Page 38 of His to Hunt (The Owner’s Club #1)

Thirty-Five

BECKETT

"You realize your entire strategy is absurd, right?" Graham says, shuffling the deck with practiced hands, cards flowing through his fingers like water. "You're bleeding chips because you keep trying to bluff, and Seb can smell weakness like a shark smells blood."

The three of us sit around the antique poker table in my penthouse, whiskey glasses half-empty, cigar smoke hanging in lazy spirals beneath recessed lighting. Friday night poker—a tradition that's outlasted marriages, business rivalries, and at least one attempted murder between us.

Sebastian chuckles, stacking his chips with meticulous precision. "I don't need to smell anything when Graham broadcasts his hand with those tells of his. Left eyebrow twitches for a good hand, right corner of his mouth for a bluff."

"Fuck you," Graham says good-naturedly, dealing the next hand with swift efficiency. "I haven't had a tell since 2010. "

"Which is why I've been taking your money since 2011," Sebastian counters.

I remain silent, arranging my cards without much interest. My mind is elsewhere—split between the phone that hasn't rung and the security feed I checked before they arrived.

Luna, alone in my upstate house, standing before an easel, finally painting after days of resistance.

The image of her, brush in hand, surrounded by my walls, keeps intruding on my concentration.

"Earth to Beckett," Graham waves a hand in front of my face. "Your bet."

I toss in a chip without looking at my cards.

"Jesus," Graham sighs dramatically. "At least pretend this matters to you."

"Some of us have actual concerns," I reply, taking a slow sip of whiskey.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. "The Collectors?"

"Almost forty-eight hours," I confirm. "Decision deadline's approaching."

Graham whistles low. "They're making you sweat. Classic power move."

"Collectors love their little games," Sebastian agrees, his expression darkening slightly. He adjusts his cuffs—a nervous habit he's never managed to break. "Especially Baine."

"Speaking of games," Graham says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, "how's the lovely Luna? Still locked away in your fortress of doom?"

"Careful," I warn, my voice dropping to a register that usually makes men reconsider their next words.

Graham, of course, ignores the warning entirely. "What? I'm just asking after the wellbeing of a fellow Club member." His smile is all innocence, but his eyes gleam with mischief. " Though I have to say, I've never seen anyone go this far for a piece of ass, no matter how exceptional."

Sebastian winces visibly. "Graham?—"

"She's not up for discussion," I cut in, my tone final.

"Interesting," Graham muses, studying me over the rim of his glass. "Very interesting."

"What's interesting," Sebastian interrupts smoothly, "is how a man who built an empire from nothing still can't figure out when to shut his mouth."

Graham laughs, unbothered. "What can I say? I didn't get where I am by keeping quiet when I noticed things." He turns back to me, head tilted curiously. "And I notice that our resident ice king has gone and developed actual feelings. That's new."

"Feelings for what? Winning?" I deflect. "Always had those."

"No, no," Graham presses, leaning forward. "Feelings for a woman. A specific woman. One you've got locked away like Rapunzel while you fight dragons for her."

Sebastian shoots me a look that's half warning, half sympathy. "Graham thinks every interaction between men and women has to follow his playboy manual."

"And Sebastian thinks every relationship needs a prenup and political alliance," Graham fires back good-naturedly.

"But our Beckett here—he usually treats women like expensive rentals.

Temporary pleasures with clear terms and expiration dates.

" He points at me with his cigar. "This is different. This is?—"

My phone vibrates on the table, Anthony Baine's name lighting up the screen.

The room falls silent .

I stand, buttoning my jacket with methodical precision as I pick up the phone. "Excuse me."

I walk to the windows overlooking the city, swiping to accept the call.

"Baine," I answer, keeping my voice neutral.

"Sinclair." His voice is smooth, cultured, immediately setting my teeth on edge. "I trust I'm not interrupting."

"Cut to the chase."

He chuckles, the sound dry and humorless. "Always direct. Very well." A pause. "I've spoken with my colleagues. We've reached a... provisional decision."

My grip tightens on the phone. "Meaning?"

"Meaning we're prepared to acknowledge your claim on Luna Laurent, provided certain conditions are met."

"What conditions?"

"A service," his voice drops lower, more intimate. "Your particular expertise is required."

I go still, instantly alert. "Explain."

"Nexus Dynamics," Baine says, naming one of my firm's most prominent clients. "They've recently developed some proprietary technology that would be... valuable to certain interests of mine."

"You want me to steal from my own client," I state flatly, the implications clear.

"I prefer to think of it as reallocation of information," Baine replies smoothly. "Their new quantum encryption algorithm would be particularly useful. The complete source code and implementation protocols should suffice."

My jaw clenches. What he's asking would not only violate every professional principle I stand for, but could result in federal charges, the destruction of my company, and years in prison .

"You're asking me to commit corporate espionage against a client who hired me specifically to prevent such breaches," I say, voice carefully controlled.

"I'm offering you a choice," Baine corrects. "Your business principles or your... personal interests. It seems a simple calculation from where I stand."

Luna for my integrity. My Possession for my professional destruction.

"And if these conditions are met?" I ask, mind already racing through possibilities, contingencies, angles.

