Ravenous Kingpin (Kingpins of the Syndicate #4)

1. Emory

CHAPTER 1

Emory

London, United Kingdom

Six Years Earlier

I was the exception in the criminal world.

Women were meant to be valued stock to be used as the men saw fit. We were to keep our legs closed until married, hearts sealed, and brains dormant. But I refused to fit their mold. My brother and cousins allowed it, paving my path to power and keeping any obstacles from getting in my way.

However, I had to admit, my trip to Italy—away from the Syndicate and the mafia—was liberating. A whole summer to be a somewhat normal girl with our distant relatives in the country of sun, lemon trees, and olive groves. For the first time ever, and probably the last time, there were no guards to watch my every move. But the moment the plane touched ground in New York, I knew it would come to an end.

It was supposed to come to an end yesterday, as all good things eventually did, but I’d been given one extra day to enjoy due to a violent storm that developed on my way home. Planes were grounded, and I found myself alone in London, waiting, instead of boarding my connecting flight to New York.

Dressed in a red dress that came to my mid-thigh, showing off my cleavage and baring half my back, I made my way to the hotel lounge. I expected it to be fairly empty, considering it was barely past noon.

I fiddled with the cold metal of my bracelet—the only thing my mother left me—as I sidled up to the bar, in direct view of the bartender.

“Welcome to Red Velvet,” the bartender said. “What can I get you, miss?”

The ambiance in this bar was classy and comfortable. The decor of black and dark red gave it a sense of anonymity that had chills skating down my spine. It felt as if all eyes were on me, trying to dig into my skull to learn who or what my father was—but I knew that was my paranoia getting the best of me. Besides, under no circumstances would I ever reveal the one that plagued me most.

“Cranberry vodka,” I answered, noting the confidence in my voice that I’d found in the past few months since being away from my father.

“Good choice.” He flashed me a grin. “Coming right up.”

As he turned around, showing off his sleeveless muscled forearms, a man slid onto the barstool next to me.

“Emerald Isle whiskey.”

“Coming right up, sir.” The bartender set my drink in front of me with a wink. “Anything else you need, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” I answered, my fingers tightening around the glass. Thunder rolled outside, startling me as memories from my childhood threatened to push through. I closed my eyes and emptied half my drink in one go.

“Scared of storms?”

The deep timbre sent a shiver through me, and I tilted my head to the side to get a better look at the man it belonged to. My breath caught in my lungs as I took him in.

There was a presence to him—unnerving and captivating.

He was handsome, shockingly so. Probably the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. You could tell he was tall, his muscular legs long even in his seated position, and his shoulders were broad in a way that had his Armani suit straining.

Remembering he asked me a question, I cleared my throat.

“I’m not fond of them,” I admitted, focusing on his face. There was a harshness between the lines of his brow, the kind that reminded me of the cracks of a volcano that was on the verge of erupting. It only worked to exacerbate the danger emanating from him, the sort that caused a person to lose their head and do reckless things.

Like jumping into bed with a stranger for a one-night stand.

His masculine scent—a mixture of pine, clean laundry, and male musk—empowered my senses. All of it combined with his dark chestnut hair, square jaw, and killer cheekbones had me throbbing with arousal.

But it was his eyes that made it hard to look away, sending liquid fire through me. Despite a certain dullness in them, they managed to burn with a searing intensity,stoking a fire that threatened to combust at any moment.

I’d seen it before, in my brother and cousins. A predator poised to strike.

“You keep staring at me that way, Red, and I might get some ideas,” he said in that throaty voice, making my thighs clench together.

Inhaling a deep breath, I dragged my gaze back to my drink, hoping to divert my focus onto anything else.

“Another cranberry vodka,” I said to the bartender—Alex, as his nametag indicated. “Make it a double, please, Alex.”

He flashed me a small smile before he busied himself behind the bar. When he handed me the drink, I finished half of it, then stared intently at the other half while ignoring the urge to look over at the stranger.

“Are you old enough to drink?”

The genuine concern in his voice had me sneaking a peek at him.

“Are you?” I retorted bravely.

He leaned over, invading my personal space, and I almost choked on my vodka.

“Answer me,” he demanded in a bossy tone that shouldn’t make me feel the way it did.

I slowly lifted my head, meeting his bright, shining blue eyes.

“Excuse me?” I retorted.

“I asked if you’re old enough to drink, álainn .”

Good, one strike against him despite the sinful hint to his tone. I had no idea what álainn meant, and I certainly wasn’t going to ask.

“I am,” I said, sounding confident despite the fact that it was only legal for me to drink in Europe, considering the legal drinking age was eighteen here. I hadn’t hit my twenty-first birthday yet to meet the requirement in the States.

But we weren’t in the States, so it was nobody’s business. “You’re awfully nosy.”

He chuckled.

“I better uphold your perception, then. How old are you?”

His question was sensual, too sensual.

“Twenty-one,” I lied, because he looked to be in his late twenties. Besides, age was only a number, and I wasn’t underage here, which was all that mattered.

“Hmm.” I could almost feel the vibration in his voice between my legs.

I drained the rest of my vodka and slammed the glass down, tilting my chin in challenge at his infuriatingly attractive presence. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” His voice was half amusement, half flirtatious. “You’re going to need to be a bit more specific.”

I rolled my eyes, flagging the bartender for another. “Are you old enough to drink?”

The buzz of the alcohol flowing through my veins was lowering my walls and my movement was a bit slower than usual as I turned to look at him. “Are you?”

I knew the answer, but I couldn’t resist questioning him.

“I’m plenty old enough,” he stated calmly. The bartender handed me another glass of my favorite drink, and I gulped it down, parched. “Careful, álainn . You don’t want to get drunk and regret your choices in the morning.”

“Such as?”

He took a sip of his whiskey, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the swallow, but his intense eyes didn’t leave mine.

“Like spending the night in my hotel room.” His voice dropped, giving me all kinds of ideas that had heat tugging in my lower stomach. The sensation was so novel that it caught me by surprise.

“I already have a room,” I rasped.

The stranger placed his elbow on the bar, leaning closer. So close that his cologne trapped me in its confines.

When he turned his head, his breath skimmed the shell of my ear. “But you’ll be screaming my name as I fuck you in mine.”

My neck and cheeks heated.

“Impossible, I don’t even know your name.” I may be aroused and on my way to being intoxicated, but I wouldn’t lose my wits.

“Killian.” His whisper made me visibly shudder.

“Killian,” I breathed, tasting it on my lips. Something flashed in his gaze and part of me imagined it was hearing me say his name. “Well, nice to meet you, Killian.”

He traced the wooden bar top with a long finger as he said, “Remember it.” I bit my tongue to suppress a moan. Holy shit. This man was an aphrodisiac. “Tell me yours.”

This was a man who was used to getting what he wanted.

“Em,” I breathed, opting to give him only part of my name. “But I feel like I should warn you. I never sleep with a man on a first date.”

Freaking ever.