Forbidden Eyes: A Cane Novel 4 Read online

  Forbidden Eyes

  A Cane Novel 4

  Charlotte E. Hart

  Rachel De Lune

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Also By Hart De Lune

  Also by Charlotte E. Hart

  Also By Rachel De Lune

  About Rachel

  About Charlotte

  ©All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written consent from the author, except that of small quotations used in critical reviews and promotions via blogs.

  Forbidden Eyes is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  FORBIDDEN EYES – A Cane Novel 4 ©2019 HartDeLune

  Charlotte E. Hart • Rachel De Lune

  Cover Design by Rachel De Lune

  Book design by LJDesigns

  Editing by H.A. Robinson and Rox Leblanc

  Chapter Illustrations by L.J. Stock, LJDesigns

  eBook Formatting: L.J. Stock, LJDesigns

  Acknowledgments

  Somehow, we've reached Book 4 in this epic world. And all as a result of a conversation in the bar about plotting and panstering.

  We are hugely grateful to all of the readers who took a chance on Innocent Eyes. Without your support, we would have never kept writing, and now, we're already deep into the story of Book 5 - the final in The Cane Novels. You have been warned.

  Charlotte and I thank each and every one of you who's helped us on our journey. We love you!

  Now, time to enjoy the words.

  Prologue

  Through turmoil, guns, and gangsters, the mobs have finally settled.

  Cane is solid.

  Vico—untroubled.

  The years of raging wars have gone. The suspicion—gone.

  The life of crime, for Cane, is gone.

  And the bond between families is dependable, loyal, and without concern.

  Life is calm.

  It’s taken twenty years.

  Twenty years.

  But now a new generation is here.

  They’re about to test the bonds we’ve built.

  And send our calm life to hell.

  *Author note - To fully appreciate this book you can go back to the beginning, where it all started, and read Innocent Eyes, Devious Eyes and Vengeful Eyes.

  However, this book can be read as standalone.

  One

  The wall blurs in front of me, my eyes barely bothering to attempt to focus. That’s what happens when I fuck. I lose myself for a while, forget the daily grind of aggravation and borderline mundanity. It’s all the same now, as are the women I fuck. They do as they’re told, no qualms registering on their faces. Not that I look at them. I come from behind or down their throats, oblivious to facial recognition or how attractive they are. I like it that way. It’s easy not to give a damn and remember what I am.

  He’s made me that way.

  She flicks her hair back, breaking my inner monologue. It pisses me off, making me tighten my grasp on her hips again and look at the way she bucks under me. Her arms stretch taut, strained out in front of me. They’re nice arms: toned, wet with sweat, and trembling under the tension. I like that, too—like them to work hard for me and labour in a state of near exhaustion. They’re pliable like that, ready to take anything I want to give. And fuck, do I give it to them. Hours of it. Bare skin. Exposed everything. Sometimes roped up and held down—forced. As long as they’re contained—bodies unable to get away even if they wanted to—I’m a happy man. Good job, too.

  No one likes a pissed-off Carter.

  Me included.

  My dick pulls out slowly, and my hands let go of her as I look around the luxurious room for the other ass on display for me. The one I’ve left whimpers and collapses onto the floor, her body falling against the wall. I don’t look back. Why bother? She’s just another faceless form, one I have no intention of revisiting. The one I’m aiming for scampers to the bed, eyes wide and lips pouty. I don’t know why. She knew what she was signing up for when I picked her out earlier. They both did. Everyone knows. I don’t hide it either. It keeps the streets thinking about me, keeps the whisper mill going strong. Carter Wade: heartless asshole.

  Another thing he’s made me become.

  If there was ever a heart there to begin with.

  I look at nothing but her body, uninterested in her face now. The redhead pulls her feet up under her frame trying to hide in the bed, maybe. There’s no hiding here. There wasn’t the moment she smiled and showed herself to me. She had her chance to say no when I whispered what I would do before she came in. Most women think it’s a joke, a seductive play. It’s not. I meant it when I said I wanted to fuck her until she couldn’t breathe anymore.

  I meant it with them both.

  One down, one to go.

  My mouth tightens as my hand runs the length of my dick a few times. I’m nearly ready to cum again. I came easily enough the first-time around, straight into the gullet of number one. She gasped and grunted the whole way through, unable to keep herself in the position I’d asked for and struggling to breathe. She was almost poetic under me, showing me that fear I was after. But it wasn’t until her knees buckled and I heard the wail of pain as she hit the ground that I shot my load into her. That’s how it works for me. They hurt; I get off. Never been any different. Fuck analysing it. Perhaps it was those streets when I was a kid that made me this way, or the whores I started my life with. That was all I saw back then—dirt, grime, and women who would bend over and take whatever for a couple of dollars or a bottle of whiskey.

