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 Captive. Pet. Lover. Pawn…

Darkness lives inside Damir Ravnikar, and that darkness craves one thing:

me. Rich, ruthless, and handsome as sin, Damir’s promised me the world to
make up for my life’s myriad disappointments.

But his promise comes with a price.

Damir intends to use me to hunt down his double-crossing brother. With

every jewel, every kiss, I can feel myself losing my morals, my freedom

and even my sanity. Because darkness lives inside me, too. He’s laying my
deepest secrets bare, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.

My name is Bethany, and I’ve fallen into the lap of luxury.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Contains dark romantic themes. This book is NOT a

standalone and is intended to be read after COME TO DADDY. No

cliffhanger.

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 LAP OF LUXURY (LOVE DON’T COST A THING, 2) by BRIANNA HALE

Copyright © 2019 Brianna Hale

| All Rights Reserved |

Cover design by Brianna Hale

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission from the publisher, except brief quotations for reviews. Thank you for respecting the
author’s work.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the
author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any similarities between persons living
or dead are purely coincidental.

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Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue

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 Playlist

Bad Guy—Billie Eilish

Fetish—Selena Gomez

Ultraviolence—Lana Del Rey

Come First—Terror Jr

Plug-in Baby—Muse
365—Katy Perry (Jonas Aden remix)

Song to Say Goodbye—Placebo

Homemade Dynamite—Lorde feat. Khalid, Post Malone, SZA

Search “Lap of Luxury” on Spotify or copy this URL:

https://spoti.fi/324oI7g

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I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

PABLO NERUDA

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 Prologue

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 Damir

“You fucker. You’re alive.”

I spread my arms wide and grin at Mikhail. “In the flesh.”

He glares at me, eyes groggy with sleep and his black curls tousled.
My big brother has smiled about three times in his twenty-four years on this

earth and he’s not about to bestow one of those rare jewels on me now.

“It’s three o’clock in the goddamn morning, Damir.” He turns

abruptly, disappearing into his apartment but leaving the door open for me.

I follow, taking in the bare walls, the minimalist furniture. The only
personal items are a laptop on the dining table next to a briefcase with

documents spilling out. The Ravnikar men always did prefer working to
living.

Mikhail yanks a bottle of Polish vodka out of the freezer and slops
two measures into glasses. Beyond the plate glass windows is London, a

jumble of shining lights and the dark, sinuous ribbon of the Thames. The

view is the reason Mikhail chose this penthouse apartment, about a year

before I disappeared. He might not be much into décor, but he loves to

watch the city. I give the vista a dispassionate glance. I’m not into views.

You could say I’m more of a people person.

 Glancing at Mikhail as he hands me a vodka, I wonder how hard

I’m going to have to work to make him do what I want.

“Na zdravje,” I say, toasting him. “My flight got in after midnight. I

couldn’t think where else to go.”

“Ever heard of a hotel?”

My instincts tell me to grin boyishly at him. “But I’ve missed you.”

Mikhail takes a swallow of vodka. His eyes are filled with flat

antipathy. “Go fuck yourself, Damir.”

I drop the smile. That’s fair, after what I did. I examine my big

brother carefully. He’s changed in the years I’ve been gone. He never used
to drink like this. His complexion is dull with unhappiness and he looks far

older than his years. “How’s father?”

Mikhail takes another swallow of vodka, and his big shoulders

tense. “The same.”

“Shame,” I say lightly. “I was hoping he’d be dead.”

Mikhail grimaces, and I know him well enough to read the I wish in

his eyes. Things must really be bad if even good little Misha is wishing
bodily harm on another person. Excitement blazes through me. This is my

in.

I casually swirl the vodka in my glass. “Been going well, the two of

you working together?”

 Mikhail pinches the bridge of his nose and slumps onto the sofa.

“Nothing I do is good enough for him. I’m not good enough.” He levels a

bleak gaze at me. “I’m not you. Why the fuck did you leave?”

