Soulless KnightSins of Knight Mafia Trilogy
Violet Paige
Head Over Heels Press
Copyright © 2020 by Violet Paige
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Also by Violet Paige
Part I
1. Kennedy
2. Knight
3. Kennedy
4. Knight
5. Kennedy
6. Knight
7. Kennedy
8. Knight
9. Kennedy
10. Knight
11. Kennedy
12. Knight
13. Kennedy
14. Knight
Part II
Five Years Later
15. Knight
16. Kennedy
17. Knight
18. Kennedy
19. Knight
20. Kennedy
21. Knight
22. Kennedy
23. Knight
Keep in touch with Violet
Also by Violet Paige
Hart Pursuit Trilogy
Damaged Hart
Shattered Hart
Stolen Hart
Cold Love Hockey Series
Cold As Puck
Cold As Hell
Cold As Ice
Football Romance
Turn Over
Sidelined
Dirty Play
Double Score
Royal Romance
Tempting the Crown
Risking the Crown
Loving the Crown
Billionaire Romance
Don’t Go
Not Husband Material
Not Daddy Material
The Dirtiest Deal
The Hottest Deal
Military Romance
Don’t Tell
Don’t Lie
Don’t Promise
Ranger’s Baby Surprise
Delta’s Baby Surprise
Sweet Satisfaction
Suspense
Resist
Surrender
Part I
1
Kennedy
I didn’t like new places. I pressed the tortoise glasses against my nose to block the light. It was invasive and unwanted. I scooted lower in the bistro chair, slouching under a palm frond. The shade was hit or miss on the outdoor patio, but it was too crowded inside. I wanted space. Quiet. I wanted to wallow in the feeling of isolation.
“Thank you,” I acknowledged the waitress softly when she delivered my espresso.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“No.” I winced. My head hurt as I lifted it to take a sip. I was paying the price for the party I attended.
I didn’t make good decisions in new places.
I dug through my designer bag for ibuprofen and swallowed a few tablets with the coffee. My phone chirped, but I didn’t look at the screen. I couldn’t. There were probably pictures. In fact, if I closed my eyes long enough and remembered exactly what I had done, I could see the cell phones freely snapping shots of me.
I didn’t care then. I only somewhat cared now.
My phone chirped again. My eyes moved to the two men posted nearby. I couldn’t go to a damn coffee shop without my father’s detail. Their heads leaned closer together and one of them whispered.
Shit.
The taller one walked toward me. “It’s time to go,” he announced. His hands clasped in front of him. I saw the blunt edge of his weapon when his jacket was pulled to the side.
“I haven’t finished my coffee,” I argued.
“It’s your father,” he replied. “You can bring the coffee with you.”
“I’d rather drink it here.” I didn’t want to acknowledge my hangover to him, even though he had noticed it. It was his job to notice everything about me.
“That’s not an option.” His voice was flat without emotion.
The second suit had already walked inside the bistro for a to-go cup. He returned, dumped my espresso in it, and handed it to me.
I glanced to my right. The couple next to me stared. They must have been tourists. Surely, the locals were used to mob boss’s daughters being dragged through the city against their wills. I didn’t know New Orleans well. I didn’t know how to read people here yet. No one in Philadelphia would have flinched.
I glared at the suits. “What is the emergency?”
“We can’t discuss it. It’s time to go.” His answer was as vague and sterile as the first time he told me.
“So, it is an emergency?” I pressed. Only for a second I let the possibility rattle around that my father might be not be feeling well. He had more and more episodes lately. He wouldn’t tell me what the brown bottle of pills was that he kept in his breast pocket. I had stopped asking.
“I didn’t say that. Let’s go.”
I had options. I could kick, scream, and make a scene in front of the tourists. Or I could leave with the suits, follow orders, obey and fulfill my duty. I hated myself for choosing the easier path.
The cardboard cup was warm. I clutched it and marched past the tall men, pretending I left because I was bored with the coffee shop.
“This way.” He extended his palm to shift me toward the sidewalk.
“I remember where we parked,” I hissed.
If he had been a family member, he would have spat back at me, but being on the payroll prevented him from stepping out of bounds. Instead, he held the door open to the backseat while the other suit started the ignition. I climbed in reluctantly and he slammed the door. He tested the handle from the inside to make sure it was locked. Both men were new. I didn’t even know their names.
The leather seat stuck to the back of my legs. I reached overhead to adjust the vent. I needed cool air. Lots of it. I caught glimpses of ferns drooping in the stagnant heat. The driver took one turn after another. He wasn’t careful with the wheel. Maybe it was his way to teach me a subtle lesson. I was as lost as I had been when we left the house an hour ago. I didn’t have a great sense of direction. It was another reason not to like new places. It was easy to feel confused.
My compass was off. The axis I relied on had been splintered and shredded. I stumbled through a new house, a new city, and a new life.
The black Escalade pulled up under the portico. I heard the water splash in the outdoor fountain as soon as the handle was unlocked, and I stepped onto the paver stones.
One of the new maids nodded as I strolled through the foyer. I thought I saw her curtsy. I’d say something about that another time. The house was built in the early 1900s. There were high ceilings and opulent hand-carved molding on the walls. It still contained the original pulley-system elevator and box of bells in the kitchen that was used to summon servants.
It was incredible that in less than a week my father and I occupied the house without a trace of a box or
