are you
here?”

There's no inflection in
the question, no change in his flat features. Seth's gut is in knots. To hell
with it all now; there's no turning back. Seth holds the eye contact with
steely reservation. He says, “I'd like to discuss compensation.”

Remi's eyebrows lift
despite himself, and says, “What compensation might you be referring to?”

Seth swallows the dry
lump that's suddenly trying to stop his voice. He keeps his chin high when he
answers, “My family is in debt to yours. I ask that we can come to some
agreements to fulfillment of that debt.”

Remi lets loose a low,
wolfish laugh that surprises Seth into stillness. The sound is not quite one of
amusement. He takes a moment for a slow sip of scotch, his eyes pinned on Seth
as he does. Seth is sure he can see an evil gleam in that gaze. Finally, Remi
says, “You
know
the compensation your
family owes.”

“I also know,” says
Seth, “that as adults, we can make provisions for an instance when we might
want to settle an issue without bloodshed. I'm trying to keep this from
becoming a perpetual chain of death. We can end it. And only we can. You and my
father never had a rift like this.”

For a long moment,
Remi's face remains set in a grim answer, one that Seth begins to believe means
he has made a grave mistake in coming here. All he can manage to think is that
Emma will be furious if he dies today and proves her right. But then Remi sits
back in his chair and folds his hands together on his lap.
 
He says, “I'm afraid my wife will not accept
anything less than the traditional payment method. This has destroyed her.”

Seth's brow hardens, and
in his moment of misery, he thinks perhaps it's not a bad thing to show the
sincerity of his pain right now. He looks away, to the desktop, and let's the
storm rage in his eyes. He says, “It has destroyed me, too.”

He hears Remi's breath
catch, reminds himself to breath. If Remi knows anything, it's that Seth has
always loved his daughter. Then Seth shuts it down, carefully hides his
emotions back in the vault where they were, and he turns much colder eyes up to
Oliver. Seth continues, “But is your wife also prepared to lose the significant
amount of money you make from dealing with my family?”