“You think anything I did was ever good enough for him?” I snarl.

“Yes. Everything. He’s always telling me I’ll never measure up to

you. That I don’t have the killer instinct.”

Father never said such things to me, apart from the killer instinct

thing. That he told me often. Our parents have pitted Mikhail and I against

each other our whole lives, one out of love, and the other out of spite.

“Then quit. Our father is a relic from another time. We know more about

property development in this country and age than he does. Let’s make our

own company.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Mikhail mutters into his glass.

This is the difference between Mikhail and me. He’s always been

darkly fatalistic, whereas I prefer to drive my own destiny. He’s not stupid

by any means, despite what our father has told him. He’s smarter than I am
in terms of figures and deals.

This is why I need him. I just have to make him believe he needs

me, too.

“I’m serious. The right investments. The best projects. We can start

small and make something huge together, I know we can. You always
wanted to build a skyscraper in London. Let’s do it. Let’s build twenty.”

Mikhail scrubs his hand over his face. “I’m too tired for this. Go to a

hotel or something and leave me alone.”

“Just because you’re on one path right now doesn’t mean you can’t

change tracks. Kristus, you’re so stubborn.”

“And you’re always so fast to throw everyone who loves you under

a fucking bus!” he roars.

“I left because I had to!”

Mikhail and I glare at each other, breathing hard. It’s the truth. I was

going to kill our father, but now I wonder why I ever thought that would be

so terrible. Panic rolls through me because I spoke from pure emotion, and I

never do that. I quickly go over what I said, wondering if I need to do any

damage control. But Mikhail nods slowly, and I see that the truth was far

more convincing than anything else I could have said. He drains his glass

and puts it down onto the coffee table, turning it thoughtfully as if screwing

it into the tabletop.

When he speaks it’s through gritted teeth. “I hate that you’re able to

turn up here in the middle of the night and reorganize my whole life just

because it suits you.”

I sink down beside him on the sofa and clap a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s for both of us. If you don’t want this, just tell me so.” And I’ll find
another way of getting you onto my side. There are dozens of possibilities.

Lies. Murder. Blackmail. Coercion. Really, the list is endless. People give

up far too quickly on their dreams.

He sighs. “How are we going to tell father?”

“You really mean it?”

Mikhail meets my eyes bleakly. “I have to get out, because he’s

going to kill me, one way or another. That man is poison.”

I put my vodka down and wrap my arms around him. You’ve got to

be a bit soft with Mikhail to get what you want out of him. He’s a big

bastard, but he needs a bit of affection. As he clasps me back I think that,

maybe, in this moment, I might feel something close to what people call

love.

“How am I going to tell father?” he asks.

I pull back and rest my hands on his shoulders. “Just don’t show up

tomorrow. You owe him nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing.”

I don’t plan on setting eyes on that piece of shit ever again. If his

funeral was tomorrow, I’d go to a strip club instead and blow ten grand on

girls and champagne.

Mikhail thinks this through, and I watch him in impatient silence.

Everything always takes so long with him. Can’t he see that I’m offering

him freedom from everything that’s plaguing his life? When it’s the two of
us against the world, everything is better and brighter. He needs to be at my

side while I devise schemes and plans for us, and we’ll never need anyone

else ever again.

Mikhail stands up and gets the vodka out of the freezer again.

“Where have you been all this time, anyway?”

I make a dismissive gesture, watching him pour two more measures

into our glasses. “Just hanging out with some nobodies. What’s important is

what happens now. A new road for us, without our parents’ poison.”

Mikhail looks up sharply at that. I know he loved our mother and

she loved him, but that bitch was just as much of a wedge between us as our

psychopath father is.

“Come on, Mikhail. What have you got to lose? We’ll be partners,

just you and me.”

Mikhail’s mouth twitches, and I see the beginnings of a smile. Three

years under our father’s thumb must have been a nightmare for him, and

I’m saving him from all that. With his brains and patience and my instincts

and hunger, we’re both going to become very, very rich, and he knows it.

