Black Collar Queen (Black Collar Syndicate Book 2) (27 page)

Chapter 36.
Graystone Apartments. New York City December 13
^th
 

Seth shifts as the
elevator slides to a stop. It’s been two days since the night at Bamboo. Two
days of utter silence from Emma. She was on edge and sharp after emerging from
Rama’s office, but nothing to set off alarm bells.
 

But two days of silence
from her—that has every protective instinct going off. She’s ignored his texts
and calls, and that isn’t Emma. Not showing up at the office—that isn’t her
either.
 

The apartment is dark
and smells faintly of alcohol and weed. Shattered glass gleams in the dim light
as he hesitates in the doorway, and panic spikes in his chest, a thousand
possibilities running through his mind as he stares into the deserted
penthouse.
 
“Emma!” he shouts. Her
bedroom door is open, and he leans into the darkened room.
 
She’s curled on her side, wearing a cream and
black pair of panties and matching bra. A dress suit is tossed over the foot of
her bed—clearly she was in the process of dressing when she decided not
to.
 

Seth pauses. She’s
asleep, an ashtray half-full of joint roaches on the bedside table near her
head. A bottle of vodka sits next to it, almost empty. A small pile of white
powder gleams on a small, plain mirror.
 

He curses, softly.
 

It's Monday. She's due
in the office, and instead she’s drunk, trashed, nearly naked.

“What the fuck, Em?”
Seth murmurs. She stirs, and he turns away. Rifles through her dresser to come
up with a faded t-shirt emblazoned with the logo from Irving Prep. It’s soft
and worn, the swim team lettering patchy and missing.
 

“What are you doing
here?” she asks, hoarsely.

Seth tosses the shirt at
her. “Get up,” he says.
 

Emma watches as her
cousin moves around the room, emptying the ashtray and capping the vodka. He
ignores the blow, and gives her a patient look when she doesn’t move. “Come on,

Emma. Time to tell me
what the fuck is going on.”
 

Tears fill her eyes, and
Seth goes still and tense. She sniffles and nods, scrubbing a hand over her
face. A shiver shakes her and she tugs the oversized t-shirt on before she
crawls deeper into the bed, and pulls her blanket around her. “It’s cold,” she
mumbles.
 

There is something
off—everything is screaming it, her quiet acquiescence to his orders a habit
she hides behind. Even her voice has softened and edged toward the shy cousin.
Not his queen. Not his equal.
 

“What happened?” he
asks, and her gaze flicks up to him, her eyes darkening. There is a hint of
challenge there, the first flicker of her he’s seen.
 

“It doesn’t matter,” she
says, burrowing deeper into the blanket.
 

Seth stares for a long
moment, and then bites off a curse. Emma’s gaze, wide and blue, swings up to
him as he drops on the bed. Seth makes a huff of displeasure, and then he
settles against the headboard, and pulls her against him. Emma is stiff for a
moment, fighting his grip, before it drains away abruptly and her head comes
down to rest on his shoulder.
 
“Talk to
me, sweetheart,” Seth says softly.
 

“Rama and I
fought.”
 

So much in those little
words. So much that she isn’t saying.
 

“What about?”
 

She shrugs against him,
“He overheard a comment from Aleja. Put shit together, made some accusations
and got pissed when I told him who I sleep with has nothing to do with
him.”
 

His grip on her
tightens, and she looks up at her cousin. She looks so young and vulnerable,
and it kills him a little, seeing her like this.
 

“Do you really believe
that?” Seth asks, his voice blank.

She shrugs. “Who I fuck
is my choice.”
 

“Emma,” he sighs.
 

“You had affairs so
don’t,” she says sharply.

Seth’s grip tightens and
then he relaxes, and she lets out the breath she’s holding.
  

“If you want more than
what I had with Nic, maybe you should avoid making my mistakes,” Seth
says.
 

“Maybe I don’t,” she
whispers. He’s quiet, letting her sort through her thoughts and emotions.
“Maybe it’s too much. Rama is furious because my loyalty is to you. Because I
love you. If he can’t understand that, who will?” Seth doesn’t respond for a
moment. She says, softly. “Quinn never understood it—no one at Irving did.
Caleb called, and I went. That simple. Family came first, and it didn’t matter
what I missed. And I didn’t expect them to understand, because they aren’t us.
They can’t understand our world.” She glances up at him. “But Rama is. He knows
and he still won’t accept it. Won’t accept that I have to put you first.”

Seth rubs her arm,
pulling her closer. He can hear the tears she’s fighting in her voice. His fingers
smooth over the scar, a pale pink of newly healed skin, the first scar this
life gave her. Not the last.
 

He would do anything to
keep her from the scars of their world. But doesn’t she have them? Doesn’t she
carry them on her soul? It’s her right, as a Morgan. Scars are their
birthright.
 

