Heartless Lover by Faith Summers
5
Eric
I’m like a walking timebomb as I make my way to my office.
Everything Summer told me swirls around in my head as if it might explode.
Poor thing, she truly had no fucking clue what she stumbled on.
What she explained about the tech—the Veil—as they called it, was enough, but when she dropped Barabbas Ponteix’s name, I knew exactly why they wanted her dead.
Barabbas Ponteix is a renowned black-market trader who works for the elite— motherfuckers in government, billionaires, and tycoons with a fuck ton of money and bad intentions. He bounces between Europe and the States, and when you shit on people like him, it means death to you and your kin.
That’s why they want her dead.
I’m guessing the tech has to be the same type they’ve been using that Dominic discovered. I’ll check it out, though, to confirm.
I would say tech like that would be worth five million, and it would definitely attract a man like Barabbas.
Summer finding out that it’s not working would more than screw with their plans. They’d be worried about losing all that money and Barabbas finding out their shit.
Shit, that all went down at Club Montage.
I’m no stranger to Monaco, and the same rings true for the club. It just wasn’t co-owned by Robert when I was going there, so that must be one of his new conquests. Very clever old friend. Sex sells.
Club Montage is a high-end sex club for the rich and famous, so I completely understand Summer’s hesitation in telling me where she’d worked. From the look of her, I know she was one of the main attractions and probably Robert’s main girl too, whether she wanted to be or not.
As she spoke, I saw regret, embarrassment, and disappointment in herself. It was all there in her eyes on top of guilt over her sister’s death.
The entire look of her was that of someone who’d sold their soul to the devil.
I know the feeling all too well, which is why I never judged her for it.
Club Montage is the perfect equivalent to the Dark Odyssey here in L.A. that Aiden owns. Or rather, I should say owns in name only. Before he got engaged to my sister, he used to have meetings there every week. Now Maksim and I take care of those types of meetings. There’s nothing sexual about them. They’re more of a decoy to assess those we choose to do business with.
At the Dark Odyssey, nothing is off limits. Club Montage is the same with the sole goal of providing a place for its patrons to live out their dark sexual fantasies of BDSM, group sex, and whatever the fuck you want to do. The women who work there are all part of that goal. They do whatever you tell them to do and be whatever you want them to be.
They belong to you for however long you book them. One hour, one night, one month, one year—whatever your fantasy dictates.
Obviously, the women are paid extremely well for being some rich bastard’s pet. They get money from the salary the club offers and money on top from the club-goers which could rise into the millions.
Even if a woman is into the sexual thrill, no one is going to aspire to work in a place like that and not for too long. The girls who end up there are more often than not the ones in trouble or the women who want to change their lives.
Summer looks like she fit into both categories.
What sent her there?
Whatever it is isn’t for me to worry about, though, nor is it for me to fix.
I’m hoping to wrap this all up quickly so we can all get back to our lives.
She can go back to hers, and I can end my pursuit for revenge.
As much as I just made her seem like nothing more than live bait to me, I’m not about to have her blood on my hands. There’s too much blood there already, but hers would taint my soul the most because she’s an innocent in the mix.
Borya meets me at the end of the corridor, looking curious. I haven’t briefed him properly yet other than a message letting him know we’re to provide Summer protection. He needs more details, though, so I should do that but not now. I’m too eager to research.
“The coast is clear, Boss,” he begins. “What is the status with the girl?”
“I’ll meet with you and the team properly in the morning, and we’ll discuss her. Keep everyone on watch. I also want a man at her father’s house. Just in case. I don’t want her old man getting any ideas. Report everything he does to me.”
“Will do. See you in the morning.” He dips his head and leaves.
He and Oleg take turns guarding me while I’m here. I’ve never needed either of them, but every Brotherhood in the Bratva has a similar setup for their elite members, so your men can be with you whenever you need them. I’m just not used to it yet.
I proceed into my office, switch on my computer, and find Club Montage’s website. I go past the home page and log into the staff files hoping to find an address for Robert; however, I don’t find shit. Nothing for him or even Cassius.
I try to tap into the surveillance at the club but realize within seconds that they don’t have any. Clever bastards. No cameras, no crime.