“Partners,” he insists, quashing the smile, though his eyes are still
glimmering with excitement. “Equal partners. Equal risks and rewards. I’m

not living under anyone’s fucking rule anymore.”

 I hold out my hand to him and say, “Partners,” meaning it with

every fiber of my being. I’m not my father.

I’m not.

We shake firmly and it feels, not like a business deal, but like

coming home.

Mikhail slaps his thigh hard and goes back to the freezer. “More

vodka. Let’s finish the bottle. After this, I’m done drinking. You see what

our father has driven me to?”

I grin, because he’s changed so much since he first opened the door.

He’s standing straight now and fire burns in his eyes. He pours the last inch
of vodka into our glasses and throws the bottle into the trash.

“What are we going to call this company?” he asks.

I think for a moment. “How about Ravnikar Enterprises?”

Mikhail nods. “I like it. To Ravnikar Enterprises,” he says, holding

his glass aloft.

I tap my glass against his and drain the vodka in one swallow. It
burns down my throat, clear and bright.

“In the morning I’ll tell father that it’s over between us, forever.”
Mikhail’s eyes are bright with purpose.
“Are you insane? You don’t say something like that to his face. If

you have to tell him, leave him a voicemail or something. That old bastard
can’t stand to lose. Now, let’s get some sleep. I’m exhausted.”
Mikhail shows me to the guest room and bids me goodnight. He

heads off to his room looking a whole lot better than he did when I arrived.
Tomorrow, father’s going to know that neither of his sons will have

anything to do with him ever again. No more divide and conquer. We’re
united against him.

It’s the middle of the morning when I awaken, and the apartment is
empty. Mikhail’s briefcase is still on the table. I frown at it, rubbing the
stubble on my chin and wondering where he could have gone. It’s not like

he has to go into work now.

And then I realize. He’s done exactly what I warned him not to do

and gone to tell our father of our plans. Mikhail doesn’t truly understand
what our father is capable of. Only I do.

Jezus Kristus. He’s going to be killed.

I run for the door. Father always liked to spend his mornings at

home working, so I get in a taxi and head to his house first. He has a
Georgian townhouse in Chelsea, a formidable building on a leafy street. I

go around the back way, vaulting over the brick wall from the laneway into
the back garden.

I see them through the French doors. They’re in the kitchen. Papa’s
brandishing a six-inch, wickedly sharp kitchen knife. Mikhail’s barely
reacting, his face blank with shock. Papa lifts the knife and lunges at
Mikhail. Roaring with fury, I launch myself at the doors and bust through

them in an explosion of glass.

They both cover their faces with their hands, and then one of them

turns to me. But it’s not the right one. As Mikhail opens his mouth, our
father strikes. A vicious downward blow.

I spring forward, knocking father aside with my shoulder and

wrenching the knife out of his hand. But I’m too late. Mikhail collapses

onto one knee, his hand over his heart. Maybe he’s already dead. Father’s
on the ground, too. He’s not as strong as he used to be and I’m able to hold

him down with a foot planted on his neck.

“Damir,” he says, his voice slightly strangled. “Calm down. Be a

good boy.”
I take a deep breath, struggling to rein in my anger, one hand

clutching the dripping knife. Father smiles, watching me slowly regain

myself. A few moments later, I’m serene again. Beside me on the ground,
Mikhail is making clutching motions at his chest, his face paper white.

“Do you feel better?” he asks.

I nod. My blood has cooled. I’m in control again.

“Good boy,” father murmurs. “Now, help me up, and we can talk
about cleaning up the mess that your brother has made. We’ve missed you
around—”

What he was going to say is lost in a gasp as I plunge the knife into
his heart. The shock in his eyes is comical.

I lean down to him. “I always wanted to kill you in cold blood.”

I watch the light go out of his eyes and his head fall back,

wondering if I’m about to experience guilt or horror over what I’ve down.
So far, all I feel is energized from the adrenalin, and pleasure that this
bastard is finally dead.

