The Ruthless Knight Read online

  “I know I’ve told you this before, but you really piss me off sometimes,” I confide as I pour two fingers of his best scotch into a tumbler.

  “Get over it.” Roman strips away his mask, dropping it on his desk. He scrubs both hands through his hair. “God, I hate that thing.”

  “You used to love it.” A hint of accusation lingers in my statement. “You used to crave the mystery and intrigue of this night.”

  “People change, Nicky. I’m married. I’ve got a son and a wife. Once you fall in love, you’ll learn there’s more to life than drinking and fucking.”

  “Hmph. I’ll have to take your word on that.” I drop into the nearest chair and toss a leg over the arm. With a tug on the strings of my mask, the disguise falls into my lap.

  Roman shoves back in his chair, making the springs creak, and stares down his nose at me like the regal prince he once was. Before his parents were assassinated. Before the exile. His features smooth into blankness. “You’re always so angry. Why is that? Go ahead. Get it off your chest.”

  A lifetime of resentment simmers in my veins, dying for a chance to escape. “You boss me around like you’re my dad. Or maybe it’s because…” My voice dies away. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the truth from tumbling out. Because you have everything, and I have nothing. Because I sacrificed my freedom to keep you safe. The words stay stuck in my head, but I feel them in my heart. My gaze drifts to the framed portrait of Milada, his daughter, sitting on the coffee table in front of us. Damn him. Seeing her safe and happy makes everything I’ve done worthwhile. I swallow past the knot in my throat, unwilling to open this Pandora’s box.

  Suddenly, I’m very tired and feeling much older than my thirty-two years. I swirl the whiskey around the tumbler, watching the amber liquid churn. I can’t continue talking about the wounds of my past. Not when the scars are finally beginning to scab over. “You didn’t interrupt the best blowjob of my life to discuss my feelings. What’s the emergency?”

  “I need you to do a job for me.”

  “And this job can’t wait until tomorrow morning?” Resignation washes away the intensity of emotion. This is my life. I’m trapped in a world of lies, subterfuge, and servitude.

  “Tomorrow morning you’ll be hungover, and I need you at the top of your game for this.” He shakes his glass of whiskey. The ice tinkles against the walls of the tumbler. The gesture annoys me. Everything he does scrapes against my nerves.

  “Maybe I don’t want to work for you anymore.” I force a smile. “Maybe I’m done with your bullshit jobs.”

  “Really? Are we going to do this dance again? The one where you pretend you’re not going to do it, and I pretend you’re serious?” A muscle twitches in his cheek, a sure sign of his frustration with me. “Let’s cut through the crap and get to the payoff. I’ll double your fee on this one.”

  “It’s not about the money.”

  “Since when?” His reply demonstrates his low opinion of my past behavior. Can I blame him? He has every reason to doubt my motives.

  “Since Don McElroy.” We fall silent, contemplating the recent struggle to free Roman’s homeland from the Machiavellian schemes of the former Vice President of the United States. “Do I need to remind you that I’m the one who found him for you? Not one of your henchmen. Me. And I asked for nothing. In fact, I was wounded in the process.” My goal isn’t to brag, but to defend my tattered honor. “Where were you during the search for McElroy?” I tap a finger to my lips, pretending to think. “Oh, that’s right. You were holed up in your Manhattan fortress with your new wife, making babies and counting your money. Meanwhile, I was out there doing your dirty work. I’m the one who brought him back. Not you. Not your minions. Me.” With each word, my anger climbs. “I’m the one who has the bullet wound to prove it.”

  “You were shot in the ass. A wound that required nothing more than some antiseptic and a Band-Aid.”

  His constant refusal to recognize my efforts is more than I can take. He has no idea the sacrifice I made to keep our loved ones safe. It’s too much. “Fuck this. And fuck you. I’m out of here.” I stab my arms into my tuxedo jacket then reach into my pants pocket for my diamond cufflinks. They aren’t there. Come to think of it, my Rolex and keycard are also missing. They must have fallen out in the castle. “Damn it.”

