Page 101 of Lord of Debauchery

Several European and South American leaders.

High-ranking members of the various military organizations.

Russian oligarchs.

Fortune 100 business owners.

High-ranking politicians, judges, attorneys, and law enforcement members, including the commissioner of police out of New York.

Entertainment moguls.

Musicians.

Public influencers.

Media giants.

The list went on and on.

And my father and brother, both of whom had lost their lives because of their lust for more power. Did I miss my dad, hating he’d been killed in front of me? Maybe a little. At least he’d asked my sweet husband to take care of me.

Sadly, expansive promises had been made by the few people who’d started the concept as nothing more than devious fodder over cocktails and cigars. It remained unfathomable that the idea had been nurtured over three decades, armies built and assassins created. It all seemed like a horrific nightmare except their intense planning, their clawed webs surrounding the people they’d lured in had almost worked.

As soon as Beckham broke through the beautiful line of trees, he whistled, pulling the Jeep to a stop with stunning sights of beauty on both sides. On the right was a glorious view of the Caribbean blue ocean, the water sweeping against the pristine pearlescent sand one of the most incredible and peaceful sights I’d ever seen.

On the left was the first sight of perhaps the most incredible compound ever built. The main building, crafted like a marvelous paradise hotel setting, had all the bells and whistles of security, communication, weaponry, and mechanical systems including a water refining plant. But instead of the fortress my father and brother had tried to make it, I’d turned the facility onto its head, hiring the best architects and designers to come in like a firestorm, making the location the most fabulous vacation destination in all of creation.

Or so I hoped.

There were dozens of outbuildings, including cabins and beautiful secluded cabanas nestled in the water for the discerning couple who wanted privacy. I’d hired the best chefs, hotel staff, and entertainers to help create a destination my little growing family could be proud of.

I couldn’t believe what had been done in three little months.

“What. The. Fuck?” Beckham appeared impressed, rising onto his feet as I remained seated. When I didn’t answer, he slowly turned his head. “Hold on. This is the island owned by your family.”

“Well, owned by me since my father was silly enough to leave his significant fortune to me in the event of my brother’s death.”

Dimitri’s body had never been found, Beckham refusing to tell me every detail about what had occurred and in truth, I hadn’t wanted to know. But I could guess. There was no love lost between us, no brotherly-sisterly love shown all the while we’d been growing up.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from me, baby,” he said.

Shrugging, I blew him a kiss before climbing out of the Jeep, yanking the picnic basket I’d insisted we bring with us on the flight but had refused to allow him to see the contents of. I had to smile seeing he was still marveling about the construction that my father had managed to have completed. It would seem given the dollars in my bank account he’d been paid well for acting as enforcer and the man responsible for training the dangerous group of assassins.

I pulled out the bottle of champagne from the small cooler, enjoying observing the mixture of emotions on the man’s face. I think I’d truly been able to shock him.

As soon as I popped the top, he glanced back in my direction, shaking his head.

“Keeping secrets from your master isn’t in your bottom’s best interest.”

I purposely rolled my eyes before popping the cork. A few bubbles fizzed out over the rim and in my usual bad girl fashion, I pulled the bottle itself to my lips. It was too good to waste even a drop.

Beckham jumped out, doing his usual swagger walk as he headed toward me. “So what are we to do with this place?”

Before answering, I yanked out a couple of plastic flutes, shoving both into his hands to hold so I could pour.

“Walk with me,” I told him, placing the bottle back into the cooler before pressing both hands against his chest. “And I need to see those gorgeous eyes of yours.”

As I moved to take one of the glasses, our fingertips touched and God almighty, the electricity still soaring between us was insane. I shuddered audibly and it caused him to grin like some crazy loon.

---