Devious Eyes (A Cane Novel Book 2) Read online

  My feet splash in the water below, and I let my mind relax. It replays the events over in my mind. The meeting. The deal. The guns.

  In all the time I’ve been around Andreas’ business, I’ve never witnessed a murder. Somehow, I distanced myself from the dirt and grime of his life. When I was a girl, I longed to be noticed by him. That’s how I started in this business, after all, proving myself and my worth to Andreas so he’d pay me some attention.

  I never belonged in the world he created, though. He was too concerned with running his world to see me. He only saw the benefit or advantage I could offer him. Who would suspect a girl? A woman?

  It was my own naivety that got me in deeper. Until I realised I didn’t need to prove anything to my brother anymore, that I was more than capable of being my own person without his recognition. But it was too late. I’d found my drug of choice, and it was the prettiest thing in the world.

  Enough.

  I finish the coffee and fruit, returning myself to some level of human condition, and root through the bags. I rip off the tags to a summer dress, light and flowing, and find the small pack of toiletries from my go-bag.

  Ten minutes later, I leave the bungalow and survey the resort with the sun on my back.

  Twelve bungalows on each branch of walkway leading from the central reception lodge. The main restaurants and bars, entertainment and other facilities are nestled closely together. What feels like hundreds of stewards and staff patrol between these facilities, bringing drinks, towels and other helpful items to residents.

  No visible cameras outside of the main reception check-in desk, which is a plus. The beach is the most open point on the resort, and of course, there’s no perimeter fence. People arrive by sea taxi on a designated jetty further past the reception lodge.

  If I were coming for a romantic holiday, this would be an idyllic location.

  I’m not.

  Right now, it just has to double as the safest place I can escape to.

  Chapter Four

  Staring out of the window, I watch the world below pass me by.

  It’s only been twenty-four hours, but I’m done. I was done before he landed that punch and finished the second I felt his foot hit my ribs. What the hell it was all for, I don’t know, but he can rot with his little bitch on his own from now on. Do whatever the hell he wants. The Yakuza have been around for years, always hovering and trying to snatch ground from us. It’s something we talked about when he wanted to legitimise, something we agreed didn’t matter to us going forward. They’re just another syndicate ready to monopolise the world, one we played with for a while, but they’re nothing to do with us anymore. Nor are we a threat to them now.

  Screw him and his moods.

  “Can I get you another drink, Sir?” the stewardess asks.

  I shake my head at her, tired of everything, drink included, and keep staring into the clouds. I just want some peace for a while, to be left alone with my thoughts so I can organise what I’m doing. LA was my first step. I thought the distance between us would work, give me some clarity, time to evaluate, but it was constant damn noise and adrenalin, all fuelling the one thing I didn’t want to do—gamble. So now I’m on a plane. Not Cane’s plane, I’ve chartered one from LA, so I can go under the radar. Used my own assets rather than have him track me. I don’t want him knowing anything about what I’m doing, or where I’m going. I’m alone now. On my own.

  Whatever that means.

  It’s been running through my head the entire time. On. My. Own. I’ve never been that. Never. Right from the word go, I’ve been under him, under Father. Always second or third in command. I might have made decisions, but they always had to be proved, justified. Now it’s just me. My money. My destination. My rules.

  Fuck Cane.

  Eventually, I close my eyes and try to drift off into sleep. Everything still hurts. Ribs, jaw, pride. I’m raw. Wounded. Not from the beating he gave me, but from the loss. He’s cut a fucking hole open in me that I never thought possible. He spent all those years teaching me not to feel a damn thing, telling me right from word go that I had to turn to stone, show nothing to the enemy. And that’s exactly what I did for him. I forgot the real me. Left him behind the moment I watched Quinn come home that first night, blood seeping from his chin and hands shaking after the first kill. I knew then that our lives would never be the same again, that he was right. Emotion would be nothing but a vulnerability in our life. So I calculated from then, did as I was told, and used no emotion to count costs rather than have decency hinder us. I did it for him, my brother, knowing that loyalty came first above all other things. But this?

