Page 60 of Deadmen's Captive

This isn't you. You wouldn't just sleep around. This... this had to be a call for help. Maybe subconsciously, you were signalling me, begging me to save you from this gilded cage. Yes, that had to be it. You need me, Paige. You need me to pull you away from the brink, away from their corrupting influence.

It’s me you want, me you desire. I just have to get you away from them, and then we can be together. My hands wander down my body. Imagining yours under me. Soft and fresh like a white lily. Even during this dark hour, the thought of you calms me. The thought of you surrendering yourself to me...it’s intoxicating. Your soft cries as I claim you, red blood on your perfect white skin, the way my knife will slide through your flesh, marking you.

I see it now as clear as day. I need to make sure they don’t touch you anymore Paige. It's my mission now. You don’t need to be afraid. I am your saviour.

Chapter Twenty Six

NATE

As I stepped through the guarded door to my father’s war room, as he liked to call it, I gave a small prayer of thanks that I wasn’t late. In the coworking fashion of the Syndicate, my father’s business premises were situated above an elite nightclub in London owned by Bast’s father. The comings and goings of clients meant it was much more difficult for anyone not related to the Syndicate to keep track of who came in and out of my father’s rooms, and he liked it that way. Running private security for the disgustingly wealthy sometimes proved to be a dangerous occupation, and Lord Carver had had countless death threats and even several attempts on his life since his official retirement, sadly, none had even come close. My father employed some of the darkest, most unhinged men I’d ever met, but they were the best security agents in the world. Ex-military, most of them dismissed on charges ranging from rape to murder and genocide.

The room was fairly dark, lit by table lamps which cast shadows about the room. About twenty five men of varying ages in expensive suits stood around talking. Some were already sat at the table, sipping at crystal glasses containing spirits far too expensive to be served downstairs to the masses. Alastair Carver had an empire worth millions, and he liked the finer things in life.

As I moved further into the darkened room, a few of the men looked my way, greeting me with a nod of respect, before returning to their conversations. Others I didn't know as well tried their hardest not to stare. I stood at the edge of the room, near the head of the table. No one approached me, or offered me a drink. My scars, covered but not hidden under my tattoos, served as a constant reminder of my past and my reputation. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth as I watched men who claimed to be fearless squirm under my intimidating presence. To them, I was a spectre, a dangerous enigma they couldn't quite understand, and I relished the power that fear gave me. I cultivated it.

Faces looked up as the door near the head of the table opened and Edward Blake stepped in, followed by Bast and my father. Edward was an older version of his son, with classic dark good looks, and more than a sprinkling of silver in his hair and beard. He was hard on Bast, and he demanded a lot from him, but he was never cruel. My own father however… I forced down the familiar tightening feeling in my chest as I looked at him. We weren’t similar. I'd inherited my mother’s colouring, and her eyes, though I had his jawline. His pale blue eyes were sharp and calculating, and never revealed the slightest hint of emotion.

I watched them silently as they took their seats at the head of the table, their authority unspoken yet palpable. My father's ice-cold gaze swept over the room, bringing an immediate hush. Edward leaned back in his chair, unfolding a set of papers he had brought with him. A murmur of curiosity rippled through the room as he began to speak.

"Your attention, gentlemen," he announced. His voice was deep and resonating, demanding immediate obedience. "We have matters of grave importance to discuss."

I watched from my position near the edge of the room, my uneasiness growing. My father's unreadable gaze met mine across the table for a fleeting second before returning to Edward and I felt the cold feeling trickle down my spine. I held his gaze however, until he looked away. I could never appear weak. That would be… dangerous.

“Our next mission is of high importance and we must handle it with maximum discretion...”

For the next hour or so, details were discussed in hushed voices; plans were drawn up and pieces put into place. No job was simple but this one felt particularly complex and dangerous. We were dealing with unknown enemies which made everyone in that room visibly uneasy.

“One last item of business, gentlemen,” drawled my father. “Word has reached me that the Bates family is encroaching on our territory. Pushers in our clubs and streets, their girls following along to sell their own wares, and I've even heard that some of their enforcers are now trying to pose as our own debt collectors, taking payments that should be coming to us. Derek, do you have anything to add?"

"We've secured our hold on the east side, but there's still work to be done. Tony took a few of our guys along to a club they were calling at regularly, and had a... conversation... letting them know we were watching them. They haven't been back since, but I think they've simply moved on. We need to put the word out, get more eyes and ears on the street, especially at night."

My father nodded. "Good work, and yes, I agree. Let's get the word out. They are a proud family, and they might not have the physical strength, but they have the money to hire mercenaries, and I don't want our streets to become a warzone. We need to find a way to do this peacefully."

