Page 15

CHAPTER 15

NICK

The scroll on the silent television reads like an apocalypse.

Worldwide outages.

London Stock Exchange closed.

SIX Swiss Exchanges closed.

Frankfurt Stock Exchange closed.

Fears in the US triggering a sell-off.

Cyberterrorists expected. Authorities investigating.

On the screen, a reporter approaches a woman leaving a Starbucks. She smiles and says her office let out early.

My satellite phone rings and I answer immediately.

“What the hell’s going on?” Paolo, an old Oxford chum, leads one of the biggest tech companies in the world. When he didn’t take my call earlier, I knew we were in a shit storm. “Have you got a handle on it?”

“Aye.” There’s a flurry of noise in the background. “Damage being assessed.”

“What happened?” There’s a click, and the background noise mutes.

“Officially? It’ll be blamed on a security network update or a solar flare.”

“Who did it?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone within the syndicate.”

“What makes you say that?” Unease hits, and I push off my chair to look out the window.

The theory doesn’t fit. Anyone who joined the syndicate did so to avoid markets crashing. High-handed morals and dreams spout around the table, but it all comes down to a concerted effort to avoid a market meltdown. Our mandate is to preserve global market stability despite prevailing political parties or factions.

“It was a one-two hit,” Paolo says with chatter in the background. “Transatlantic wires cut at the same time three satellites were taken out by what may have been a conventional munition in the atmosphere. And cyberterrorists attacked.”

He’s lost me. “An attack on western Europe. That sounds like the Russians or Chinese, but China’s a stretch.”

“Based on appearances, I’d agree with you.” A door closes and quiet replaces chatter. “But the tactics follow a risk assessment the syndicate created two years ago.”

“Didn’t you implement protections?”

“Aye. And they worked around them. It’s early days. We’re still figuring it out. But my gut says the coordinated attack was a pilot program. Testing systems before a full-blown attack. Might not have hit their targets.”

“You think they wanted to hit the US?”

“If they’re following the risk assessment, the US is next. Ah, there. London’s back up.”

“You’ll let me know if I can do anything?”

“You still own a collection of hackers, right?”

“I own three technology companies, yes.”

“We may need them. Stay put, mate. It’s likely this is round one.”

“You really think so?”

“It’s my best guess. I’ve got to jump.”

The call ends, and I set the device down. Movement catches my eye. Scarlet stands in the doorway.

She’s in a luminous off-white dress that covers her from wrists to ankle and gives her an ethereal quality, casting light along a shadowy corridor. It’s those green eyes that draw my attention, giving life to a knowing and inquisitive expression. So fucking beautiful.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“A bit. Who were you talking to?”

“An old Oxford mate.”

“Part of the syndicate?”

“He’s a part of our network. His business is technology.” I glance at the telly and consider shutting it off—turn my back on it for a needed break.

“Your family must be expecting you to arrive any moment now. Are you nervous?”

I haven’t seen her since yesterday when she wordlessly departed. The flight her family booked for her lands shortly, assuming it left before the outages.

She’s hovering in the doorway. The blackout is enough to unsettle anyone, but she’s got more on her mind. Ash and I met yesterday evening and increased the perimeter security and refreshed the bunker.

The way she’s looking at me, so still and observant, unsettles me more than the news.

“What?” I ask.

“All flights are grounded.”

Ah, of course, they are .

“My phone doesn’t have a signal. How does yours?” She pointedly looks at the array of mobile devices spread across the credenza.

“Satellite phone.”

“Ah. You’ve got one of the fancy ones that will work anywhere?”

“That’s what I’ve been told.” I cross my arms and sit on the edge of my desk.

“Are you done working for the day?”

Is that why you’re in my doorway in a dove-white gown?

I answer with, “There’s not much I can do at the moment. Everything’s down.”

“And you aren’t part of the team working to get everything back up?”

“No.”

“What did you say you do?”

Why does she keep asking? “I’m an entrepreneur.”

“The tech companies?”

“As I told you.”

“How do you own so many companies at your age?”

“The old-fashioned way. I inherited my wealth. And grew it.”

“Shouldn’t you be in the offices?”

“No. I hire well.”

“And those hires man the offices?”

“Yes.”

She steps into the room, toward the bar cart that sits near the window.

“Care for a drink?”

“I could use one.” That’s an understatement.

With her back to me, she pours us drinks. I can’t see what she’s pouring. Has she observed me closely enough to know my preference?

Her dress marks a distinct departure from the casual styles she’s worn since arriving. It clings to her body, sharing her silhouette, and my gaze falls to the curves of her waist and hips. If this is a dress Lina picked, I must compliment my sister the next time I see her. Red tresses glimmer down Scarlet’s back, and I have the urge to step up behind her, weave my fingers through her loose strands, and breathe her in.