  Roman opens the humidor on his desk, withdraws two cigars, and hands one to me. The glower on his face softens. Beneath his intimidating exterior, he is—and always has been—a decent guy. A fact I’ll never admit to him. “Don’t leave, Nicky. I apologize. Sit and we’ll talk this through. Without your help, none of us would be here to have this conversation today. I’m truly grateful.”

  “Too little. Too late.” My phone buzzes with an incoming text. Valentina. She always did have impeccable timing. Until now, I didn’t believe my luck could get any worse. I drain the last drops of liquor from my glass and set it on the coffee table. “I’m out of here.”

  The door bangs shut on my heels. I fume as I retrace my steps to the keep. An uneasy thought begins to form. What if the leopard girl and her friends stole my stuff? I’m not usually an easy mark, having lived with questionable characters my entire life. However, this wouldn’t be the first time a pretty face and a hard dick have led to my downfall.

  What a terrible night. With my mask in place, I close the door, intending to head for the garage where my precious Porsche awaits. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I tell Roman about my stuff. He’d laugh his ass off. I’ll deal with this myself. And now, Valentina has summoned me. A request I can’t refuse. My thoughts jumble together—images of Rourke’s disapproval, the leopard girl’s luscious curves…

  A flash of platinum catches my gaze. It’s her, rushing toward the circular staircase. I break into a jog and catch up to her just as she’s about to flee out the door.

  Two

  Calliope

  My heart pounds in my ears. It’s been a successful night. Cash will be ecstatic. We’ve stolen a crap ton of jewelry and money from these elitist fools, and it was surprisingly easy. The power of big tits and a willing mouth will never cease to amaze me. I let my accomplices, Athena and my sister Jagger, do most of the seduction. Except for one. Mr. Big Dick. The guy with the sculpted features and rock-hard ass had been mine—a welcome perk of the job. Too bad he had to leave so soon. His massive cock had tasted even better than it looked.

  I race down the hidden staircase as fast as my high heels allow. At the next landing, I hop from the left foot to the right, unfastening the straps of the gold sandals to bare my feet. The narrow stone steps are cold on my naked soles, but I’m faster this way. My footsteps slap with each stride. My lungs sting from the effort. I’m out of shape. Too many donuts and too much TV have dwindled my stamina. Adrenalin, however, fuels my escape. One more flight, and I’m home free.

  This is the only thing I love about my job. The danger. The heady rush of success after a big score. Except this isn’t one of my usual con jobs. My future, my freedom, and my life depend on making a clean getaway. I bobble on the next step, slamming into the wall. A nail snags on my dress and rips the leopard print fabric, baring a strip of skin near my belly button. The borrowed gown hugs every inch of my full figure, but the tear allows me to draw a deeper breath. I increase my pace, skipping over the last two steps.

  The exit door is exactly where Cash said it would be. We spent hours going over blueprints of the historic house, plotting my escape. So far, everything has gone as planned. My two co-conspirators reach the door before I do. Athena and Jagger pause on the threshold. Elaborate feathered masks cover their eyes, like everyone else at this midnight masquerade ball. I’ve never been a team player, but Cash insisted on Athena’s presence to keep an eye on me.

  “Go,” I snap when the women bottleneck the hallway.

  “Wait.” Panic blooms in Jagger’s eyes. “My phone. I left it upstairs.”

  “Leave it.” Athena gives her a ruthless shove. My hackles rise. N
o one shoves my little sister.

  “My life is inside that phone. If someone finds it, they’ll know who I am.” Jag’s normally low voice escalates to an anxious soprano. “I’ve got to go back.”

  “What the ever-loving fuck?” I groan. This is why I wanted her to stay home. She’s too inexperienced, but she had begged, and I gave in, like I always do.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Her oval face scrunches into a frown. “You guys were rushing me.”

  “No one’s going anywhere.” Athena’s cold features have turned icier, something I hadn’t thought possible. No wonder Cash chose the pseudonym for her. The huntress. She’s a tall, willowy blonde with Amazonian legs, perky tits, and sociopathic tendencies. “I should never have let you bring her. She’s dead weight. When Cash finds out about this, he’s going to be pissed.”

