Empire of Sin (Empire #2) by Rina Kent

Words never were and never will be her strength. She’s also really a pain in the arse, because she knows she can get to me with a look alone. That’s how she used to communicate her discomfort to me when we were kids and she didn’t speak.

After a moment of fruitless deliberation, I say, “A woman wanted me to represent her because she’s suing her father for sexual abuse and is demanding monetary compensation.”

That look returns, the dimmed one that kills all the light in her eyes. Eyes that were dead for so long and finally started being alive ten years ago. That’s gone now as if, like me, she’s back to that hellhole in Birmingham. The hole filled with the stench of alcohol, drugs, and men.

And I want to fucking shoot myself. This is why I don’t want to tell her, why I keep it all buried inside.

I’m a fucking bastard, but I had one purpose—protecting my baby sister.

And I just screwed it up with flying colors.

“Listen, T, it’s not…”

“I knew it,” she says in a calm tone.

“Knew what?”

“You’re hiding things from me.”

“I’m not hiding anything. It’s just work. There’s really nothing you should worry about.”

“But it’s affecting you. I can see the hardness forming on your face, Knox.”

“I’m fine.”

“I said that, too, and we both know how that ended up.”

“I’m a criminal defense attorney, T. I’ve handled worse than this.”

“Worse, yes, but not that exact subject.”

“Didn’t you tell me to defend those who are as defenseless as we were?”

“Not if it triggers you, not if it takes away your humanity and steals you from me.”

“Who’s stealing who?” a male voice calls from her end before Ronan, her husband, appears by her side. He’s shirtless and carrying a half-naked Remington in his arms. They’re both wearing towels and their hair is wet. Is that shampoo on Remi’s head?

“Daddy…” My nephew claps, then points at me. “Uncle Nokth…”

That’s what I am to my three-year-old nephew—a gibberish of consonants and vowels.

“Hey, there, buddy.” I smile at him, thankful for their interruption. If they hadn’t shown up, the conversation with Teal would’ve veered into disastrous territory.

“Hey, Uncle Nokth!” He claps again. “Daddy made me a bath.”

“That’s right. Who’s your favorite?” Ronan gives him a fist and he bumps it, giggling uncontrollably.

“Daddy!”

“Okay, go change now and let me talk to your uncle Knox.” Teal kisses her son’s cheek.

“Not until we clear this whole thing up.” Ronan leans forward. He passed almost all of his genes to Remi, from the brown eye color to the straight aristocratic nose that he himself inherited from his earl father. “Are you going to steal my wife, Knox? Because Remi and I won’t allow it.”

“Won’t allow it,” Remi repeats, mimicking his father’s frown.

“No way. In fact, I have work to do, so you can take her back.”

“Knox, don’t you dare!” Teal objects.

“Bye, Remi.”

“Bye, Uncle Nokth!!”

My smile drops as soon as I disconnect.

I attempt to get my head occupied with work, but after an hour or so of reading a case file, it’s impossible to ward off the tension that’s building in my shoulders.

So I opt to get out and change the scenery.

Preferably by fucking someone.

It’s the best way to get rid of accumulating tension, but there’s one tiny problem about that.

Ever since I fucked Anastasia three weeks ago, I haven’t had the appetite for anyone else.

It’s not that I don’t want to fuck. It’s that I want to fuck her. No one else but the lying, conniving thief that I should’ve outed by now.

The background check Daniel did on her is squeaky clean, which is suspicious as hell. Just like her.

And I’ll handle it.

I just haven’t figured out how. Because every time I see her, I picture my dick in her mouth or her tight pussy.

And that’s not very productive. Or maybe it is, depending on which angle one looks at it from.

I leave my briefcase in my office and take the lift to the car park. Someone stops it a floor below, one of the assistants. She smiles and I fake one right back.

It’s easy now, to pretend that I’m normal, that I can automatically smile upon seeing another human instead of having nefarious thoughts about throwing them from the highest floor.

I might act friendly, but I don’t trust people. Not after the kindest-looking ones made mine and my sister’s lives hell.

The rotten people looked posh, elegant, and had all the right connections and money to hide their nefarious tendencies. They used their power to prey on the vulnerable and feed their fucked up animalistic urges.

Which is why I made it my mission to make them pay any chance I got. The press and everyone in the law circuit says I’m picky, but they don’t know the actual reason behind that.

I refuse to represent a person if I doubt they’re rotten.

They have a stench—the rotten ones—and I can smell it from a mile apart. It’s a sixth sense that I’ve had ever since I was a child.