If I ever kill again, I’ll do it like this. In complete control of my

mind and body so I can enjoy every second. How wonderful it feels.

Mikhail shows signs of passing out, so I strike him hard across the
face. I’m going to need his help with our father’s two-hundred-pound

corpse.
“He’s dead,” he said dazedly. “He’s actually dead.”

“Don’t pretend you’re sorry. Come on, help me with him.”

As we’re struggling to roll father into a rug, Mikhail mutters, “I just

thought he should know. About us.”

“You need to toughen the fuck up, Mikhail. Show the world who’s

boss. Show me who’s boss. I want to know that you can be as cutthroat as I
am.”
 Mikhail glances pointedly at our father’s body, as if to say, You’ve

set the bar rather high.

I grin at him. “All right, maybe not quite that cutthroat. Father was

ruining your life. Stealing your fucking soul. From now on, if someone tries
to take away what’s yours, you come at them with everything you have.

You hear me? Swear it.”

Mikhail pushes the lumpy roll of carpet one last turn, and then hauls

one end up in his arms while I do the same. With our father’s body slung
across our shoulders, he nods decisively. “I swear it.”

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Chapter One

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 Bethany

Eighteen years later

“Bethany!”

I jump and look up from my phone to see Mikhail Ravnikar

standing in his office doorway, glowering at me like Hades at a disobedient

minion.

“Yes, sir?” I ask sweetly, slipping my phone into the pocket of my

skirt. “How may I help you?”

At six-feet-four, he’s as tall as the doorway and immaculately

dressed in a dark suit, his black curls neat and beard trimmed. “I asked you

three times already. Get in here.” He turns and strides back into his office,
his shoulders up around his ears.

“Coming,” I call in a sing-song voice, and stand up. We’re having

one of those days, are we? Lately, more often than not, we’ve been having

one of those days, in which he’s in a non-stop, barely controlled temper. I

don’t know what’s setting him off. Nothing’s changed around here. Maybe

that’s the problem.

He and Damir Ravnikar have been working together for nearly

twenty years, almost as long as I’ve been alive, and they kind of seem to
hate each other. Which is a challenge, seeing as they run the company

together.

Or maybe it’s just that Mr. Ravnikar’s not getting any. Does he even

have sex? Maybe he hasn’t downloaded that software update yet.

“I was just answering some very important emails for you,” I tell
him as I head into his office. I wasn’t. I was checking how many likes I had

on Instagram.

Apparently Mr. Ravnikar isn’t fooled as he mutters darkly, “I’ll bet.

I told you I needed the minutes from yesterday’s board meeting as soon as

possible.”
“Yes, you did. And I sent them to you already. Also, I sent you the

update you wanted about the Croatia development.”

Mr. Ravnikar sits down at his desk and checks his emails. I may

trawl social media when I get bored, but I do my job, I do it well, and he

should know that by now. A moment later he locates my emails and I see

annoyance flicker on his face that he can’t chew me out for being

inefficient.
“Fine. Good.” He brandishes a large envelope at me. “I need you to

take these contracts to the financial director at Enterprises, and he needs to

sign them in front of you. I’m not having him fuck me around on this again.
Then you’re to take them to the post office and send them signed delivery to

Dubrovnik. Is that clear?”

I pick up the envelope and turn it in my hands. So that’s what’s

eating him. Last month, Mr. Ravnikar emailed some contracts to the

company’s passive-aggressive financial director, who claimed never to have

got them. The director then vague-blamed my boss for the project being
delayed, probably to ingratiate himself with Damir Ravnikar. Pathetic.

“Crystal clear. Can I have a raise, though? Being a courier isn’t part

of my job description.” I knowing I’m pushing my luck but it’s worth a try.