“Emma, you treat him
like Quinn—or any guy from Irving.” She makes a noise of protest, and pulls
away from him. He doesn’t stop her. Just stares at her, dark eyes too steady.
“Rama is our equal. Would you tolerate any of the guys at Irving doing to you
what you’ve done to him?” Emma goes still, but he doesn’t let up. “You took his
protection. You let him kill for you. You accepted him taking our mark. You’ve
let him in your bed and our syndicate, and he loves you. If you did that for
any man and found out he’d fucked another woman, how do you think you’d
react?”
 

Rage flares in her eyes,
and her cheeks color as she clenches fistfuls of blanket. Seth nods. “That’s
what I thought.”
 

“He used Caleb to hurt
me,” she snaps. He knows her well enough to know that part of her is furious
with him for being so fucking logical about this—for seeing Rama’s side of the
fight too clearly.
 

For making her see
it.
 

“Caleb will always be a
ghost between you. He can bring you closer, or you can let that ghost destroy
you.” Seth shrugs.
 

“Why the fuck are you so
calm about this?” she snaps, pulling away. She stands next to the bed, arms
crossed.
 

“Because I can’t protect
you from everything, Emma. Not from having your heart broken. Rama isn’t
perfect—he’s a jealous fucker who will probably always resent the place I have
in your life. But he loves you, and he’s one of the few people who will
understand what your life is.

What being at the top
means. And Caleb trusted him.”
 

That takes some of the
wind out of her sails, and she slumps on the side of the bed. “I know.
Sometimes I think he trusted Rama more than he trusted me.”
 

She isn’t looking at
Seth, so she doesn’t see the rage that fills her cousin’s eyes for a moment.
“Caleb didn’t feel the need to protect Rama. If he kept that part of his life a
secret, it was only to protect you.”
 

She nods, chewing her
lip and staring at nothing. A tear falls, splashing fat and wet on her leg.
Seth hisses softly and pulls her into him.
 

“Did I fuck up
everything?”
 

He kisses the top of her
head. “No, Emma. You fucked up your relationship, but that’s fixable, if you
want.”
 

“What about the
alliance?” she whispers.
 

“That wasn’t decided in
your bedroom, Em. It won’t be affected by it now.”
 

She nods, and he hugs
her tightly, pressing his lips against her hair. “Get some clothes on,
sweetheart.”
 

“Why?” she asks, dully.
Swipes at the tear trailing down her nose.
 

“Because I’m going to
take you somewhere.” He smirks.
 

“Where?” she asks, curious
despite herself.
 

A shadow slips over
Seth’s face. “The same place Caleb took me, when one of us was upset. The
Empire State Building.”

Emma stares at Seth for
a moment. Tear tracks cover her face, her blue eyes red-rimmed and puffy, the
tip of her nose bright red. She’s a mess.
 

“Thanks, Seth,” she says
softly. He nods, and squeezes her hand once as he leaves the room.

Chapter 37.
Central Park. New York City December 15
^th
 

The
Sky Is Clear
, and the New York City afternoon is as bright as it is crisp.
It's uncharacteristically warm, yet Central Park is quiet. This will most
likely be the last passably warm day they get until winter breaks its hold on
the city.
 

Seth's hands are pressed
into his long coat's pockets, and his wire-framed sunglasses are in place.
There's something peaceful about the trees that line the path, and he thinks of
the car ride to Valhalla, when Rama was talking about the forest. He was right.

Beside Seth, Rama is a
mass of brooding tension beneath a sleek expression of calm and a long, gray
coat. The high sun loves to glint off his black hair as it tousles in the
almost playful breeze. Shades also hide the only tell of his emotion, his hard
black eyes.
 

They're here for
business, but they are content to walk along in thick silence. Lately, Seth has
taken a cue from his brother, and has kept far fewer office hours. In the wake
of the fight between his cousin and his partner, he thought Rama might
appreciate the open space. Central Park, as neutral as it gets, and their
security details trail at an acceptable distance.

Rama takes a drag from a
cigarette, his other hand in his pocket, then he flicks the smoke away. His
breath is visible on the air when he says, “Everything is in place. I just need
my family's blessing.”

Seth's brow furrows and
his lips press into a thin line. His voice is edged when he says,

“What do you mean ‘your
family's blessing?’ I thought you came on their behalf.”

Rama's lips also thin,
evidence of his aggravation, so quick, so unusual. He says, “I did, but our
customs say they must physically bestow their blessings upon us before the
alliance is complete. In person.”

“Us?”

Rama bristles, and Seth
shifts so that there's more space between them. This is a flashing moment when
Seth can see the aggression that waits beneath the calm of the Buddha. He's
seen it before, but Rama's self-control is enviable—he is always calm and
centered. Just now though, the Thai is strung like a tightrope, close to
snapping under the pressure of his world. How strange, for these roles to be
reversed.

