Page 2 of Merciless Heir

But before I can have it among my arsenal, my trophies of wealth and power, I need to find the fucking thing.

So here I am in a dive, to meet someone I already don’t respect—a notorious jewel thief. One revered and never caught, one who works, supposedly, on the right side of the law. One who is the darling of the rich and famous.

Midnight Raven. A stupid name.

This very well might be a bad decision.

I move across the scarred and uneven floor. The Sex Pistols play over the sound system, and the place is empty, save for a few people drinking with dedication or holed up in intense conversation.

The bartender, tattooed, wiry, and a man who’s lived a colorful life from the lines and scars on his face, nods at me. I order bourbon—house—and take a seat at the bar, slapping down a fifty.

I’m dressed the part; old jeans and boots and a sweater beneath the black winter jacket that I now drape over the back of the stool.

My brothers would raise eyebrows if they could see me now, but they don’t know everything about me. And I’m here on a mission.

It’s not my birthday for a month, when winter sets in, and that’s when my father’s attorney, Jenson, is meant to deliver the posthumous quest from my father. Whatever that might be.

But with the tiara missing, and my search hitting dead ends, I’m upping the game. I’ve a feeling there’s a barb in this road. Or perhaps it’s the fact Jenson wants to speak to me tomorrow.

A gust of cold air sweeps in and I turn.

A woman stands there. Leather pants, a long black duster that swirls at her calves, and the kind of boots made for hard living on her feet.

She has short dark hair, hardcore asymmetrical pixie style. A shapely red mouth and eyes rimmed with black, slanting them slightly, like a cat.

She’s beautiful.

And her gaze lands on me.

She holds it for a long beat and my blood thrums, then she slides it past me, and over the rest of the room.

Sadie Hess. It took me a long time to get a name, a photo. There’s something vampiric about her lack of photos, even when she’s been at events where every person and their purebred yapper is photographed. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t show up in mirrors.

Sadie watches me without watching. I can feel her attention, like a caress. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say it had a sexual pull.

She moves, stepping into the bar and crossing the floor. Sadie has a way of moving that’s power and grace and lithe. And she slides in next to me.

“I’ll have the same. On him.” She points to my drink and waits until hers appears. She downs some and leans back, swinging to face me.

Her eyes are dark. In this light I can’t tell the color, but I suspect somewhere between night sky and obsidian.

“That your normal way of practicing business?”

That red mouth curves up, but the eyes are cool and give nothing away. “Depends.”

“On what?” I ask, a small thrill of something hot moving fast through my veins.

“If my boss is interested in taking on yours.”

I give her the once over, which is easy to do. “Your boss? As in the notorious Midnight Raven himself?”

“Rumors and notoriety are interesting, aren’t they, Mr. Sinclair?” Sadie finishes her drink and taps a short nail next to the glass as she puts it down. It takes about three seconds for the bartender to refill hers, and after another second, mine. The order isn’t lost on me. “They build things up, and they get attention and can also hide truths. And, they can help get things done. Open doors. Do you need doors opened?”

“Depends on what’s behind them.” I shift a little closer to her. “And on whether you can deliver what I want.”

“Depends on the reasons you’re seeking help.”

She taps in time to the drumbeat of “Liar”, Johnny Rotten’s iconic voice screaming the lyrics. Sadie’s good. Not an incriminating word spoken, and I know she won’t, but still I decide to test it. “What’s the saying? To catch a thief you need a thief.”

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