Forbidden Empire, page 21
By twenty-five, his name alone made players fold. He'd shattered his father's achievements, turned legends into footnotes, and collected fortunes with casual indifference.
Then came his father's slow-motion collapse, bad debts, desperate deals, and dangerous associations. The day they found the old man in the trunk of a car with broken fingers and a bullet hole, Thal built walls around himself that no one would ever scale again.
He’d already pocketed a small fortune when he bolted from the East Coast, drawn west by the promise of neon on the Las Vegas strip.
Vegas swallowed him whole. Here, at last, he could shake off the heavy weight of his father’s broken legacy, carve out something of his own.
He slipped right in among those who mattered, the men and women who truly ran the city, and he did it with the same sharp instincts and fast-talking charm his father had drilled into him, only now he was the one holding the cards.
It didn’t take long. He hustled, he gambled, he won.
Soon enough, he had the capital he needed, and with it, his first casino: The Atlantis.
The whiskey bottle emptied between us that night, glass by glass, as Thal unraveled his past like a deck of cards while we sketched plans to dismantle the new real estate hotshot.
Three years back now. Some New York developer who'd strutted down the Strip signing checks with a flourish, thinking Las Vegas would spread her legs for anyone with deep enough pockets.
In Vegas, a fat wallet isn't a skeleton key. I've watched men worth millions stand outside velvet ropes, desperate eyes darting for someone, anyone, who might recognize them.
Meanwhile, guys with empty pockets but the right handshake glide past security without breaking stride.
Cash was vapor here.
It materializes in stacks on felt tables, disappears into cocktail waitress tips, and reappears in jackpot sirens. We all participated in the charade, pretending those green rectangles mattered, when they were just paper totems in our collective hallucination. The developer never understood this particular mirage.
Trust was our currency, more valuable than the chips that changed hands across felt tables.
When I called Thal at three in the morning, he answered. When Zeno needed someone silenced, I made it happen without question. We traded favors like breaths, held each other's darkest moments in closed fists. Vegas ran on this invisible ledger of who owed what to whom.
The tourists never understood this.
They flooded our casinos in their polyester shirts and flip-flops, wallets fat with cash they thought mattered.
We let them believe their money bought them status.
They remained outsiders, temporary amusements who'd be gone by Monday.
Our inner circle had no vacancy sign. No application process.
Over decades, we'd drawn the lines tighter around ourselves until power concentrated in just a few hands.
And tonight, those hands were all clasped around whiskey glasses in my private room.
Thal occupied the leather armchair to my left, while Zeno claimed the one beside him, bringing a thundercloud into my office with every breath.
For twenty minutes, he'd hammered me with questions about his half-sister.
"Where's Esme hiding?" and "What the fuck did you do to her?"
Each one deflected with practiced indifference.
I'd sooner walk barefoot through hellfire than position myself between blood relatives with unfinished business.
Zeno's reflection glared back from the polished tabletop.
Shoulders bunched beneath his tailored jacket, jaw muscles working like he was grinding glass between his teeth.
His fingers curled into bloodless fists against the armrests, trembling with barely contained violence.
Ares maintained his post at my right flank, eyes constantly scanning, cataloging, assessing, my human security system with a trigger finger.
Four crystal snifters sat untouched between us, amber liquid catching the low light, condensation sliding down expensive glass like nervous sweat.
Thal's fingers drummed a silent rhythm on the armrest. Zeno's jaw twitched. I caught myself holding my breath.
The air between us felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. We watched each other's hands, tracked each subtle shift in posture, listened for the slightest change in breathing. Three predators sharing the same cage.
We carried matching bullet scars, different locations, same caliber.
Had pulled each other from burning buildings and wiped blood off marble floors together. Our truce was written in scar tissue, not paper.
Zeno still wouldn't drink anything I poured him. Thal kept his back to the wall whenever we met.
I never sat without a clear path to the door. And here we were, because our empires had grown so entangled that cutting one free would collapse them all.