"Then the matter is closed. Luna Laurent remains your recognized Possession. The Club takes no further interest in her... unusual acquisition."

I let silence hang for a moment, making him wait for my answer though we both know what it will be.

"I'll need time," I say finally. "That level of security can't be breached overnight. Not without leaving traces."

"You have one week," Baine replies. "I understand that's more than sufficient for someone of your capabilities."

"Is that all?" I ask, impatience edging into my tone.

"Just one more thing," Baine adds. "Since you've shown such... dedication to procedure, you should know there's been unusual interest in your Possession."

My body goes still. "Explain."

"Christopher Finch. He's been making inquiries about Club membership. Very specific inquiries about our rules regarding claimed Possessions."

Ice slides down my spine. The timing is too convenient to be coincidence.

"I should warn you," Baine continues, his voice deceptively casual, "that our bylaws do permit challenges to Possession claims under certain circumstances. Historical connections, prior agreements... that sort of thing."

"There are no prior claims on Luna," I state flatly.

"Perhaps not official ones." I can practically hear his shrug. "But Mr. Finch seems quite determined. I thought you should be informed."

"I appreciate the courtesy," I reply, the words like ash in my mouth.

"Hunt what runs, Sinclair."

"Keep what's caught," I respond automatically.

"Control what's kept," he finishes before the line goes dead.

I stand there for a moment, processing. Baine wants me to betray everything my company stands for. My reputation. My professional ethics. All for Luna. And meanwhile, Christopher Finch is circling, looking for ways to take her.

But what Baine doesn't realize is that I've built contingencies into every system I've ever designed.

Including back doors and alert protocols that even my own team doesn't know about.

I already have a way to make this work—not the way Baine intends, but in a way that will ensure he never threatens Luna again.

I turn back to the poker table where Sebastian and Graham watch me expectantly.

"Well?" Graham prompts. "Did they accept your clever argument, or are we planning a jailbreak for your girlfriend?"

"They accepted," I say, returning to my seat. "With conditions."

Sebastian's eyes narrow. "What kind of conditions?"

"Nothing I can't handle." I pick up my abandoned cards, scanning them without interest.

"That bad, huh?" Graham quips, but his usual levity has an edge to it now .

"Your bet," I remind him.

He tosses in chips, studying me with uncharacteristic intensity. "You know, for someone who just got what he wanted, you look ready to murder someone."

"Probably because he is," Sebastian murmurs, too low for Graham to hear.

We play a few more hands in relative silence, the earlier camaraderie dimmed by the tension I've brought back to the table. Graham tries repeatedly to lighten the mood, but even his outrageous stories about his latest conquest fall flat against my preoccupation.

"Alright," Graham says finally, throwing down his cards. "I'm calling it. You're no fun anymore, Sinclair."

"Some of us have actual work to do," I reply, standing and straightening my jacket.

"Work?" Graham scoffs. "At ten on a Friday? The only thing you should be working on is getting laid. Might improve your poker face."

"Not everyone views women as recreational therapy, Graham," Sebastian interjects.

"No, some view them as pieces to be moved around a board," Graham fires back, then raises his hands defensively when I glare at him. "Just saying, maybe she'd be safer with you than locked up in the woods somewhere."

"You don't know what you're talking about," I say coldly.

"Maybe not," Graham concedes, gathering his remaining chips. "But I know what it looks like when a man's tied himself in knots over a woman. And buddy, you're a walking Windsor."

"He's right, you know," Sebastian adds once Graham has disappeared down the hallway toward the bathroom. "Not about everything, but about one thing. You've changed since Luna."

"Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything. I'm observing." He stands, straightening his impeccable suit. "Just be careful that in trying to protect her, you don't lose sight of what she actually needs."

"And what's that?" I ask, more sharply than intended.

His smile is small, knowing. "If you don't know by now, you're not as clever as I thought."

Graham returns, clapping his hands together. "Well, this has been delightful, but I've got a date with twins from Stockholm who don't speak a word of English." He winks. "Language barriers make everything more interesting."

"You're disgusting," Sebastian tells him without heat.

"And you're jealous." Graham grins, grabbing his jacket. "Beckett, try not to brood too much after we leave. Bad for digestion."

I escort them to the door, enduring one final round of good-natured ribbing before the penthouse falls silent again. Alone with my thoughts, I immediately check the security feed from upstate.

Luna has finished her painting.

I zoom in on the canvas, something in my chest tightening unexpectedly.

It's my face, emerging from shadow and storm. Raw. Powerful. Seeing too much.

And suddenly, Graham's words return with uncomfortable clarity. I have changed. Something fundamental has shifted since Luna entered my life. Something I've been carefully avoiding naming.

I shut down the feed, moving to my office where I activate my most secure workstation.

Baine doesn't realize he's made a critical error in his demand.

Nexus Dynamics isn't just any client—they're the client whose security protocols I personally designed three years ago.

Systems that include a hidden alert mechanism that will notify the CEO directly if anyone attempts to access the quantum encryption files.

A notification that can't be traced back to me.

I begin typing, a plan already forming. By morning, Anthony Baine will think I'm working to betray my client. By the end of the week, he'll be facing federal charges for attempted corporate espionage.

And Luna will be safe—not because of what I'm willing to sacrifice, but because of what I refuse to become.