  This is fucking personal. In house.

  It’s not something he’s going to be forgiven for.

  “Sir? We’ll be landing in fifteen minutes.” I crack half an eye open, wondering how long I’ve been asleep. “Can I get you anything before we touchdown?” My jaw stretches around as I look fully at her, eyes trying to focus.

  “How long have I been out? What time is it?”

  “About three hours, Sir,” she replies, opening the blinds. “It’s just gone three p.m. local time.”

  I pull in a long breath and nod, turning to look out of the window. Blue skies and not a cloud in sight greet me. An endless oblivion of what should be optimism. Not that it means a damn thing to me. The buoyancy that should come as I look down at clear turquoise water doesn’t arrive. It won’t anytime soon either. Loyalty, the one thing I could always count on, has been torn from me. I’m half what I was twenty-four hours ago, alone for the first time in my life, and infuriated with the damn thought.

  Sunlight bursts in through the window, breaking my gaze. I ignore it and close my eyes again, hoping that something will make sense in the weeks to come. Because at the moment, nothing makes any fucking sense at all. I have every damn right to be pissed about Emily and even more right to be aggravated about my father. He might have been at death’s door for years, and he might have been the old cunt Quinn considered him to be, but that didn’t give him the right to end his life.

  Images stream into my thoughts. Abhorrent images. A pillow. Muffled shouts for help. His old hands scrabbling at sheets as my brother held him down. There wasn’t any blood when I found him on that Tuesday morning. No bullet holes. No wounds. He just looked like he’d died in his sleep, which was fucking coming one way or another anyway. No one questioned it. Hell, in some ways I was glad of it, glad he was finally out of pain and suffering. All those damn doctors and monitors, machines and endless checks were heart stopping for years. Like we were all waiting for the end, ready for it to come so we could be at peace in this new generation we aimed for. I was alright with that, at peace with the old man moving on. Now, though? Now I feel contempt for the thought. Scorn.

  My stomach lurches as the plane starts its descent. I’m not sure if it’s the plane or the visions that keep coming. Josh first, protection or not, and then Father. He would’ve enjoyed doing it, too. My brother, the killer. I can see his fucking scowl now, a slight sneer attached to it. He wouldn’t have planned it with any real reflection. It would’ve been something he just let build inside until the right time came, an act he considered useful to the forward momentum of his new generation of Cane. Revenge for mother maybe. Hell, perhaps the old man knew it was coming eventually. It was he who made Quinn what he is after all, built him into the mechanism he is. I snort. The fucking irony would be entertaining if it wasn’t in my own family.

  It’s one fucked up life we all lead.

  The wheels touch down under me, jolting me out of my contemplations and back to the reality I’m making for myself. Holiday. The damn word is barely comprehensible. I’m not on holiday. I’m running. No matter how much I try to justify it, he’s fucking right. I’m running from him and the loyalty I should still feel regardless of everything. My fingers press into my eyes, trying for sense again, but still the confusion about loyalty tells me to turn this plane around and go home. It’s all th
ere’s been for so long I don’t know how to get rid of it. Home. Cane.

  Quinn.

  “Sir, final checks have been completed. The steps are down when you’re ready.”

  Ready.

  I open my eyes and look at her hovering in the foreground, her head tilted at me as if she doesn’t know what to do. She smiles a little and tries for professional as she holds a hand out towards the door. “Your bags will be sent to the hotel.” Still I stare, enjoying the discomfort of her building apprehension. It hardens my dick a little, waking up some other emotion that barely comes out for play unless a whore’s available. “Can I…can I get you anything else?” My brow quirks. Perhaps fucking is what I need. Lots of it. Maybe that’s the answer to this internal mayhem. A good week or two balls deep in anything that moves and is willing to play my games. No calculations. No deciphering or analysing. Just fucking and endless pussy to taunt. “Is there a problem, Sir?”

