Rise of a Queen: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Kingdom Duet Book 2)

If you want something done, you should get your hands dirty.

I don’t do that — usually. I have no problem crushing people with lawful methods. I even like seeing them struggle to turn the law to their favour and fail.

The law stands with the strongest. And in this world, that’s me.

However, when lawful methods don’t work, it’s time to go to the other side of the wall.

Harris has been coming up blank with the identity of Aurora’s attacker, even by using the intel given to him by our top-notch security company.

Since the law-abiding security team didn’t bring anything, I find myself at the Rhodes estate.

The duke of the house, Tristan Rhodes, has agreed to my offer, as he should, considering I gave him a discount I wouldn’t present to anyone else. His family is returning to business in the near future and he needs any push he can get in the right direction.

I’m willing to enter a profitable partnership with him for what he’ll give me in return.

As Moses drives down the long, undulated road, Harris watches out the window, his calculative gaze lingering on the countless security guards stationed in each corner covering almost every surface of the property. Their grim faces and the metal glinting from their sides hint at the damage they can cause if they choose to attack.

“This is like a crime lord’s house, not a duke’s.” Harris faces me, his tablet lying on his lap for the first time in…well, ever. “Maybe we should consider other ways.”

“Its similarity with a crime lord’s residence is what makes it useful. I will not waste more time.”

The man who fucking stabbed Aurora will be brought to his knees in front of her sooner rather than later.

Harris scrolls through his tablet. “Okay, let’s go through the information we have one more time. Tristan and his cousin, Aaron Rhodes, are the only remaining members of the once-powerful Rhodes family. They spent most of their childhood and teenage years in a boarding school after a fire that wiped out the rest of their family, but there are rumours.”

“That they were betrayed and the fire was instigated. That information is going viral in the aristocratic community. Many say that Tristan and Aaron are back for revenge.”

“Correct, but I’ve been doing some more digging and…” He lifts his head and readjusts his glasses with his index and middle finger. “It’s rumoured that they’re trained in combat, which shouldn’t be the case since they’ve never been in the military.”

“Perfect. That means Tristan knows the people I need and won’t waste my time.”

“It means they’re dangerous, sir. Doing business with them is one thing, but getting involved in their secret lives is an entirely different territory.”

“If it gets me what I want, I don’t mind.”

“How about your principle of not taking risky decisions?”

“Risky decisions need to be made sometimes for better opportunities. Besides, Tristan is a businessman before anything else. He knows how to speak the language of profit.”

The car comes to a halt, and I step out, buttoning my jacket.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been here, but I usually come to the Rhodes estate with either guests or Ethan’s unwelcome presence to conclude business deals.

A security man motions at me to go into the northern wing. There are four wings in the estate, and Tristan always welcomes his guests in this one.

The other wings sit majestically in the distance — eastern, western, and southern — forming a massive rectangular shape. Despite the effort Tristan and Aaron have spent in turning this place into what resembles a palace, there’s a certain haunting quality to the Rhodes estate.

It’s probably because of the fire and the number of people who lost their lives in it.

It reeks of death; I can smell it no matter how many flowers and perfumes are used to mask it.

A statue of a knight on a black horse sits majestically in the middle of the reception hall. Another statue, a black jaguar with blue gems as eyes, stares down his nose at me.

That’s another weird quirk of the Rhodes’. They actually raise live jaguars as pets.

I follow the security man up the sweeping marble stairs until we reach Tristan’s office. He stops, straightening as if he needs to be presentable for the task, before he knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Tristan’s levelled voice reaches us from the inside.

The buff man opens the door and nods at me to go in. As soon as I enter, the door closes. I have no doubt the security team member will stay in front of the office in case I pose a threat to his employer.

Not that I would. He’s an ally, and I take good care of my allies.

Tristan isn’t behind his large desk. He’s casually sitting in the lounge area, reading from a newspaper. He’s wearing a dark blue striped suit. Italian. Interesting. Nobles usually prefer English cut suits, but Tristan is an exception to his title in many ways.