At least I have access to their computers. I find Robert’s personal files and notice he has serious firewalls set up. That tells me he uses this computer for important business. That’s good for me.
Within a few minutes, I’m in. Since emails are the best way to see what people are up to, I check his messages.
The first thing I see to piss me off is an email from an undisclosed recipient with details of his flight which left two mornings ago. He was to be at Cannes Mandelieu Airport at eight o’clock. There’s no destination, though.
No motherfucking destination. And no fucking details of the flight either. Fuck.
Cannes Mandelieu is a private airport most people use for flying in and out of the French Riviera. Without flight details or any other information, it would be impossible to pinpoint what plane Robert left on.
He could have fucking gone anywhere. He could have even gotten a connection to somewhere else that would lead him here. The thing about this game is I might not know when he discovers the truth about Summer until he’s here, and I don’t want that to happen.
Going back to the email, I decrypt the encryption around the undisclosed recipient IP address. When I locate another address in Monte Carlo that the email was sent from, I find it and hack into the surveillance system there.
From the pictures on the walls and a family photo on the large mahogany desk in the office, I can see that the house is either somewhere Micah Santa Maria lives in or where he stays. I’ll report this to Alejandro. It’s not much, but it’s something to add to the files.
I’m also guessing Micah must be on that flight with Robert. When I check his computer, it’s also clear the email address he used to message Robert isn’t one he uses all the time. Neither is the computer. There’s not much on there to look at.
I check out the phone numbers Summer gave me next, but when the tracking leads me back to the club, I realize the fucking phones are inside the club.
Great.
There’s not a lot I can do with either of these numbers, so my best bet is to set up some alert system to let me know when they’re back in use. For now, I’ll stick with looking through the emails to see if I can find out where Robert went.
When I return to the messages, I don’t find anything that can help me, but what I find carries just as much weight. Nestled in an email to Barabbas is the design for the Veil along with the fucking contract.
By the time I scan over the design, I can confirm that the Veil is indeed the tech in question that Dominic found, and the contract is for five million dollars, just as Summer said. The deal is supposed to be closed in a month from today on the thirtieth of July.
In the chain of emails between Robert and Barabbas, I see several instances where Robert rearranged the date of sale with the excuse that the Veil was being upgraded. Of course, that was probably him stalling when he discovered the tech wasn’t working.
The sale looks like it’s still on, though. Either they hope to fix it or lie and sell it to Barabbas faulty, which he wouldn’t find out about until it was too late.
The last email is of them agreeing to meet in the States because of business Barabbas has here, but like everything I’ve seen so far, they don’t fucking mention where.
I have a date, though, and I know he’ll be on U.S. soil. That’s something important. It means if Robert doesn’t figure out that he didn’t kill Summer, I could potentially wait it out until that date to get his ass.
Waiting until then is a last resort. I hope to get him before then. When you give people like him time, it means you give them a chance to screw with you. Anything could happen in the next month.
I scroll through the rest of the emails, and one last name catches my attention.
It’s Luke Thornton.
That’s the guy I have listed as doing business with Robert two years ago. This email is from three months ago.
It says.
Let me know where you want to meet on the 30th.
Motherfuckers.
Luke is a drug mule who works with the Cartel. Six years ago, he set up the surveillance to watch my movements before Robert got to me. Luke was the motherfucker who helped transport me to Brazil and chain me up.
He took pleasure in blasting me with that electric current more than his fair share of times. His next pleasure was setting up that whole car crash story.
I was already planning to kill him when I added him to my hit list, but when I found out he installed the hidden cameras in my sister’s bedroom when she was a child for Jude, who eventually raped her, I decided he needed more than death.
Sinners like him are different from devils like me.
I must look like a mad man when I smile to myself as I locate the address the email was sent from. I smile wider as I see the motherfucker is in L.A.
As a plan brews in my mind, I reach for my phone and call Borya, who answers on the first ring.
“I have a job for you,” I tell him. “I need you to get someone for me and take them to the interrogation locker.”
“No problem, Boss.”
“I’ll message you the details. Make sure he knows Eric Markov sent you and tell him I can’t wait to see him.”