  I smile and pull myself upright, hand reaching for my laptop case.

  “No, no problem.” I walk past her, dropping a bundle of cash on the side table and wondering what Bora Bora will bring. Some fucking clarity hopefully.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she calls behind me as I turn out into the sun. “Are you sure I can’t do anything else for you? Your car’s ready and—”

  “No, you’re done,” I cut in, staring at the car and sliding my sunglasses on as I walk down the steps. She’s no whore, and I don’t force anything unless it begs for it. Those days are done.

  Finally.

  Another bland woman waits by the side of the car, a chauffeur’s uniform in place. She’s no whore either. Too unperfected. It’s whores I need, ones who offer themselves willingly. I need effective fucking and for nothing else to get in my way until I can organise my damn mind again. She stands by the open door, a smile in place as I make my way to it.

  “Good evening. Welcome,” she says, a heavy French accent in place. “I’ll be transferring you to the water taxi, Sir.”

  I nod and slide into the car, intent on my destination and nothing more, but then I notice the drinks cabinet and scoff at its presence. Maybe that’s another thing I need. Alcohol. Fucking and alcohol. The car pulls off as I stare at the lines of crystal decanters. I’ll hole up, have a different woman each night and let everything blur into indecision rather than the constancy of discipline and regime. Fuck the numbers.

  Fuck thought.

  I smile and reach for the first one, ready to pour myself one motherfucker of a drink. I damn well deserve it. Years I’ve put up with his shit. Turned myself into whatever I needed to be for Cane. I’m done with it. Finished.

  My neck cricks as I pour, finally content with the image in my mind. Just me. Just what Nate Cane wants and nothing more for a while. I’ll fuck and drink, wallow in my own crap and find a way out eventually. I’ve got time, money, and resources if I need them. What the hell else is there now? Screw the laptops and never-ending coding. Screw the accounts and my ability to cajole quantitative data to organise statistics. And screw all those years of breaking codes I should not have been breaking, all for the power he needed us to have. The fact that he’s never known half of what I can do should I choose to means fuck all now. He can go get himself lost in what I’ve created, see if he can figure it out without me.

  Good fucking luck with that.

  The thought has me tugging at my tie and throwing it towards the foot well. No suits either. I can’t even remember the last time I didn’t wear a suit. Lines of the damn things hang in my wardrobe, all of them crisp and clean so the appearance of the Cane accountant is effective enough to cause fear in the enemy. He fucking does, too. Always has. My brother taught me well. Stone cold. Eyes always focused, threat laced in every moment.

  “Would you like me to arrange anything for you, Sir?” the woman asks from the front. I look up into her shaded eyes reflected in the rearview mirror and lick my lips, then turn to look out at the view again. “I can have the resort send it straight to your bungalow.” She probably could, but I’ll do that on my own. Whores are easy enough to spot. And if I can’t find one, maybe I’ll find something else to play with.

  “No,” I reply, watching the coastline go by.

  There’s nothing but endless sea, white beaches and greenery flooding up into the hills. If perversion wasn’t running through my mind I might find it idyllic, hypnotic even, but fucking is what I need now. Perhaps after that I’ll look at the view and appreciate it, but not yet. There’s too much emotion in me, too much chaos. It’s churning up my insides, making me messy and cluttered with sentiment for someone who deserves none of it. Because much as I might damn well hate it, Quinn is still with me. He’s in my mind, lurking, telling me to come home and do what I do.

  No more.

  We arrive at our destination ten minutes later, and I’m ushered to a waiting water taxi to take me over to the luxury resort. Thankfully, it’s a quick hop across the strait, so less than fifteen minutes goes by as I keep staring out into the sea wondering what the hell I’m doing. But it refreshes me from the close humidity at least, bringing a breeze to help reduce the stifling heat of wearing this suit.

  People greet me on the other side with various symbolic gifts that the island offers to honeymoon couples or blissful holiday makers. I’m neither, so I wave them off as they advance on me and walk through the throng towards the lobby. This isn’t happy fucking times. This is Nate Cane coming for some respite from his life. Escaping his brother.