Rama says, almost
offhanded, “One of you, anyway, since Caleb is dead.”

Seth winces, the pain of
that jab very real. Another piece of the shattered puzzle slips into place.
Caleb spent months in Bangkok and secured an alliance for his family. He did
the same thing Seth was doing. Now, Rama has left this very last detail until
the deal was carved into stone. Sometimes, it's easy to ignore the fact that
the Morgans have effectively fucked over the Ratchaphure in the past. It's easy
to forget the sins of the fallen, until they come back around to haunt him.

“It should be me,” Seth
says. Rama turns his attention to Seth, eyebrows arched and shrewd gaze hidden.
Seth keeps his eyes on the path, adds, “Emma doesn't have the experience to
represent us on her own, and I won't have both of us gone from the city again.
We have too much that needs attention here.”

Rama watches the ground
for a stretch, vying against the anger that rises at her name. It takes him
several steps to grasp the truth in Seth's words. The Morgan king isn't trying
to keep his queen from the foreigner. No, he has been fairly hands-off since
their return from Mexico. But Seth is right. Didn’t Rama say it himself? Emma
still has so much to learn.
 

“You're right,” says
Rama, “but I wasn't going to make suggestions on how to handle your empire.”

Seth makes a quiet
laugh, his shoulders shaking the slightest bit. It's an easy sound, as rare to
Rama as Seth's sporadic shows of concern. Mostly, it's a reaction that says
that Seth recognizes the snide tinge in the undercurrent of Rama's words. They
are suddenly playing a precarious game of court.
  

Seth says, “So you would
let me set her up to fail instead?”

Seth's tone is light
enough, but his question is a heavy one, tricky. Rama matches the tone and the
ferocity when he answers, “I never presumed you to be that foolish.”

Seth nods. The quiet
fire in Rama reminds Seth again of that first meeting, in the VIP bar of
Bamboo, and the talk they had in the office. Seth had been the one raging, and
when he was looking for someone to blame, he found someone he could relate to.
That strange respect has carried him to this point, so that he actually feels
for Rama. The pimp is hurting, once again at the hands of the Morgan family.
His fortitude is admirable.

Seth says, “You mean
foolish enough to send her into a business occasion when love is involved?”

Rama's steps slow.
Seth’s words could be a low blow, but then Seth has stared down the barrel of a
gun in his lover's hands. A frustrated sigh leaks from him, almost too quiet to
hear.

Seth doesn't seem
bothered to match Rama’s’ pace; he just keeps his eyes forward, and a good grip
on his natural grace. Despite his cousin’s current emotional trauma, a
brotherly sort of concern manifests. Perhaps because Seth knows what it's like
to suffer from the top, knows the cold, lonely peaks of greatness. Or maybe
it's because in a world crowded by enemies and alliances, there aren’t many he
can call friend.
  

Rama is silent, locked
in the rage that waits beneath his surface. So Seth continues, “Emma is young.
She's not the same kind of young that I was. Innocence was never a natural
attribute for me, or for Caleb, but she was different. My father wanted her to
be different, and everyone kept her sheltered. She has changed so much since I
came back, but there’s still a lot she doesn't have a clue about. So much she
can’t know because she hasn’t experienced it. No one’s ever broken her heart
before.”

“Except you.”

It's Seth's turn to
tense, and he shoots a sharp look sidelong, so that Rama can see it from behind
the sunglasses. It's a dangerous volley, but it's also a reminder that though
Rama may wear the mark of the Morgans, his family’s assets do not belong to
them to wield as they choose. At the very least, it’s a way of saying that Rama
does not fear Seth as others do, that though he's been content in the
background for the sake of his empire, he will not remain in the shadows
forever.

Seth's voice is nearly a
growl when he says, “That's a deluded fantasy. It will never be a reality.
Don’t talk to me like I'm your competition.”

Rama's control is
slipping. His brow is furrowed, and his voice is forcibly low lest it come out
as a yell. He says, “You have
always
been my competition. She's fucking in love with you, and Caleb—it was your
absence that drove him to me. Don’t talk to me like you know what that's like.”

In another life, Seth's
quick temper would be whistling like a teakettle. He'd have been ready for
blows without Rama's provocation, much less still suffering him to speak. .But
the anger doesn't come. Just a great welling sadness. He doesn't have ground to
fight on this time, because Rama's right. Seth doesn't understand.
 

Seth has always had what
he wanted, often at the cost of someone else. There's no way to right that
cosmic wrong, not when the cosmos hands Seth his world on a big, shiny platter.

“I've tried my damnedest
to change it,” Seth says, his voice quiet, completely absent of the fight that
had risen its head for a flash. “I've told her it can’t be real. I thought you
would change that. But she doesn't know what the hell she wants.”