  Jagger had been a last-minute addition to the team. I never wanted this kind of life for her, but she’s a natural-born thief. And Roman Menshikov’s Masquerade de Marquis seemed like a fun way to break her in to a big-league project. With the masks hiding our faces, risk of exposure is limited. And I hated to leave her back at the hotel alone where she could get into mischief. At least this way, I know where she is.

  “Fuck Cash.” The last person I care about is my ex-boyfriend who is now banging the Amazon. He forced me to do this job when he knows how much I want to quit and live a life free from his control.

  “Please.” The last shreds of Jagger’s calm dissipate. Beneath the heavy makeup and designer gown, she’s nothing but an eager twenty-two-year-old. Her fear elicits sympathy inside my cold, dead heart. My first big job had been scary, as well. I’m such a bad sister.

  “We can’t jeopardize this assignment because you’re too stupid to keep track of your belongings.” Athena lifts the hem of her gown and draws a tiny pistol from the holster strapped to her thigh. She levels the barrel at Jag’s forehead. “I’m sorry.”

  “Wait.” My heart leaps into my throat. I wedge myself between the two women. If we’re caught, we’ll all go to prison—providing Cash doesn’t kill me first. And he would. He’s never been known for his mercy. “Let’s all calm down. We can work through this. It’s not a big deal. No one has to get hurt.”

  “You’d better talk fast then, because I’m not going to jail over a stupid phone.” Athena lowers the pistol, but she doesn’t move.

  “I’ll go back and get the phone. You two get the car. Pull around to the service entrance. I’ll meet you there.” Before anyone can protest, I shove my sandals into Jag’s hands and sprint up the steps, two at a time.

  The hallway is dark and quiet. A shiver rolls up my spine. How many centuries of scandal have occurred beneath these coffered ceilings? I try not to dwell on the shadowy corners, the haunting coats of armor, or the austere portraits staring down at me. Instead, I concentrate on retracing my steps and avoiding detection.

  I spy the glitter case of Jagger’s phone on the floor beneath the framed Picasso—or where it used to be. The oil painting was small, about the size of a postcard, and oh-so beautiful. The temptation had proved too much. After Mr. Big Dick left, I stripped the canvas from the frame and gave it to Athena for safe keeping. Cash will be thrilled to acquire an expensive original work of art like that. Maybe thrilled enough to release me from our bargain. With the phone in my hand, I race to the secret stairs. At the door, two strong hands grip my biceps. The door swings shut, cornering me in the narrow passageway with a very tall, very angry man.

  “Gotcha.” The deep voice rumbles through me. It’s Mr. Big Dick. His lips are close to my ear—close enough to feel the hot puff of his breath against my neck. Shivers of fear and desire spawn gooseflesh on my arms. A muscular chest presses against my backside. The buttons of his shirt bite into my spine.

  “Let go.” I wriggle, but there’s no escaping his tight grasp. My pulse doubles. No. No. No. This can’t be happening. Not when I’m so close to earning back my freedom.

  He spins me around, trapping me against the wall. Behind the holes in his mask, his eyes are turbulent pools of gray, thick-lashed, and angry. “I don’t think so.”

  The dimple in his chin accentuates a clean, sharp jawline. Swoon. An hour ago, I had his glorious cock in my mouth and enjoyed every minute of it. I glance away to keep my traitorous body from reacting to his blatant sexuality. ““I was looking for you. I got turned around. This place is so confusing. Do you want to go somewhere and finish what we started?”

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire.” A smirk curls the corners of his sensual mouth. “I’m the best liar ever. So, I know what I’m talking about.”

  He’s about twelve inches taller than I and a good deal heavier. I shove against him with my hips and hands, testing his strength. He answers by trapping my wrists above my head. Easily. Like I’m an unruly child. His right palm presses against my stomach and brushes the belly ring bared by the tear in the dress. The spread of his fingers over my abdomen does strange things to the space between my thighs.

  “Now, where are my things?” His gaze sweeps down my body. The form-fitting gown leaves little to the imagination. My traitorous nipples jut against the stretchy spandex. He smooths a hand over my ribs, probing the cleavage between my breasts. A pulse of attraction makes my insides clench.

