I look down and my hands are trembling. How can Adrian be so loving to me and so brutal to others? Why is this my life? Why? Ed grunts and I know he’s being beaten. I can’t help him, though. I can barely help myself. I rush down the hallway and duck into a small office. Grabbing my purse, I pull the strap over my head and across my chest when my gaze catches on the image in the mirror, my long dark hair falling in waves at my shoulders, my brown eyes filled with torment. I hate how much I look like every other Martina. How so much of their blood is my blood.
I rush out of the office and down the hall, not stopping until I’m at the exit, pushing the door open. Once I’m outside, a cool evening wind gusts over me, the mountains offering sweet relief from an abnormally warm May in Colorado. I start walking, no destination in mind, thankful the hustle and bustle of the downtown area during the midday is absent at ten o’clock on Monday night.
I need air. Space. Time to think.
I’ve just turned a corner, headed toward a little twenty-four-hour coffee shop I know, when a black sedan stops next to me and the window rolls down. The minute I see him, adrenaline races through me. He’s been gone for weeks, since I told him who my brother was. I thought he too was scared away. He motions me to the car and I don’t even try to play coy. I race forward and the door opens, the window sliding up. In an instant, he’s pulling me to his lap and I’m straddling him, shoving open his suit jacket.
His fingers tangle in my hair and he drags his mouth to mine.
“Miss me, sweetheart?”
“I thought you wanted out,” I whisper.
“I had to leave town, but I’m here now.”
His mouth slants over mine and the rest of the world disappears, as does the driver, leaving me alone with the only man who’s ever possessed me and made me like it.
There’s no such thing as good money or bad money. There’s just money.
—Lucky Luciano
CHAPTER ONE
SHANE
I park the silver Bentley convertible, which my father gifted me last year for saving his ass, into my reserved spot in the garage of the downtown Denver high-rise building owned by our family conglomerate, Brandon Enterprises. It’s a car he and I both know was far more about his attempt to drag me to the dark side, and aligning me with his way of doing business, than the thank-you for keeping his ass out of jail. I’d have refused the damn thing if my mother hadn’t begged me to take it, insisting I’d bruise him when he’s already fragile and cancer-ridden. Like my father ever fucking bruises and he damn sure isn’t fragile. And if he knew I’d coddled him, he’d most likely spit in my face, and tell me I’m a disappointment.
Killing the engine, I exit the vehicle and stare at my older brother’s white 911 Porsche, also a gift from my father, ironically and most likely for getting us into the very mess I’d returned to Denver to clean up. Jaw clenched, I shove my keys into the pocket of the gray two-thousand-dollar suit I’d bought back in New York, a reward to myself for winning a high-profile case for one of the most prestigious law firms in the country. I wore it today to remind myself that I’m a few well-played cards from conquering the challenge I took when I returned home: Becoming the head of the family empire when my father retires and replacing all the dirty money running through six of the seven asset companies with good, clean, cash. Namely, the revenue produced by Brandon Pharmaceuticals, or BP, the newest asset I’d forced into acquisition only three months ago.
I head toward the elevators, when my cell phone buzzes with a text. Fishing it from my jacket pocket, I glance down to read a message from my secretary, Jessica: Seth just called. Needs to speak to you urgently. I told him you had a meeting at the BP division this morning and he hung up on me. Knowing Seth, he’ll show up at your meeting. Seth Cage was the one person I brought to the company with me, and the only person other than Jessica who I trust now that I’m here.
I punch the call button for the elevator, and dial Seth. “I’m pulling into the BP parking lot now to see you,” he says by way of greeting.
“I just pulled into the garage downtown.”
“Son of a bitch. I’m pulling a U-turn at the security gates. I have something you need to see now, not later, and I can’t talk about it on the phone. Is your brother in the building?”
I glance at the Porsche. “His car’s here so I assume he is as well. What the hell has Derek done now?”
“Let’s just say I’m not sure it’s a good idea that he’s in close range when you find out. Let’s meet outside the office.”
“Fuck me,” I growl.
“No,” he amends. “More like fuck us all.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means,” I say, catching the elevator door that’s opened and already trying to close. “Meet me at the coffee shop.”
“That still puts you in the same building as him. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”