  Just like my mom.

  Not that I knew her.

  I walk over to the redhead and drag her into position by the hair, allowing her a chance to fight me. That’d be nice. A slap. A punch. Anything to give me a reason to gain some traction and come because something inspires me, interests me. Neither of these do, though. They’re nervous. Scared. And then, after this shit, they’ll behave like the money grabbers they are, hoping they’ll be the one who captures Carter Wade's heart.

  I widen the redhead’s legs and run my hand through her slippery offering, digging my fingers in to see how tight she is. No one captures my heart. The only thing it’s any good for is beating slowly, calmly. Even now, with my body ready to explode the moment I shove my dick into her, my heart rate is barely escalating. Its pace holds true to what I am. Hollow and cold. Callous and inconsiderate. I learnt well from him when he gave me a second chance at life.

  She screams and scrabbles away as I try to force a thumb into her ass. I grip tighter, fingers curling to hook her back to me,
and then force the thumb where she doesn’t want it. It’ll be my dick in a minute. She’s loose around my fingers, pussy used rather than the snug I’d prefer. I hate loose pussy. I like it tight and tender, preferably bruised.

  “Please …” she stutters, begging for a reprieve.

  Quaint.

  I smile and line my dick up, working my thumb in circles to widen her for me. My thumb slips out, hand withdrawing at the same time, and I ram home, hoping she screams the place down. She does, and the way I grab her hair and yank her head back, projects the sound loud and clear in the room. My hand smothers her mouth and I arch her back to me, her neck visible so I can bite into her flesh when I cum. She struggles in my hold, trying, for whatever reason, to avoid my dick shunting in and out of her ass. I don’t care. I got over giving a fuck about anyone or anything, apart from the men who guided me, a long time ago. What they think matters; that’s it for me. One of them more than the other. The bitch I’m in now means as little to me as the bed she’s kneeling on. She’s a hole, several of them, an inanimate object I’ll use as I see fit until I get off again.

  Her hair feels like wire in my hands, her curly locks contradicting a prettiness that isn’t here anymore. Pretty left her when we came in. It always does. I like pretty in the world outside. Pretty makes me interested, but when the clothes slip from my skin and I get into this headspace, I forget about pretty and remember what they're here for, nothing else.

  I grunt, hammer into her again, and my hips shunt over and over until I feel the pull in my lower back. Good. I’m coming. My balls tighten, my ass tensing under the pressure, and I lower myself so I can get to that fine, white neck of hers. She screams the second my teeth latch on, muffled and low under my hand. The sound makes me shudder and grunt again, my fingers twisting her neck so I can suck on the spot my teeth have found. Salt attacks my taste buds. Salt and sin. It’s like my life, those two elements—sharp and immoral. There’s nothing else, no law I abide by, no restriction that stands in my way to stop me doing my job. I cut like an angel when necessary, making sure no one knows what I’ve done, or devour like a devil to ensure everyone knows exactly what I’ve done.

  That’s who I am.

  Calm under pressure.

  Ice in my veins.

  One last grunt, my ass tensing for the last time, and a low, calm growl sounds out my success. I pull out and wrench her head back towards me, stuffing my dick into the mouth on offer. For the first time I manage to concentrate on her face for a minute, watching as she gags around me. Tears track her face, mascara plastered down her cheeks. She looks like a broken doll, pale and insipid with cracks in her skin. Nothing but a useful hole to empty into.

  She sobs as I pull out again and stand to retrieve my clothes. I’m done here now. I pull my suit pants on and knock on the door, letting the guard know he can come in. He does, efficient as always, and heads over to get the two women out of here. They're led away before I can turn around, and I’m given a moment to get myself back together before I have to go back out to my job.

  It takes precisely eight minutes to make myself presentable again, and I walk back out through the door to head up the cold back staircase. Tie back in place. Crisp white shirt under a vest. Tailored black suit cut sharply to my frame. It’s my uniform. Has been since he gave me the chance to run some of his business for him, or at least under him. Everything around me is still his, and he makes damn sure the world knows it despite his age, but I run it now. I wield his power.

  The noise from the main floor grows louder as I reach the carpeted stairs and the finery starts coming back into view. Gold filigree work along the ceilings. Red walls lined with Cane insignia—the same as that which hovers over the Regent signage. I smile at it all, a nod to how effective they’ve been as a team through the years. I couldn’t have asked for a better man to give me a chance when my dick of a brother screwed up. Why Quinn Cane turned up on my doorstep, I didn't know at the time. He told me my brother was dead, that he’d shot up too much crack this time, and then he crouched and told me I could go live with him if I wanted to. I was scared. Alone. And he was huge. All I can remember is seeing the smartest car I'd ever seen in my life idling behind him as if no one would dare to even try taking it.