Vegas had forced our hands together, fingers interlaced but palms never quite touching. This meeting wasn't about friendship. It was survival, ugly, necessary, and inevitable.
The blueprints of Rhea's compound lay spread across the table between us, each hallway and exit point marked in red.
Three kings of Las Vegas, leaning over the same map like generals plotting an invasion. I held nothing back, every detail, every weakness I'd discovered.
Not out of loyalty. Not out of friendship. In our world, information was currency, and I was investing. They'd do the same if Rhea had targeted me first.
I jabbed at the blueprint, my fingertip leaving a sweaty print on Rhea's compound perimeter.
"Divided, we're dead men. Simple math." The whiskey burned in my throat as I swallowed. "She's holed up near Blue Diamond for now, but Rhea never stays put. Always three steps ahead, always watching us scramble." I dragged my finger across each entry point marked with crimson X's. "Guards at every door, every window, every goddamn air duct. You try going in alone?" I locked eyes with each man around the table. "They'll mail pieces of you back to Vegas for weeks."
Thal sank deeper into his leather chair, face carved from stone. "We approach this strategically.”
I nearly laughed. Fucking obvious. I bit my tongue, but Zeno had no such restraint.
"Strategy?" Zeno's fist crashed onto the table, rattling the whiskey glasses. "I want her bleeding out at my feet."
Each word escaped through clenched teeth, something feral lurking behind his eyes, something that had tasted blood before and wanted more.
My molars ground together as heat crawled up my neck. These peacocking bastards would get us all killed with their dick-measuring.
"Both," I sliced through their bullshit. "We move smart, we move lethal. One shot, clean execution. Rhea disappears, and everything she built?" I spread my hands. "Becomes ours for the taking."
Zeno's shoulder rolled in a dismissive shrug while Thal lifted his whiskey to his lips, sipping with calculated slowness, eyes narrowed to slits.
The silence stretched taut between us. When I caught Ares's gaze, I recognized the readiness in his posture, the slight forward lean, the hand positioned inches from his holster.
His eyes flicked between the other two men, assessing threats, but I felt no concern. These men might fantasize about putting bullets in me, but they wouldn't.
Our empires were too intertwined, our secrets too deeply buried together. They'd sooner cut off their own hands than destroy the man who kept their worlds intact.
I leaned forward, my fingertips hovering over the blueprint.
"Here's our approach."
The door crashed against the wall before I could continue.
Esme appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the hallway light.
Four hands moved to four weapons in perfect synchronicity, then stopped mid-motion.
The room went still. Esme. Here.
Zeno was the first to snap, “You shouldn’t be here!”
Without flinching, she closed the distance in three sure steps, dropped a folder onto the table with a dull slap, and leveled us with a gaze that dared us to move. Unbothered, she glanced at Zeno’s pointed finger, a slow, wicked brow arching.
“Try to stop me, dear brother,” she murmured, mouth curling into a smirk. The challenge hovered, thick and electric, between us.
My eyes locked on her before I could stop myself. The black satin of her blouse caught the light as she moved, the fabric shifting against her body with each breath.
Her hair was pinned up, but rebellious strands had worked themselves free to frame her face, drawing attention to the yellowing bruises beneath.
Those marks were healing day by day, though the memory of her injuries still cut through me like a blade.
She was a force of nature standing there. But what held me captive was the steel in her gaze, that unflinching challenge that dared anyone to question her presence.
I adjusted my position, fighting for composure as I watched her square off against the others.
Her chin tilted upward, eyes narrowing as if silently daring them to try removing her from the room.
The already dense atmosphere in my office transformed instantly, charged particles seeming to dance in the space between us, her arrival turning our careful détente into something far more combustible.
“Esme. Sit,” I said, nodding at the empty chair beside Ares. “Tell us what’s in the folder.”
She inhaled, deep, steadying, then let it out. “It’s my contribution.”