  Drinking and fucking.

  That’s it.

  So I get myself straight to the bar, sit at the first available stool and order more booze, wholly invested in continuing to drink my way into oblivion until I can be bothered to get to my villa. I’m not yet. I’m not ready for alone, and the view out onto the terrace shows a sparse population who might keep me entertained for a while. Men in shorts and floral shirts, women in practically nothing. They’re barely worth watching and might as well be the whores I’m searching the place for, but I need a little time to process what the hell I’m doing here. Get comfortable with it.

  No one notices me. No one looks or nods, knowing a Cane’s just walked into the building. No bowing or scraping at my feet in case they piss me off or say the wrong thing. They’re just on holiday, relaxing their days away, and for the first time in fuck knows how long, I feel invisible as I let another swig slide down my throat.

  The thought makes me chuckle as a couple walk by, both of them laughing about something, and look past the people milling about towards the sea. The afternoon sun beats off its surface, ripples and loose waves idling over the expanse. A few jet skis catch my attention further out, high arcs of water pumping out of the back of them as they careen around. I peer closer, getting up to wander out, and see some yachts anchored in a way off coast. It’s an inviting thought. Solitude and nothing but the ocean to drown my sorrows in. Perhaps I’ll have one for a while, explore the coast and do something new.

  Before I realise where I am, I’ve made it to the beach, causing me to look down at the pristine white sand coating my suit trousers and black shoes. The image is so juxtaposed that I snort and look around for another wooden pathway to get back to. There isn’t one close, only the one I came from, and I’m not going backwards for now. I need to get to my villa, change out of this suit and relax like everyone else is doing. I snort at that, too. I haven’t even got any shorts or casual attire to wear in this sort of place. What the hell would I have it for? I was going to LA, putting some distance between us.

  Fuck.

  I stand still, chuckling to myself about the absurdity of it all, and look around for a sign as to where the hell my villa actually is. I must look like a damn fool stood here in a three-piece suit, the last of the day’s heat pouring down onto me as dusk begins to settle in. Jesus Christ. Talk about unprepared. It’s not something I’ve been for a long time. It’s enough for me to start retracing my steps, glugging the last of my drink back as I shift onto th
e wooden walkways and travel towards the water villas. One of them has got to be mine. I’ve got keys for the damn thing. Why is the floor moving?

  I chuckle again, snorting and tittering at myself as I try to avoid the edges of the elevated bridges over the water.

  Where the hell is the villa?

  I’ll find it eventually.

  Chapter Five

  The warm breeze races over my skin as I look out at the view. A vivid palette of turquoises and blues fills my vision, with the rugged mountain providing the backdrop. Paradise. It’s been the same the last two days—a perfect destination to relax in. The strain should have left my muscles by now, but I can’t escape the feeling I need to keep looking over my shoulder. It plagues me, refusing to let me forget or rest.

  No.

  I’ve indulged the paranoid card before, and though I have more reason than ever to be checking my six, it’s been quiet for two days. Every time I stop and pause to check who’s around me, there’s nothing. Each time I’ve detoured and waited, there’s been no trace of anyone to raise my alarm. My phone’s been quiet, too. Andreas hasn’t called.

  “No seas estúpido!” Andreas has some explaining to do.

  I raise my arms, stretching my fingers to the sky before diving off the wooden deck into the balmy waters below. My doubts and concerns wash away with the ocean. If only I could get my sleeping under control. A few hours a night of interrupted sleep due to nightmares isn’t helping to keep my mind focused.

  I surface and turn to look at my villa. The best position on the jetty gives me the most impressive view. Uninterrupted. I look out to my left and see the mirror image of my bungalow set several hundred meters across the water. I’ve been watching it since I slipped inside on my first night. There’s been no sign of life so far, but my surveillance will continue. My arms stretch out in the water, and I take a lazy swim towards my target.