But I’ll suppress the urge. Last night proved she’s beginning to trust me. No need to cock that up.

She hands me a highball glass. I lift it to my nose and take in hints of orange, chocolate, and nuts. Glenfarclas . She poured the same for herself.

“Scotch?” I raise an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t have picked that for you.”

“Then you don’t know me well.”

“That’s true.” I hold the glass up to the light, taking in the caramel hue before sipping and savoring the burn down the back of my throat. “I believe you were more generous with my pour than your own. Are you trying to get me drunk?”

Her eyes widen and her cheeks flush.

Bloody hell. Is she?

“If you want me, you don’t need to get me drunk.” I take a large swallow, nearly emptying the crystal highball.

“Shall we sit?” She gestures to the chairs by the fire.

“Let me get a refill.” The liquor is already working its magic through my veins. The world’s amok, but there’s not much to be done until we’ve got a better grip on the situation.

“Let me. You sit.”

I do as she says. If Paolo is right, and someone within the syndicate is behind today’s events, then we’ve got a much bigger problem. But it fits. The plane explosion was definitely a ground-to-air missile. No one took credit, but plenty of doubt was cast. Doubt seeds instability.

“It doesn’t take long for your serious face to take over.”

She’s before me, serving me a refilled glass. She’s a vision before the fire.

The room spins, and I rest my head against the back of the armchair.

“Come sit.”

“On your lap?” She releases a girlish noise of amusement. Not a giggle, but delightful all the same.

“I won’t bite.”

“No, you won’t, will you?” She’s introspective.

“Only if you ask.”

To my delight, she steps forward and sits on my thigh. She’s perched tentatively, and I shift, letting her fall behind my thigh, so her arse is planted on the chair, with her thighs draped over mine.

“That’s better,” I say.

She smells of soothing eucalyptus and mint. It’s probably the shower gel in the guest bath, but having her near is like stepping into a spa.

“Was I hurting you?”

“No.”

She raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“Well, your arse bones were digging into my thigh bone.”

She laughs out loud. It’s a beautiful, relaxing sound, and I knock back a little more of my scotch.

“This is more comfortable, though, isn’t it? It’s better than sitting across from each other.”

“Well, I do want to get to know you.”

“What a gorgeous coincidence. There are things?—”

She places her finger over my lips, shushing me.

“Let me ask you questions. And then you answer me. Can we play that game?”

“Is that the only game we’re going to play?”

“That depends on your answers.”

“Hmm. It’s like a high-stakes poker match. Or strip poker. I’m down for that.”

“Are you attracted to me?”

“Give me your hand.” My cock is rock-hard. Sadly, she doesn’t comply, but her pupils enlarge when she glances down.

“I don’t think that’s necessary. My vision’s quite?—”

“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you. But you know that, don’t you, love?”

“Since you first saw me? At Willow’s wedding?”

She can’t exactly be surprised. Even Leo noticed, on his wedding day, no less. He raised an eyebrow. He saw it. No need for admonishment. I was in the coastal village for only a few hours.

“What do you like about me?”

“Your bravery. Strength.” She narrows her eyes, but her fingers reach my shirt, and she undoes a button. Christ .

“Are you being honest with me?”

“Those were the first attributes that came to mind. But, of course, there are other things, too. Your perky tits. Slender neck. Porcelain skin. Fiery strands. Eyes I see when I close mine. You’re like a siren.”

“You want to shag me?”

Her fingers are on my chest, right over my sternum. The soft pads of her fingers burn like fire. My cock is probably dripping cum.

“Well, if you want to do that, I need to get to know you, and I need you to answer me truthfully.” She sounds like a primary school mistress.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way I can convince you to give me a hand job while we’re playing this game?”

She smiles like I’m being funny. I’m not. That was the worst fucking pickup line. My brain’s gone rogue. But I really want her hands on me. I love them on my chest, but fuck, I want them lower.

“Tell me about your childhood.”

All I want is for her to sit on my lap and sink down on my cock, and she’s?—

“Where did you grow up?”

“London, mostly. Summers in Greece.”

“Did you have a good childhood?”

“Yes. Until…” I don’t talk about this.

Her palm flattens on my chest. She’s undone my entire shirt. Lower .

“Tell me. Here. Let’s shift.” She gets out of the chair. Fuck . “Sit in the center.” I do as she says, and she straddles me, one thigh on each side, and her center covers my groin. Lord, yes .

She rocks her hips, and the pressure and heat on my length is out of this world. “Does that feel good?”

My hands fall to her hips. My breaths are coming quick and fast, like I’ve run miles. “You know it does.”

“Every time you answer me, I’ll do that.”

I swallow.

There are too many clothes between us.

“Now, were you close to your parents?”