“Nobody asked you to get involved,” Zeno snarled.
She shot him a look, cool and edged. “Didn’t realize I needed an invitation, Zeno. Did you get yours delivered by pigeon, or…?”
The sarcasm dripped off every syllable, baiting him, and she didn’t even bother to hide it. Their battles were old, ugly, bruised from years inside the ring. I knew better than to step in.
“We’re all here for a reason,” I said. “That includes Esme.”
"Thank you, Aidon," she murmured.
Her smile cut through the professional facade I'd constructed for this meeting like a stiletto through silk.
"I've gathered intel on Rhea, everything from guard rotations to property holdings. But the real prize?" She tapped a manicured nail against the folder. "Access codes. Not just her digital systems, but banking credentials. Those offshore accounts funding her operation? We could freeze them with a keystroke."
Thal leaned forward, elbows on the table. His gaze traveled from the folder up to Esme's face, then dropped to where her blouse gaped open at the collar. My fingers tightened around my glass until I feared it might shatter.
"What's your angle here?" he asked, while his eyes remained predatory.
“To help,” Esme said, brittle and blasé. “I want to see her destroyed just as much as the rest of you.”
Thal’s gaze lingered, his nod slow, deliberate. “Is that so? Why?”
She shrugged, evasive. “I have my reasons.”
Zeno’s eyes roved over her face, lingering on the mottled bruises. “Would those bruises be part of your motivation?”
A ghost of a smile flickered at the corner of Esme’s mouth. “Is that a hint of concern I hear, dear brother?” She was provoking him, toying with matches in a room drenched in gasoline. Maybe she wanted to watch it all go up in flames.
He only grunted, jaw clenched so tight it might shatter.
Zeno vibrated with contained violence—a grenade with its pin half-pulled. His reputation for unpredictable brutality preceded him like a shadow.
Esme wasn’t alone in that.
“I like her,” Thal murmured, sidelong glance at me, lips curling into a smirk.
Zeno bristled, rage radiating from him in waves. At any moment, I expected him to snap, shatter the tension with an outburst. “This isn’t a fucking game.”
“It never was.”
Esme's accusation lingered in the air like gunpowder after a shot. Zeno's silence was admission enough. Four pairs of eyes locked in a Mexican standoff, muscles tensed, jaws clenched, waiting for someone to crack first.
"Enough," I growled, my palm slapping the table. "This isn't helping." The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees, but nobody moved.
"If I may," Ares leaned forward. "Our intelligence suggests a three-point strike would cripple Rhea's entire network."
My eyes met his. A nod passed between us, an unspoken understanding that the real enemy wasn't sitting at this table.
“Yeah, Ares is right,” I said. “We hit her all at once. First, the power grid. We tear it down, take the lights, kill Rhea’s eyes and ears. Then we go in, every team, everybody we’ve got, right through the perimeter. Flash bombs next. It’ll blind them, confuse the hell out of them, and we move while they’re staggering, attacking from every side all at once. Our people, her people, it’s chaos, and we want it that way. And while everything’s burning, we lay into them online. We hit the banking system, the comms, everything she needs to crawl out of there alive. Rhea’s not getting away this time.”
“Just for good measure,” Esme said. “I had her put on the no-fly terrorist watch list. She’s not going anywhere. Not by plane.”
That got my attention.
I stared at her, thrown off-balance. She hadn’t told me that part. I wasn’t sure I liked it.
I respected her for being ruthless, but did that mean she thought we’d lose?
Was she hedging her bets?
The doubt nagged at me, but I forced myself to nod, to keep moving forward. Zeno shot us a look, all suspicion and heat, but I ignored it and kept going.
“Can I say something else?” Esme asked. “It’s obvious. Rhea wants Aidon. She used me, dangled me in front of him like bait, to lure him out. She said so herself. So we need to remember that. She’ll use me however she can to get at him.” Esme’s eyes flashed, her breath catching. “I don’t know what you did to her, Aidon, but she wants you ruined. She’ll stop at nothing.”
