Empire of Sin (Empire #2)(24)

“Daddy…” My nephew claps, then points at me. “Uncle Nokth…”

That’s what I am to my three-year-old nephew—a gibberish of consonants and vowels.

“Hey, there, buddy.” I smile at him, thankful for their interruption. If they hadn’t shown up, the conversation with Teal would’ve veered into disastrous territory.

“Hey, Uncle Nokth!” He claps again. “Daddy made me a bath.”

“That’s right. Who’s your favorite?” Ronan gives him a fist and he bumps it, giggling uncontrollably.

“Daddy!”

“Okay, go change now and let me talk to your uncle Knox.” Teal kisses her son’s cheek.

“Not until we clear this whole thing up.” Ronan leans forward. He passed almost all of his genes to Remi, from the brown eye color to the straight aristocratic nose that he himself inherited from his earl father. “Are you going to steal my wife, Knox? Because Remi and I won’t allow it.”

“Won’t allow it,” Remi repeats, mimicking his father’s frown.

“No way. In fact, I have work to do, so you can take her back.”

“Knox, don’t you dare!” Teal objects.

“Bye, Remi.”

“Bye, Uncle Nokth!!”

My smile drops as soon as I disconnect.

I attempt to get my head occupied with work, but after an hour or so of reading a case file, it’s impossible to ward off the tension that’s building in my shoulders.

So I opt to get out and change the scenery.

Preferably by fucking someone.

It’s the best way to get rid of accumulating tension, but there’s one tiny problem about that.

Ever since I fucked Anastasia three weeks ago, I haven’t had the appetite for anyone else.

It’s not that I don’t want to fuck. It’s that I want to fuck her. No one else but the lying, conniving thief that I should’ve outed by now.

The background check Daniel did on her is squeaky clean, which is suspicious as hell. Just like her.

And I’ll handle it.

I just haven’t figured out how. Because every time I see her, I picture my dick in her mouth or her tight pussy.

And that’s not very productive. Or maybe it is, depending on which angle one looks at it from.

I leave my briefcase in my office and take the lift to the car park. Someone stops it a floor below, one of the assistants. She smiles and I fake one right back.

It’s easy now, to pretend that I’m normal, that I can automatically smile upon seeing another human instead of having nefarious thoughts about throwing them from the highest floor.

I might act friendly, but I don’t trust people. Not after the kindest-looking ones made mine and my sister’s lives hell.

The rotten people looked posh, elegant, and had all the right connections and money to hide their nefarious tendencies. They used their power to prey on the vulnerable and feed their fucked up animalistic urges.

Which is why I made it my mission to make them pay any chance I got. The press and everyone in the law circuit says I’m picky, but they don’t know the actual reason behind that.

I refuse to represent a person if I doubt they’re rotten.

They have a stench—the rotten ones—and I can smell it from a mile apart. It’s a sixth sense that I’ve had ever since I was a child.

Don’t get me wrong. That doesn’t mean I give a fuck a fuck about justice. At least not in the traditional sense.

If a woman comes to me because she murdered her abusive husband, good for her. I’ll get her out of prison in a heartbeat.

If a man killed his gold digging, emotionally abusive wife, good for him, too. I’ll give him a new page so he can start over.

Yes, I get murderers out of prison, but not any murderers.

Not any abusers.

Just the ones I don’t smell that rotten stench on them.

When the lift is about to close, I spot a very petite and very familiar woman walking at a brisk pace in the opposite direction.

I don’t even think about it as I hit the button that opens the doors before it closes. This is not the IT department, so what’s she doing here?

That girl is shady as fuck, and today, I won’t let it go.

I follow after her, keeping a safe distance. She doesn’t notice me, though, since she has that nerdy way of being so focused either on her computer, or on her feet, like right now.

She’s carrying her laptop case and lowering her head as she cuts the distance in record time. She’s fast, but not forceful, almost like a breeze passing through.

Her destination is, apparently, a staff supply room that’s rarely used. She stops in front of it and checks her surroundings like a thief before breaking and entering. I hide around the corner until she goes inside.

I wonder what the little daredevil is doing on a floor that shouldn’t concern her and in a supply room. I doubt it’s because a tech was needed here.

Instead of following right after, I wait five minutes. I need her to be engrossed in whatever her task is so she doesn’t get the chance to hide.

I’m patient like that. Hunting doesn’t happen with only speed. Stalking before the attack is the best way to leave the prey with no way out.

Once the five minutes are up, I stride to the door and slowly open it. Sure enough, she’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in the midst of stacks of papers and typing away at her computer.