Page 129 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
My fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. Blood oozed from his split lip as he collapsed on the ground.
“What do you take me for? A fool?” Each word was punctuated by another blow—to his ribs, his stomach, his face. “You photographed me in your fucking lair and had it all over the news to make it appear like I was doing business with a shady fuck like you.”
Cassius tried to crawl away, but I caught his ankle and dragged him back.
“Please, you have to believe me,” he rasped. “I didn’t release that photo. I didn’t pay any reporters to leak that news. He only asked for the photo, and I gave it to him.”
My forehead creased. He? Who the hell was he talking about?
“Who?” I demanded, hauling him up by his shirt.
Blood ran from his nose, staining his shirt. His left eye was already swelling shut. But there was something else in his expression now—not just pain, but fear. The kind of bone-deep terror that came from knowing you’d crossed the wrong person.
“I can’t—if I tell you, he’ll kill me—”
I slammed him against the ground so hard that I heard the crack of bone. “He’s not here, Cassius. But I am. And if you don’t start talking, you’ll be dead before he ever gets the chance.”
My wolf was pressed against my skin now, claws threatening to emerge. The scent of his fear filled the room, sharp and acrid.
Cassius whimpered, his remaining good eye darting around like he was searching for an escape that didn’t exist.
“It wasn’t my idea,” he gasped. “I swear to you, it wasn’t my idea. He—he owns the syndicate. He’s the one who gives all the orders. I just follow them.”
Cassius didn’t run the syndicate? Charles’ investigation into the Black Talon placed Cassius at the head of the food chain. And if Charles hadn’t figured out there was someone else calling the shots—because Charles was very good—then whoever it was must be doing a damn good job keeping a low profile.
Or…Cassius was lying. Anything to save his ass from getting beaten beyond the point where even plastic surgeons could fix his face.
“I said—who?” The word tore from my throat like a roar. “I’m not going to repeat myself.” The promise in my voice was as sharp as a blade.
“Victor!” he screamed. “Victor Vaughn! Your brother—he owns the Black Talon! He’s been running it for years!”
The words hit me like a physical blow. Victor?
How is that? I shook my head. My brother wasn’t smart enough to pull off a good job as CFO of Vaughn Industries. How could he possibly run a thriving syndicate built on everything illegal?
Perhaps your first mistake is underestimating him. My subconscious gnawed at me.
He hated me—that much was clear. He’d tried to sabotage me out of my company, put ideas in my father’s head to make me appear incompetent, and tried to compete with me when it came to my Mate. That was the extent of his hate. Or so I thought.
“You’re lying,” I said, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew he wasn’t.
“I swear to you, Alpha Vaughn—I’m not.” Pure, unfiltered fear flickered across his features. “He said…he said you’d never suspect him,” Cassius wheezed, blood dripping from his mouth.
“The debt—your woman’s debt,” he continued voluntarily. “He told us to keep pressuring her. Said it would make her desperate. Make her vulnerable to the point that she would have no other choice but to seek help from him.” Cassius struggled to sit up, wincing with each movement. “And the photos on the news, he called late last night, demanding it. I swear to you, I was just following orders.”
Disbelief filled me, along with a cold clarity. Every cruel twist in Leila’s life led back to him.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I reached for it with my free hand, still holding Cassius’s weak body by the neck, ready to shut the damn thing off. But when I saw the caller ID—Grant—I hit the answer button. I’d given him an assignment days ago, and if he was calling now, it meant he finally had the answers I needed.
“Is now a bad time? I mean, with everything I’m seeing on the news—”
“Fucking speak, Grant.” I roared into the receiver, cutting him off.
He swallowed. “I looked into that detail in Vaughn Industries from five years ago, and you were right. It doesn’t add up. On a surface level, it looked like the sum of five million dollars was wired to a certain account with the name Leila Carter,” he continued. “But that name was just a cover. The account that received the money—it wasn’t Leila’s. It was a shell account, completely fabricated. The digital trail leads back to someone with administrative access to your systems. Someone inside the company.”
“Who?” My voice was pure steel.
I heard him breathe through the receiver. “I couldn’t believe it when the name popped up. I thought it had to be a mistake—after all, he’s handling a lot of the finances at Vaughn Industries.”