“She can try,” I muttered.
“She’s not getting anywhere near you,” Ares cut in, his gaze flicking to Esme, all steel and resolve. He’d heard her.
Esme nodded, slow and deliberate, a shiver running through her. “Thank you. Rhea won’t hesitate to twist whatever is unresolved between us. She’ll use every crack. We can’t forget who the real enemy is.”
“Esme’s right,” I said, rising to my feet, the words slicing through the thick tension in the room. “Are we all on board here?”
Thal nodded, mouth set, eyes hooded. “I’m down.”
The finality of it was a heavy weight between us.
“Yeah, me too, I guess,” Zeno muttered, reluctance clinging to every syllable.
Ares was already pushing to his feet, energy crackling from him, turning toward me with a sly tilt of his head.
“I’ll send you all the detailed plans on an encrypted chat tonight.” There was something hungry in the way he watched me, waiting for my command. “Anything else for now, boss?”
“No, thank you, Ares.”
He left, boots echoing in the hallway, and then it was the four of us and the air bristling with old grudges, exhaustion grinding down whatever patience I had left.
“Okay, we’ll be in touch. Thank you for coming.” I moved toward the door, needing space, needing distance, but Zeno spoke, cutting through the haze.
“Aidon. A word?”
I stopped, turning to face him.
However, my gaze flicked to Thal and Esme, dismissing them.
They slipped out the door, closing it behind them.
“What can I do for you?”
He studied me, his focus intense. “Listen. Esme can be a problem, Aidon. She’s unpredictable and fucking wild half the time. The rest, she’s plain stupid.”
“She’s your sister,” I shot back.
He smirked, not the least bit offended. “Yeah, and I know her a hell of a lot better than you do. I’m just saying: call it however you want, let her come or not. But if she gets in the way, you’d better know what needs to be done.”
His gaze cut straight through me, cold, expecting.
Rage tore up my spine, hot and sudden. My hands balled into fists at my sides. I stepped in, close enough to smell the smoke of his threat, my eyes locked on his, daring him to look away, daring him to test me.
“Zeno,” I bit out. “I don’t give a fuck who you think you are. If you touch even one hair on Esme’s head, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”
His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with fury.
Every word I said, I meant, loud and raw and right between us. The tension was electric, a current snapping in the air as Zeno stared me down, chest rising and falling, lips pressed thin. This dance between us was old, practically ritual by now, and neither of us ever knew how to let it go.
“We can end this now, if that’s what you want, brother.”
The words came out sharp, biting, almost a dare. I wanted him to take the bait. Needed it, truth be told. After everything with Esme, my nerves were shot to hell, and the anger roiling inside me was a live wire, sparking and begging to be unleashed.
I raised my chin, meeting his gaze, refusing to blink first.
For a second, he looked like he might lunge.
Instead, Zeno pivoted, boots heavy over the floor as he stalked out, leaving me alone with the fire raging in my blood. I huffed out a breath, a jagged smirk twisting my lips. The fury had nowhere to go, not yet.
But it was still there, burning.
I stalked to the balcony, staring down at the club.
It was a riot tonight, the crowd wild and oblivious, drunk on music and booze and the illusion of safety. No one below had a clue what was being plotted above their heads.
If we pulled this off, everything would change. There'd be no going back. Vegas would bear new scars, and half these people would find their lives turned upside down by morning.
The risk loomed large. I clenched my jaw, my eyes fixed on the target. Rhea had to go. There was no other option. I would see her destroyed or die trying.
Esme came up without warning. One moment I was alone, the next her arms closed tight around my waist, a blindside, a comfort, and a demand all at once. I closed my hands over hers, our fingers locking together.
I drew in a breath, and the world steadied. Christ, the things she did to me. How the hell could she light me up like an inferno and, in the same breath, soothe me to the bone? I’d never get used to it. I didn’t want to.