“Yes.”

She rocks against me. I close my eyes, luxuriating in the motion.

“Was your father in the syndicate?”

“No.”

I open my eyes, willing her to move.

“What is the syndicate?”

She settles against me, and a swell of dizziness hits.

“Is it like the Lupi Grigi?”

“No. It’s a collective.”

My breathing is… I swipe a hand to my forehead. It’s damp with perspiration.

“A collective of what?”

“Influential individuals. A global alliance.”

“Men and women?”

“At present, all men. But in theory, women could be included.” If they sat like this…

“If your father wasn’t a member, how?—”

“My grandfather was a Russian oligarch. My father, too, but he was one of many sons, and he ventured to Europe. And our family, we made our money in oil. My grandfather was a member of the Russian Bratva, much like your uncle is a member of the Italian mafia. Membership allows your uncle to grow his otherwise legitimate enterprise, but he’s not the leader, and he likely doesn’t approve of their ways.”

“My uncle’s enterprises are not strictly legitimate.”

“Neither were my family’s.”

“So, is the syndicate Russian?”

“No.”

“How did you get into it?”

“My parents were among many of the wealthy who rallied against Putin’s regime. He had them eliminated. My grandfather’s influence allowed me to keep my inheritance. Plus, my parents had become UK citizens. It was too complicated for Putin to reclaim my father’s businesses. And me. I was already off at boarding school with friends with influence. A friend approached me. Given my wealth and background, they deemed me a perfect fit.”

I close my eyes and let my head rest while I drag her hips forward, then push her back, then forward. Heaven .

“When were you approached?”

“My third year at university.”

“What was the pitch?”

“Influence.”

“What does that mean?”

“The world’s too complicated to control. There are too many disparate factors. But the collective includes leaders in all powerhouse industries. They own politicians and statesmen. Police. Esquires. Control is elusive. Influence obtainable.”

“And what do you use that influence for? To grow your business?”

“To maintain market stability.” My hand travels along the curve of her waist.

“How do you control the criminal organizations?”

“Again, there’s no control. It’s influence. We scratch each other’s backs.”

“But Uncle Alessio viewed the syndicate as powerful.”

“We have more connections than the Lupi Grigi. Across more industries on a global scale. More government leaders.”

“And you sell arms?”

“I facilitate deals. I told you this.”

“You’re a broker?”

“Of sorts.”

“Do you deal in drugs?”

“No…” The answer is automatic, but it’s not true. “I have a small marijuana business. An investor, really. I have my fingers in many businesses. I’d like to have my fingers in you.”

She grinds her hips willfully against me, and my eyes flutter closed. Christ, dry-humping never felt so good. She takes my hand and places it over something soft. My eyes snap open, and I can hardly believe what I’m seeing. She placed my hand on her breast.

“Do you break the law?”

“When necessary.”

“Do you kill?”

“When necessary.” I squeeze her breast, but she’s in this contraption, and there’s too much material…

“Why do you want to bring down the Lupi Grigi?”

“They targeted Lina.” My nostrils flare as I snarl, “My sister.”

“So, you’re like Massimo.”

“I’m nothing like that Neanderthal. He goes after individuals with a short-sighted end. I’m going after the organization, and they’ll rot in prison, a fate worse than death.”

“When you finish, what do you intend to do with me?”

“Shag you as often as you’ll let me.”

She giggles. A lovely sound. I can’t seem to look at her face because I’ve got my hand on her boob and I’m struggling with the brassiere so I can tweak her nipple.

“Seriously.”

“I’m quite serious. Can I?” I move my hand, and it seems to take so much effort, but I lower it and reach up under her dress, and there…ah…skin. Smooth, satiny, heavenly skin.

“If put to the wire, would you turn me in?”

“Never.” Fuck, my dick aches to be inside her.

“If it was your life?—”

“I’ll let no one hurt you, love. Saint’s honor. Can we shag?”

Please tell me I’ve answered enough questions .

“You’ve no idea how desperately I want to be inside you.”

She bends her head, and those radiant coppery strands cast about like a halo. I glimpse eyes so dark they’re almost black, and then her lips fall to mine.

Soft and gentle.

Oh, thank god.

My thumb finds her nipple, and as I brush over the tender peak, her hips coax my cock, and we both moan.

And then she’s up. I want her so badly, but my limbs are heavy.

“Where are you going?”

“To get you some water.”

“But you kissed me,” I whine.

“I wanted to know what it felt like.”

“But there’s more we need to feel.” I’ve never wanted a bird to bounce up and down on me more than I want this one.

“I’ll be right back. Stay there and wait for me.” Her lips curve into a smile as she adds the endearment, “Love.”

Is she mocking me? Why do I feel so groggy? Bloody hell. The vixen drugged me.