Page 84 of Corrupted Kingdom

I refused to let myself become the target of his rage.

Another thought occurred to me, too late to make a difference.

Whoever had been in charge of the accounts was probably going to die, very soon and likely very painfully.

I had just handed Emilio the death sentence of someone who I didn’t even know.

It had been a test. It was always a test and, this time, I had passed.

But who would die as a result?

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

DORNAN

‘How long’s she been gone for?’ Dornan asked, sipping on his black coffee. He’d added a little Scotch to it this morning. It had been an eventful weekend, to say the least.

John paced in front of him in the burlesque club’s small communal kitchen that served both the dancers and the guys behind the scenes. John worked here most days on the business side of things. It was an unspoken agreement that John spent as little time as possible in the clubhouse, while actually fulfilling the role of club president.

He was a lackey, and he knew it.

But here, in this dance club, he was in his element. He always seemed a little less stressed when he was here, and not because the dancers gave good head. No. John was a loyal man, and Dornan knew he’d never strayed from Caroline.

That undying loyalty of John’s had made it even harder for Dornan when he’d woken up that night all those years ago, half drunk, to find Caroline naked and bouncing on his dick. He’d thrown her straight off, threatened to bash her to death, but she had just laughed. Crazy bitch.

He was fairly certain John knew nothing about it, but either way, he still felt like shit every time he spoke to his friend. Some lines just weren’t to be crossed, and unwittingly, he had crossed that one.

‘A week,’ John said.

‘Divorce her,’ Dornan suggested.

John balled his fists. ‘If I divorce her she could take Juliette and run,’ he said gravely. ‘She threatens it every time we have a goddamn fight. She’s unpredictable. At least this way, I give her a little money, she goes crazy, but she always comes back.’

Dornan crossed his ankles and nodded to show he was listening. ‘Except when she doesn’t come back,’ he pointed out.

If it had been anyone else, Jimmy or Viper or any other motherfucker in the club, he would have told them to grow some balls and harden the fuck up.

But it was John. His best friend. They were like brothers.

Dornan wondered if now might be a good time to mention he had cut Caroline off, nixed her supply. He hadn’t really known how to break it to John, since he wasn’t entirely sure John knew he had been giving her a pinch here and there.

John stopped pacing and punched the doorway. Dornan didn’t try to stop him.

Sometimes, a man just needed to get his demons out.

‘I just wish . . .’ John said, his fist still pressed against the door he’d just assaulted.

‘You just wish?’ Dornan asked. He knew what John wished. He wished that he’d never met Dornan. He wished he’d never had the brilliant idea to be Gypsy Brothers. One dream — to ride the highways and live like transients, brothers in arms — had been shattered the moment they’d agreed to work for Il Sangue.

John took a deep breath and let his fist fall to his side.

‘I just wish she would come home,’ he said finally.

But they both knew that was not what he’d really been about to say.

Dornan’s father entered the room, quietly, like a snake. The old bastard was always ready to strike, to slither in and manipulate any situation to his own benefit. The fact he’d put his hands on Ana earlier disgusted Dornan. Mine. She’s mine. Despite that, Dornan both admired and detested his father. And he had long suspected that John simply hated Emilio.

‘What’s the deal?’ Dornan asked, standing as his father entered the space. John turned from his spot at the wall, nodding at Emilio in greeting. Respect was on the top of the list for the ruthless kingpin, and everybody fell into line or died at his hand.

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