He and his cousin have black hair and dark eyes that differentiates them in a crowd. Although Tristan is in his mid-thirties, he has the mind of someone much older. The most fascinating part is that he doesn’t like to show it — almost as if he’s living a secret life, as Harris suggested.

Upon my arrival, he neatly folds the newspaper and slides it onto the table, showcasing his family crest ring that rests on his index finger. Taking his time, he stands up and buttons his jacket. “Jonathan, welcome.”

I take his hand in a firm handshake. “Your Grace.”

“We’re past the titles’ nonsense. Tristan is enough.” He motions at the chesterfield sofa across from him. “Please.”

I unbutton my jacket and sit down, acutely noticing that the contact he said would be waiting for me isn’t here.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

My gaze discreetly takes in my surroundings, so I commemorate details in case there’s a need for an escape plan. I might consider Tristan an ally, but I never allow myself to get too comfortable. “I’ll take cognac on ice.”

“Excellent choice.” He strides across to his minibar and pours us both a drink. And while I know he prefers scotch, he returns with two cognacs.

That’s a good tactic to show how open-minded he is, and to put me at ease in return. Only, I never leave myself unprotected.

He pauses near the open balcony that’s directly opposite me before he settles across from me. Well, well…

“Have I shown up early?” I take a sip of my drink.

“No, not at all. Perfect timing as usual, Jonathan.” Cradling the drink in his hand, he leans his elbows on his knees. “I just thought we could talk about your needs before I put you in contact with my man.”

“I need someone to be found.”

His expression doesn’t change, but I sense how his mind is calculating. He’s a bit like me in how he masters which emotions to show and which to keep buried. “We’ll need more than that. Background?”

“Not much, except that he must’ve lived in Leeds or North Yorkshire for a while, or he could’ve visited them often.” After all, Moses lost all trace of him because he knew the area more than Moses did.

“How about your reason for wanting to find him?” He motions at my neck. “Does it have to do with that?”

The scratch Aurora left on my neck. It was like a cornered kitten trying to find a way out.

“Could be.”

“And?”

“Is knowing the reason necessary?”

“I’m afraid, yes, Jonathan. Let’s just say my man doesn’t like —” he makes air quotes “— ‘boring’ missions.

“It’s related to Maxim Griffin’s murders.” That’s all he needs to know.

Tristan raises a brow, appearing impressed. “That’s certainly not boring.”

“I assume you’ve heard about Maxim.”

“Who hasn’t? Let’s just say he’s weak for choosing helpless victims.”

“I’m in.” The voice reaches me before a man saunters in from the balcony. I figured someone was out there, but I thought it could be one of Tristan’s endless security folk.

The man standing in front of me has a sophisticated aura about him. He’s wearing a designer shirt and trousers. No jacket or tie — which means he’s not a businessman but likes elegance. His hair is styled, and his features are sharp but not in a criminal kind of way, more like how models look. He’s certainly not what I expected from what Tristan said about him.

According to the duke, this man was a key player in the Russian mafia in New York. What I found impressive about his background is the fact that he killed for a living for a long time and his speciality is tracking and finding.

His face is definitely not what I had in mind. I thought I would find a buff man with mean, angular features.

He’s certainly not that. Moreover, he appears to be younger than Tristan, barely in his early thirties. The only thing that hints at his true nature is the sparkling in his light blue eyes. Mentioning Maxim’s name is a deal sealer for him.

Killers and their need to outsmart each other is a translation of their egos. They like knowing they’re the smartest and strongest alive.

It’s something I’ll use to my complete advantage.

“Jonathan, this is Kyle.” Tristan motions at him. “An old associate of mine.”

“Associate?” Kyle scoffs. His accent is standard English, but there’s something in its undertone that I can’t quite pinpoint. It’s like he learnt to speak that way but had to shed another accent. A northerner, perhaps? Scottish? Irish? “Stop the nonsense and tell him we used to kill together.”