  They didn't, either.

  I break out onto the casino floor and look around the place, counting the number of players at the craps table so I can keep check with Nate’s number running. He’s a clever fuck like that, and he’s made me just as sharp now he’s not here to look after the tables. I nod at one of the side boys, telling him to keep an eye out on table four. The dick with a sweat going isn’t someone I want in this place, no matter how much money he’s spent. He’s too coked up to play sensibly, and that shit doesn't happen in Cane venues under my rule.

  I walk to the bar and ask Trixie to pour my usual. She hands me a glass of water, filled to the brim with ice, and I spin to look back out over the room again. I was nine when Quinn turned up that day—nine and waiting in some scum hole of a room, whores to each side. My brother tried to look after me when Pops was killed; I know he did. He tried to keep me hidden away from the scum, but he never seemed to be at home. I nodded at Quinn when he asked me if I wanted to go with him. I nodded and went inside to get anything I had of value. It wasn’t much, but I took what little there was. What the fuck did I know about life back then? I was just a snotty-nosed kid running the streets in the day and hoping to hell my brother came back at night to bring me some food. Sometimes he did. More often than not, he didn’t.

  That day I knew he'd never come back again.

  It wasn’t until I hit thirteen that Quinn told me the truth about why I was living with them. He’d felt responsible to some degree because he’d been the man who had killed my father years before. And then his team had watched from the side as my brother began fucking up his life, too. There was no overt sense of guilt involved in his plan that I could see, though, only obligation for some reason. Seems odd now I think back on it.

  “If you want to stay here with me, you can’t be a Mazarono anymore, kid. You also need to forget I killed your dad and move on. Choose a name and I’ll show you the right way to live your life. Either that, or it’s time for you to leave.”

  Those were his words. I knew him well enough by then to know he meant them.

  I chose a name, he implemented all the paperwork, and then I forgot life before him.

  Carter Wade.

  “Carter.”

  Fuck. I didn’t know he was here.

  I push off the bar and head out into the crowds, hoping he doesn’t follow me. He does, acting like he owns the place. Kinda does, or will do one day, but that doesn’t mean I need to like him. “Pops is coming in.” I turn back to look at Logan, an arch in my brow asking why Quinn wants to come here at all. “Don’t know. He said something about talking to you about Miami.”

  I smile and wander off again, enjoying the thought. The very fact that Logan Cane knows so little about his father’s business makes me chuckle frequently. It’s not like he doesn’t know how all this around us came to be, but the dubious side that still goes on occasionally—that’s all mine.

  “What’s happening in Miami?” he asks, matching his stride with mine. I stare over at the roulette wheel and sip my drink as we pass it, uninterested in discussing anything with him.

  “Business. New Casino.” Also, a fuck tonne of drugs that they're running out from New York. A favour for Vico, he said.

  Not that Logan knows that. Or is allowed to.

  “Give me a fucking break, Carter. Why would he send you just for a new opening? I could do that.”

  He could. But badly.

  “You ever gonna let me in on this thing you two do? You’re not even blood.” I stop, and slowly turn to look at him. I might not be blood, but I’ve done more shit for this family than he’s ever done. With any luck, more than he’ll ever have to do.

  “He’s tying up loose ends, Logan. That’s all.” He opens
his mouth to cut in. “And you ever come at me with that blood talk again and I’ll forget you’re not my own. You get me?”

  His eighteen-year-old frame backs off a step. He’s right to as well because no matter his size, or his name, I’ll beat the ever-lovin’ crap out of him if he brings that tone at me again. The amount of times I’ve pulled him out of some shit he’s got himself into is unfathomable. Doesn’t mean I like him or have to do anything for him. I do it because I respect his father and what he’s done for me over the years. And I do it because the word family has been pushed so far up my ass I have no choice but to honour Quinn’s wishes, even if we’re not blood.

  “Besides,” I continue, sipping my water again, “you’ve got Alicia to play with. Enjoy her ass for a while. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Who?”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Fuck that. Bitch wouldn’t put out. I’ve moved on.” I roll my eyes and keep walking, reading a card game over the dealer’s shoulder. “It was Mom’s idea. She said I should settle down and be happy.” I chuckle and sip my drink again. It doesn’t surprise me. Guess Emily sees too much of her husband in her son. Well, what he was before her anyway, from what I know. “The hell do I want with happy, Carter? Damn sure Pops wasn't happy at my age. I’m the only Cane there is. I need to know about everything. Everything.” He's right. His dad was an animal at his age. Something he's trying to temper in his son by keeping him the fuck away from that kind of life.