  “I’m telling you—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “We’ll see.” He snatches the phone from my hand. “Did you steal this, too?”

  “No. It belongs to my friend. She dropped it. I was going to return it to her.”

  “More lies.” His hand moves lower, finds the split in the dress at my hip, and travels up the inside of my thigh. When his thumb brushes my pubic hair, I hiss—partly from the unexpected tingle between my legs, partly from indignation.

  “Mm…no panties? How daring.” He blows out a heavy breath. “If only we hadn’t been interrupted earlier. Such a shame. I would really like to know what it feels like to have your legs wrapped around me. But, no matter.” He clears his throat like he’s gathering his composure and continues his leisurely exploration of my body until he’s satisfied. “Where are my things?”

  My fingers curl into fists, but I’m helpless to move. He’s too big, too heavy, too strong. “Please. You don’t understand. If I’m not downstairs in two minutes—”

  His elegant fingers wrap around my throat. “No, you don’t understand. You’ve fucked with the wrong person.”

  “Are you going to call the police?” The only thing more frightening than Cash’s wrath is the coldness in Mr. Big Dick’s eyes.

  “That’s not how we handle things around here.” His gaze dips to my mouth. The tip of his tongue sweeps along his lower lip in anticipation of something—something I know I won’t like. His mischievous smirk returns. “You took something from me, and now, I’m going to take something from you.”

  His mouth crushes against mine, brutal and dominating. My knees weaken. I’m not sure if it’s from the tongue plundering my mouth or the strong fingers wrapped around my windpipe. He tastes like whiskey, smells like expensive cologne and cigars, and touches me like he knows his way around a woman. All the things I’ve longed for in a man. I kiss him back, ignoring the alarm bells sounding in my head. I’ve always been fucked up that way—attracted to the wrong kind of guys, the kind who dominate and take me for granted. I don’t care. I’m screwed no matter what I do. If I don’t meet the others at the car, Cash will hunt me down and kill me. If I let this masked marauder take me hostage, I’m probably already dead.

  The situation seems hopeless, but I’ve never been one to give up. I’ll go down fighting to my last breath. I sigh and lean into him, opening my mouth wider. It’s not the first time I’ve used my body to get what I need. He releases my hands to cup a breast. I grab on to his lapels and remove his car keys from his pocket in the process.

  Athena appears behind my captor. Before I can speak, she lifts a nearby vase and whacks him in the back of the head. His knees buckle. He slumps to the
floor. I watch in open-mouthed shock.

  “Come on.” She grabs my elbow and drags me down the narrow stairs.

  “Are you insane?” Our whispers echo in the quiet.

  “Hurry up.” At the next landing, she pushes in front of me. “Stupid bitches can’t follow directions.”

  We shoot through the service door. I grab the skirt of my gown and follow her through the damp grass to our extraction point. Jagger is waiting in the shadows. Suddenly, the pieces of tonight’s puzzle fall into place. No matter what we do, this is going to end badly for Jag and me, and I just can’t have that. When Athena turns her attention toward Jagger, I punch her in the jaw with all of my weight behind my fist. Her head snaps to the left. She drops to the ground.

  “Who’s the bitch now?” I ask her unconscious figure, still seething with fury over her actions tonight. Violence has never been a part of my routine, but I’m not afraid of defending myself or my loved ones when necessary.

  “Wow, sis. That was impressive.” Jag stands over Athena, peering down at her. “Nice hook.”

  “Help me.” I prod Jag into action. Together, we drag Athena into the bushes. “Come on.”

  “What about the stuff?” Jag nods toward the duffle of stolen items.

  “Leave it.” Taking Jag’s arm, I drag her toward the garage. Athena moans, slowly fading back to consciousness. We only have seconds to get out of this mess.

  Inside the garage, motion lights snap on as we walk past rows of gleaming, expensive vehicles. I press the buttons on Mr. Big Dick’s key fob until one of the cars chirps. A few minutes later, Jag and I are roaring down the road in Mr. Big Dick’s Porsche. Athena will never catch up to us in this sexy machine. Cash can go fuck himself. I’ve been waiting for a chance to escape his control for a decade.