“Kyle.” Tristan glares at him.

“What?” Kyle sits beside him and snatches his drink. “I didn’t know it was a secret.”

“It’s safe with me,” I say. Not that I didn’t suspect it. The Rhodes family has always given off vibes, especially Tristan’s cousin, Aaron.

“It better be.” Kyle takes his time to savour his drink. “Or else we’ll have to…you know…shut you up with other methods.”

“You’re not allowed to threaten my guests, Kyle.”

“I’m just putting it out there.” Kyle is the type who speaks with complete nonchalance, appearing almost bored, but he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Not that he rattles me. No one does.

Or more accurately, no one aside from the woman who’s locked in her room because she was trying to escape.

I can’t believe she attempted to fucking jump right after she was attacked. My chest constricts whenever I think of what could’ve happened if Moses and I had been even a few seconds too late.

Or if I hadn’t been there to catch her.

The fact that she changed so suddenly has been sending my mind into overdrive. I barely slept last night. Every time I closed my eyes, her vulnerable fainted state came to mind.

It doesn’t help that my bed feels empty without her. It shouldn’t, but it fucking does.

Pushing that thought out of my head, I focus on Kyle. “Can you find who I’m looking for?”

“I can find anyone.”

“Tristan will forward you all the information we have.” I take a drink. “I want him alive.”

Both Tristan and Kyle smile at that. But the sadism that shines in Kyle’s eyes is nothing like I’ve seen before. It’s almost as if he finds a sick pleasure in it. “I love it when they’re alive…at first.”

“What’s the time frame?” I ask.

“As long as it takes. I’ll be in touch when I find your guy, or girl, you never know.”

“Name your price and I’ll pay.”

“I don’t need money.” He stands. “Once the mission is complete, I’ll take payment in the form of a favour.”

I don’t like that idea. Money is more about cutting loose ends, but a favour could be anything. However, since my choices are limited, I nod.

“Perfect. Looking forward to this.” He heads to the balcony. “And here I thought England was boring.”

“There’s a door,” Tristan says in a semi-exasperated, semi-resigned tone.

“Doors are dull.” And with that, Kyle jumps from the balcony.

Tristan shakes his head, then smiles at me. “You can trust Kyle with this. He’s one of the best.”

“I’m counting on that.”

“May I ask what you intend to do with this man once you find him?”

“Make him wish he was never alive.”

Because no one, and I mean no-fucking-one, touches what’s mine and lives.

I reach home somewhere after seven. Harris stays at the company to send me updates about an upcoming merger.

Usually, I’d remain with him, but my attention is constantly robbed by the wild presence I left at home. Although there’s security and Margot is to bring Aurora meals, I don’t trust she won’t do something stupid.

Aurora is not only like an injured animal. She’s also trapped, and they tend to bite any chance they get.

A tiny woman in baggy clothes is shouting at the front gate guard. Layla. Of course. I knew she’d show up here and create a ruckus over her friend’s disappearance.

I motion at Moses to stop, and he obeys. The front gate guard nods at me in acknowledgement.

She points a finger at herself. “I’m talking to you. Pay attention, or better yet, let me in.”

“Not going to happen, Miss Hussaini,” I speak to her through my window.

She whirls around and narrows her fierce eyes on me. “Johnny! Where’s Aurora? What have you done to her?”

“Done to her? What makes you think I’ve done anything to her?”

“She would never skip a day at work without telling me first, and she hasn’t answered my calls and texts for more than forty hours.”

“That’s oddly precise.”

“That’s because she’s never done it.”

“She’s a bit unwell and needs rest.”

“Unwell how?”

“Sick, tired, or both.”

“Then tell your bloke here to let me in so I can check on her.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible at the moment.”

“Why not? Unless you did something to her!” She gasps. “I swear if you don’t let me see her, I’m going to call the police.”

