Page 5 of Duchess

From the moment I became the Turks' bookkeeper, I had access to things most people weren’t even allowed to whisper about. And Caleb hated that someone like me, had gotten to the core of their operations. I knew the names behind the fake identities, the real destinations behind rerouted shipments, the exact amounts skimmed from deals, and how they cleaned it all to look like legitimate trade. I wasn't just moving money, I was moving power. I understood the gears of the well-oiled machine better than most men sitting at the top.

And Caleb? He watched me like a hawk, shadowed my every step, and never stopped questioning my loyalty, even when I kept their books cleaner than any fake accountant they’d ever hired. He said he was a bodyguard, but real bodyguards didn’t wear designer Italian suits or own a fleet of vehicles that screamed wealth and indulgence. Caleb was more than muscle.He was the one who kept the Turks' hands clean while dragging others through the mud. He enforced silence, erased loose ends, and made sure nothing ever touched the real bosses. And for a while, that meant watching me.

Every day. Every step. Every move I made.

But no matter how closely he looked, he never saw the full picture. Because I never let him.

I shoved past him, my shoulder slamming into his chest with enough force to feel satisfying.

"If you find something…"

"You’ll be the last to know," I threw over my shoulder, not looking back.

“I'll hunt you down, Duchess!”

"Touch me again, and next time, I won’t give a warning," I added without turning.

I walked to my bike, ignoring the heat still clinging to my skin from his touch. I put on the cherry red helmet and slid onto the low seat. The bike fit my ass like a glove, and it felt good to feel the engine revving between my thighs. This is where I belonged. I let the throttle scream down the hill, wind wiping away the remnants of Caleb's voice.

Chapter 2

Duchess

Itook off down the winding roads of Evergreen Cemetery and towards downtown L.A. I could still feel Caleb's eyes on my back even as I crossed the gates and made my way into rush hour traffic. Something about the way he looked at me, the way suspicion coiled behind those cold ocean eyes, made it clear I needed to stop waiting. I needed to disappear, but how?

I needed to find out what Alan left behind before someone else decided to clean up his mess and bury me in the process.

I pulled down a side street and parked the bike across from the back door of Alan's place on the Northeast side of the city. His place of business was on the first floor above a brewery. It was a shifty place, and it always smelled of stale beer and piss, but it was private and out of sight. Alan knew he was always being watched, which is why he chose this place. We had my apartment on Sunset Boulevard, but for the most part, he spent his days here, in his private office.

I hadn’t been back to the apartment since that night. But after seeing how nervous Caleb was, I thought I should make my move now before things got more intense. My first thought was that if I wanted answers, I needed to see Alan's latesttransactions. There was only one place where I could find them, and when I did, whatever movements he had made, I could retrace them to find out what the hell he'd been up to.

The back stairwell groaned beneath my boots, each step creaking as I approached his floor. I kept my shoulders squared, my blade tucked beneath the hem of my jacket, and my senses sharp. There was no telling what I was going to find on the other side of that door.

The apartment door was cracked open, the wood splintered at the edge, and the lock had been broken clean. I paused, listening. No sounds. No movement. But everything in me buzzed. Debating whether to just take my losses and run, but my curiosity always got the best of me. I carefully made my way into his place. It was completely destroyed. Paperwork was thrown everywhere, his bookshelves had been knocked over, the furniture had been ripped through. I made my way towards the back hallway where the main office was located. Everything was gone. His computer, his files...it was all gone. My desperation grew as I stood there, staring at what was.

The apartment still smelled of him.

Even after all these weeks, even after the chaos and the forced silence that had become my world, Alan's scent clung to the walls. Musk, old leather, tobacco, and the faint, bitter tang of blood money. It seeped into the cracked floors and the stained couch cushions, as if the place wanted to hold onto that memory.

Inside, it looked like a hurricane had ripped through it. Files were strewn everywhere, and the furniture overturned. They had completely ransacked the apartment. It was clear that whoever had done this wasn’t just searching for something, they were sending a clear message.

It took me a second and a blurred, tear-filled vision to finally see it In the far corner, behind a toppled bookshelf, I saw it. A fracture in the wall, barely noticeable unless you knew where tolook. My fingers traced the edge, and the panel shifted. A hidden door that led to a space where no one else had been.

I stood at the entrance, staring into the dark room. Grabbing my cell phone, I turned on the flashlight and walked through. I searched for a light switch which I couldn’t find. Instead, my flashlight landed on a small desk lamp, which I turned on. The space was small. I saw the cot first, and memories crashed over me. Alan had brought me in here once, maybe twice, always under the cover of night, always in a rush. But I remembered the way he had pressed me down onto that cot, the way his mouth had devoured every inch of me, desperate and greedy. My wrists pinned above my head, his voice low and filthy, whispering how I was his as his cock drove in and out of me. It wasn’t love. It was ownership, hunger, and a kind of brutal need I hadn’t wanted to name. And I let him. Because for a moment, I felt like I had power over him, even if it was just his body begging for mine.

Now that same cot sat cold and empty, stained with old ghosts, and all I had left was the fire in my gut and the secrets he had left me. In the center of the room sat a small wooden chair, a table, and on that table was a closed laptop.

"What were you up to?" I whispered to myself, rushing over to the seat, and prayed the laptop would turn on. When it did, I released the breath I was holding. The password prompt stared back at me, and there was only one word I could think of.

Lazarus.

He was obsessed with the story of Lazarus and how God had raised him from the dead. He always said that one had to believe in miracles to be in his line of work, and that maybe one day he’d rise from the dead.

He’d been so very wrong.

The laptop unlocked, and a collage of images popped up. Video surveillance, warehouse stills, unmarked crates, wire transfers. I searched deeper and suddenly found what I waslooking for, the goldmine. An offshore account. Password protected. Buried behind layers of false identities. My breath caught in my throat as the numbers lit the screen. I nearly fell off my chair.

Twenty million dollars.

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