Rama turns to see what
Seth looks like when he sounds so sad. It's the same expression from that
Bamboo meeting, when Seth was a little brother searching for some vindication.
Again, Rama asserts his position on the game board. He won't relent just
because the mighty untouchable king has shown a little remorse.
 

He says, “She knows
exactly what she wants, and now she knows she can have it all, just like
Morgans do. She wants to be your queen—and you’ve given her that. None of the
rest of us matter. Do not forget——as if you could— that I have an outsider's
view and I have seen the orchestrated disaster that is your family. You fuck
and fight your way through all who oppose you, and you don't care if you step
on a few heads to get there. She’s just fucking like you.”
 

Rage fills him, and his
quick speed takes him. Seth steps in front of Rama, facing him so that the
younger has to stop. Rama is tense, ready to spring or defend himself, but Seth
keeps his hands in his pockets, his anger bright in his eyes. He doesn't want a
fight, but his point will be heard.

He says, “We have lost a
hell of a lot to still be standing. She knows what she needs to know to
survive.”
 

Rama doesn't flinch, but
he does pull his shades off so there can be no doubt of his conviction as he
goes toe to toe with a king. Both security teams are a nervous collective
behind him, but they don't move any closer.
 

“And you are both
haunted by the ghosts of your dead,” the Thai prince says softly. “And because
of that, so am I. I took your mark for her, but all I can see when I look at it
is
him
. The conflicted and beautiful
soul that captivated me. Caleb held a piece of me when he died, and I’ll never
get that back. Sometimes he possesses her, and he's all I can see in her. But
with him, I always knew. I knew when he'd been out fucking women, or when work
was getting to him. I knew when he was angry, when he was hungry, and I knew
when he was missing you. I can't feel her like that, because she won't let me,
because of what your family has done to her. And because she has given that
piece of herself to you.”

Seth flinches, looks
away at a nearby tree, like a skeleton with its bare branches shaking.
Skeletons, ghosts—of course they haunt him. His shoulders sag, exhausted
suddenly, and he says, “What was done to her was done to all of us. She hasn't
figured out how to deal with all of it. Someday she'll realize that I'll never
keep that piece of her, that it's not for me.
 
If you really do love her, you won't give up on her.”

Rama grabs Seth's right
arm to get his attention. It works. Seth's head whips around, and though his
eyes are hidden, the hot warning is clear. There are very few who would be so
brave as to put a hand on this Morgan. Rama's demeanor is still that precarious
point between vicious calm and calculated violence. His grip is firm, though.
He says, “What else do I have to give? What
else
would your people take from me?”

Seth finally removes his
hands from his pocket, and he knocks away Rama's hand with his forearm. He rips
his shades off, too, so that they're locked in a tense stare. His voice is
tight and furious, “I need you to trust me. Not just my cousin. Your loyalty
needs to be to both of us. What you two do in your bed is none of my fucking
business, but I need to know that the sheets won't be the downfall of this
alliance. Caleb could handle his shit, business and pleasure, but Emma hasn't
had the time to learn that yet. That means you are the one who will have to
make the decision whether you can handle your shit with her around.”

Rama makes a bitter
smirk, an expression Seth has never seen on him, and the Thai takes a step
back, calm settling over him, so much like Emma hiding behind her demure smile.
He slips his hands back into his pockets, and he says, “You have no idea what I
have sacrificed for my own family, Morgan. Not a fucking clue. No piece of
pussy will ever come before my people. You'd do well to remember that in the
coming days.”

Silence stretches
between them, in which they hold the contact, and neither of them moves. As
much as Seth wants to deck Rama in the mouth for calling Emma a piece of pussy,
he can't.
 
The original gut feeling that
the Thai is not an enemy is the same feeling in Seth's gut now. It's true; Rama
has kept quiet, almost docile when it comes to Emma, but there's a past that's
clouded in mystery. And again, there is the subtle ruthlessness that hints at
the things Rama has seen, and for the first time, Seth wonders if the pimp and
Caleb shared more in common than sex.
 

The fight drains from
Seth. He slides his shades back into place, and he says, “We will meet with
Remi within the week. If the sit-down goes well and we can agree on terms for a
truce, everything will be ready to set in motion. If we still have a banker,
we'll figure out details on a visit to your homeland.”

Rama's hesitation is
palpable. He's certain he just saw the brat prince lift his head; he knows he
got just a glimpse of the anger, but just as quickly, Seth quelled it.
Impossible, but it reminds Rama so much of Caleb. He bites down on the urge to
curse.
 

Will there ever be a day
when everything doesn't scream of Caleb Morgan?
 

Rama replaces his shades
as well, and resumes their pace. He says, “Good. I'll send word to my family.”