“You won’t be able to do anything to me, Miss Hussaini, but if you’re stupid enough to call the police, I’ll bring your family to the ground.”

She lifts her chin. Layla is Aurora’s friend, all right. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You ought to be.” I let the window go up, slowly muting her shouts. She’s screaming about how she’ll take this to social media and spouting every threat under the sun.

The gate opens and Moses drives in. The guard holds Layla as she tries to bolt after me.

There’s loyalty in that woman. I like it. But I also meant it about crushing her if she goes against me.

I step into the house, ready to find Aurora and make her talk. It’s long overdue. Surely, she also doesn’t like to stay away from her company and her weird friend.

“Sir?”

Margot’s hesitant voice stops me at the base of the stairs. She’s standing there with a silent Tom.

“Yes?”

Her skin is pale and she swallows a few times but doesn’t say anything.

My inner alarms go off at the same time. “What’s going on, Margot? Did something happen to Aurora?”

I checked in a few hours ago to make sure she’d had her lunch, and Margot didn’t mention anything.

“What’s going on?” I say with a stern voice when neither of them speaks.

It’s Margot who finally does. “After I brought her lunch, Miss Aurora has…been…”

“What?”

“Screaming. Breaking things. The crashes could be heard from downstairs. She’s calmed down a bit now, but it was so similar to…”

Tom shakes his head at her, and she clamps her lips shut.

But I know who she was going to compare her to, even if she didn’t say the words.

So similar to Alicia.

Fuck.

I loosen my tie as I ascend the stairs, then turn the key in the lock. The scene I see in front of me is utter fucking chaos.

The coffee table is turned upside down, clothes are thrown on the ground, some torn, and the lamp is broken in pieces at the side of the bed.

I step inside and close the door, pocketing the key.

Since Aurora’s nowhere to be found, I expect her to be in the bathroom. I’m a few steps in when she darts behind me, towards the door.

I grab her by the wrist, careful not to hurt her injured palms. The bandages are already bloodied, which means she’s reopened her wounds.

Again.

Not that it should be a surprise with the amount of damage she’s caused. This fucking woman has no care whatsoever for her own safety.

She thrashes against me, her face red and her loose black hair flying in all directions.

I grab her by the throat and push her down against the mattress. My body overpowers hers as I hover above her. “Stop.”

She squirms, one of her hands hitting me across the chest, but the other remains inert by her side. Her face is pale — minus her flushed cheeks. Her lips are cracked and have lost their natural rosy colour, and the cut on the side of them is bloodied as well. Her deep blue eyes are frantic, pupils dilated — could be due to lack of sleep or her angry fit or both.

“You’re reopening your fucking wounds, Aurora. What is wrong with you?”

“You.” She’s breathing harshly — so much so that her words are muffled with her breaths. “If you don’t let me go, you’ll regret it.”

“Is that so?”

“Don’t underestimate me, Jonathan. I lived on the streets for way too long. I can cause you damage.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

She lifts the hand that was limp by her side only moments ago. I thought she was only bleeding because she reopened her wound, but turns it out, she’s been squeezing a shard of glass. She points it at my neck, her breathing still chopped and uneven, but her eyes are blazing with sure determination.

This fucking woman has no thought for her safety whatsoever if she was holding a shard of glass against her already wounded palm. Or maybe an injury or two doesn’t matter to her as long as she gets to run.

She’s an expert at that.

Running the fuck away.

“What are you going to do with that, Aurora? Are you going to slice my throat?”

“I will if you don’t let me go.”

“The only way I’ll let you out is if you fucking talk, so you might as well go for it.”

“I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.” Her voice breaks.

“Try again.”

“Let me go, Jonathan, please.”

“No.”

“I’ll hurt you.”

“Do it.”

“I really will.”

“Fucking do it then.”

She pushes the shard against my throat and I see the widening of her eyes before I feel the sting of the cut.

Then my blood flows to her face.