The meeting progressed with the rhythm of a well-oiled machine. Territories, deals, rival families – it was all laid bare on the table. I listened, my eyes picking up the subtle shifts in body language, my ears tuned to the undercurrents of emotion in their voices. Every word, every gesture, is a piece of the puzzle, a clue to the next move in this deadly game we're playing. And yet, for some reason, my mind started to wander. Not to the rest of our operations, or the men in the room, but to a certain blonde, and how she'd felt in my arms, how she’d tasted. I tried to shove the memory away, but it lingered there at the edge of my mind.

Ridiculous, I told myself. It's not like I could fucking have her anyway. The Persephone was a benefit, an extra pleasure the club provided. I could get my fill as soon as Bast gave his blessing, and then at the end of the year, she’d walk away a rich woman. Women avoided me like the fucking plague once they saw my scars or heard my name, and Paige was as innocent as they came with those big blue eyes and that mouth that begged me to bruise her lips with own. I thought back to the first place I’d met her, in that club where that dickhead had dared to touch her against her will. I let my mind drift over the memory of dancing with her, the way I’d pulled that round ass back against my hard dick, as I’d thought about sliding my hands up to cup those generous breasts, licked my way down her bare spine...

"Nathaniel," My father's voice cut through my thoughts like a knife. "Give us your report on Blackvellyn."

Fuck, getting caught daydreaming by him was not a good thing. I’d pay for that later.

"Of course, Lord Carver," I said smoothly. "Four rival shipments intercepted this week; their goods are now ours. Two informants identified and dealt with—no loose ends. Protection payments from local businesses are up by fifteen percent."

He nodded, satisfied with my report, but I felt compelled to address something that had been weighing on me. My jaw clenched, and an edge of steel crept into my voice. "However, there was an incident involving one of our guys. He crossed a line, putting innocent lives at risk. I took care of it personally, but we need to ensure it doesn't happen again." A hushed murmur rippled through the room at my words, but no one dared to challenge me.

"I see," Vincent said firmly, his gaze unflinching as he met mine. "Well, I trust you'll keep our men in check, Nathaniel." His words seemed harmless, but I could tell he wasn’t happy about me bringing it up. My father didn’t give a shit about innocent people getting hurt, as long as it didn’t fuck with his profits. I caught Bast’s eye briefly and he gave me a nod that was barely visible. He’d urged me to make the point in the meeting and I hadn’t felt like I could argue. Bast knew my father was unpredictable and cruel, but he had no idea of the depth of depravity that lived behind the walls of our country estate, and I had no intention of enlightening him any time soon. Those shadows needed to stay buried.

Further conversation was brought to a halt as one of my father’s men came through the door, and approached him. He bent to murmur something in Carver’s ear, and I saw my father’s face darken, and a flicker in his eyes that experience had taught me meant violence was coming. "It appears you were right, Derek. The dealers you had a conversation with the other night seem to have friends that simply moved on further into our territory. Seeing as our Bates friends won't listen to reason, we must employ clearer communication strategies. Rico apprehended these two in our club on Broadway Street earlier this evening."

I looked up as Rico reappeared, two men with bruises and cuts to their faces in front of him at gunpoint. On either side, one of Rico's enforcers had a tight grip on their arms. The taller one glanced around the room, his face twisted in a sneer, until his eyes fell on me, and his face paled. I smiled at him, but didn't move. I knew most of the high rollers in the Bates family, and I didn't recognise these. Footsoldiers, I assumed. No one of any worth.

"We found these two peddling poison on our streets," Rico announced, shoving the captives forward. "Low grade, cut with other shit."

"Filthy rats," I muttered under my breath, my gaze narrowing as I sized up the intruders. Cutting drugs with unknown shit caused real problems, and could kill. People chose to take drugs, and we chose to supply, but we provided quality product, not the cheap shit others did. Our buyers knew what they were getting. I was in charge of the supply into Blackvellyn, not just the town, but the university too. We had elite clients there who paid a lot of money, and I ensured that they got the quality they’d paid for. These guys were scum, cutting their drugs with whatever shit they could find, and it was downright fucking dangerous. They had the audacity to invade our territory with that fucked up crap, and now they were going to pay for their insolence. My father looked up, steely dark eyes fixing on the face of the tallest. The shorter one seemed to be trying to shrink away behind his friend. Coward.

"Tell me," my father began, his voice low and dangerous, "what makes you think you can peddle your filth on our turf?"

The two men exchanged anxious glances, then the taller one stepped forward. He seemed to be searching for something to say.

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