Reign (Sin City Outlaws #1)(6)

The shit I put my fingers in, it’s smart of her.

Going inside, the lamp is knocked over. I pick it up and put it back on the end table, but nothing else seems out of place.

“Rachel?” I holler throughout the house. I look in our bedroom, bathroom, kitchen—everywhere. She’s not here. Her purse and clothes are gone and her car is missing.

I narrow my brows, looking around the room. I know I told her to leave, but she has no money, and no family. Where the f*ck would she go?

Cross and Uncle’s words flare in my head.

‘It means, the longer you take with your decision, shit could go wrong. People could… go missing.’

Running outside, I jump on my bike and ride back to the casino. He better not have touched her. I swear to God I’ll kill him. I may not have been very fond of Rachel, but she was under my protection—my property. Racing all the way to the top of the casino, I whip in and out between parked cars and stoplights, my heart pounding with anger and adrenaline the entire time. Pushing through security and punching one f*ck-nut in the nose, I make it to my Uncle’s office finally.

I stop right outside Frank’s doors, my chest lifting and falling rapidly as I try to catch my breath. Grabbing my gun from my waistband, I push the doors open.

“Where is she?” I growl, my head lowered, eyes pinned right on Frank’s.

“Who?” he asks casually.

“You know who.”

Uncle holds both his hands out, looking around the room. “I’m confused, Zeek. Who are you looking for?”

“Rachel is gone.” I slowly lower the gun, his face and tone of voice not giving me any indication that he knows where she is.

He tilts his head to the side. “And you think I had something to do with it?”

“You threatened me if I didn’t make a decision quick enough…”

He frowns. “I’m saddened you think I’d go against our deal.”

Standing, a cigar in his mouth, he strides my way, and my hand grips the gun tighter.

“You’re president now, Zeek. No time for emotions in this, they’re a distraction. Together, we will become rich, and we will take Vegas BY THE BALLS!” His voice gets rough, his hand coming up like he’s actually grabbing a pair of balls as he speaks.

“I need to know I can trust you. I need that to make this club the best that I can.”

He smiles big, nodding enthusiastically.

“Trust?”

“Yes.”

He steps to his side and runs both hands through his hair.

“Your father was big on trust, wasn’t he?” My father preached and preached about how if you don’t trust the man beside you, you might as well not trust yourself.

“All right, Zeek. You have my trust,” he mutters, his shoulders tensing.

Placing my gun back in my waistband, I exhale slowly. “So, you didn’t have anything to do with Rachel?”

He puffs on a cigar, looking at me with squinted eyes.

“Nope.”

Staring into his eyes, I can’t read if he’s telling the truth or not. “I’ll put my boys on it, see if they can track her down.” And if I find out he touched something that belonged to me… he’s a dead man.

“Sounds like a plan. Now, if that’s over.” He puffs on the cigar, stepping toward me. “It’s your turn to reign over Vegas, Zeek. Now go, show them the reaper still lives.” He gives my cheek a firm slap and turns back toward his desk.

Leaving, my phone rings from an unknown number.

I smile into the phone, knowing it’s my father.

“Hello?”

Coughing and heavy breathing sounds into the receiver. He’s dying as we speak.

“How are you feeling, Father? You sound like you’re having a hard time breathing. Maybe a little dizzy? Got the shakes, possibly?” I chuckle into the phone. Getting to hear his last breath, to know he’s the one who is trying to take down the only family I have by being a traitor… It’s f*cking great.

“What… did… you… do?” He gasps into the phone.

“What I needed to do. You’re a f*cking rat, and this is what happens when you betray your brotherhood. This is what you taught me, trained me to do when someone becomes a traitor,” I snarl. “I would rather be on my feet standing guilty than on my knees begging for innocence.”

“No—” He’s thrown into a fit of coughs and groaning, cutting off his response. “Guard!” He tries to yell for help. It sounds painful and blissful all at the same time.

“Pipe down, Deluca!” a guard responds.

“Help,” he gargles into the phone.

A crash sounds into the phone, as if my father has fallen to the floor, and the line goes dead.

I just killed my father. My chest burns. It burns so intensely I feel my ribs constrict to the point I hunch over in pain. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my heart just cracked. Bleeding any emotion or human decency that might have been dormant.

I’m officially a monster.

An animal.

One my father raised.





ONE





JILLIAN


Six years later

Glancing out the window of the cruiser, I sigh loudly. I’m feeling antsy. My reflection from the glass stares back at me, and I notice a hair has strayed from my bun. It’s protocol to keep your hair up as tightly as you can, so I flip open the visor and yank the ribbon from my hair to redo it. My dirty-blonde hair falls to my shoulders, framing my heart-shaped face. My light brown eyes reflect back at me, my irises holding flakes of black. They seem dull; they want that adrenalin, want the heart-racing high that makes them dilate. Shoving my hair into a tight bun, I slap the visor up and stare out the front windshield. The lights of Vegas are beginning to illuminate as the sun fades into the horizon. Looking at the clock on the dash, I see it’s 9:15PM; things will start to get more adventurous very soon, which I am thankful for. I’m ready for some action. It seems the later it is the more people like to get into trouble. I love things that make my heart race and my adrenaline increase to the point I feel dizzy. Makes this the perfect job.