Occasionally I can persuade Mr. Ravnikar to give me a bonus for the

slightest things. Pounds and pence, they’re like Monopoly money to him,

but what with London rents and expenses, I never feel like I’m getting

anywhere. I have no safety net and an uncertain future. The insidious

humiliation of always being dependent, knowing you’re a drain and

unwanted, is still clinging to me.

Mr. Ravnikar turns back to his computer. “Counter-offer. Do this

and I let you keep your job.”

It was worth a try. I scrunch my hand through my black curls and

head back to my desk. “Like you’d ever get rid of me.”

“I promise you it’s tempting.”

 I laugh and grab my coat. I like working for Mikhail Ravnikar.

Despite his grumpiness, he’s a gentleman, always seeing me into cabs when

we leave meetings or work functions together and checking that I have

everything I need to do my job. That was a shock the first time it happened.

Usually these businessmen are all me, me, me. As his PA, I should be

responsible for getting his cabs and seeing that he has everything he needs,

but it seems he’s got an inner code that means he can’t get into a cab or go

through a door before me or one of his colleagues. Not friends. I don’t think

Mr. Ravnikar has any friends. And girlfriends? Oh, boy.

I’ve seen him with a woman exactly once. I was hanging out in a

swanky hotel bar on a Thursday night, trying to see if I could score a dinner

with a man who might be persuaded to buy me something expensive that I

can sell for cash. I’m not sugaring, per se. I never ask these men for money,

only presents. Mostly, I’m trying their life on for size. If I married a wealthy

man, would I feel safe, then? Happy? Wanted?

Loved?

Mr. Ravnikar must have had a late meeting with a hotel guest

because he was sitting on the other side of the bar. I was bored and about to

wander over so he could buy me champagne, when a very strange thing

happened.
A woman approached him.
 Now, Mr. Ravnikar’s a good-looking man, and you can tell he’s

loaded just by looking at him. His suits are tailored and his cufflinks and

shoes are designer. When this woman asked if she could join him, he pinned

her with his unfriendly blue gaze, and nodded. It was the most grudging nod

I’d ever witnessed. The young woman beamed at him and sat down.

I wasn’t interested in scoring my own man after that. This was a far

more interesting spectacle. I hid my face behind the wine list and watched

them covertly, fascinated to see how my boss behaved around a woman.

She looked older than me, around twenty-nine, and was wearing a tight

pink dress with her hair perfectly coifed. She pulled out her best flirting
techniques, one after the next. Touching his knee, stroking the tips of her

fingers “absent-mindedly” down her neck, laughing at every other thing he

said. Mr. Ravnikar responded to her questions politely, but he never cracked

a smile. In fact, as their conversation progressed he seemed to grow ever so

slightly annoyed. Fifteen minutes later, he paid for their drinks, and left.

Alone.

The woman in the pink dress seemed disconcerted for a moment,

then spied another target and moved on.

I left not long after that, too, still no more enlightened about Mikhail

Ravnikar’s love-life than I was before. Is he just not interested in women, or

was she not his type? Does he prefer paying for sex because it’s easier to be

unemotional about it?

I stopped in my tracks on the way to the Tube stop. Now, there’s a

thought. What if he would prefer paying for sex, but finds prostitution

unseemly? What if he had a sugar baby instead? Some pretty young thing to

coo at him and screw his brains out a few times a month, but who would

know better than to overstep any emotional boundaries. She could take his

cash, he could get the girlfriend experience without the drama and maybe

cheer the hell up.

I shrugged and kept walking. Whatever. It’s not my problem.

Though if he was getting some, he’d probably be less grumpy to work with.

As I head out the glass front doors of our office building toward

Ravnikar Enterprises, I remember that evening. I still think having a sugar

baby would be an amazing solution for Mr. Ravnikar. Every now and then

I’ve considered sugaring myself, but I don’t think it’s for me. Sugaring

means shutting up and putting out even when you don’t want to. I’m not

very good at shutting up. Or putting out. I can see myself getting fifteen

minutes into a date with some old dude and telling him his breath stinks,
he’s boring as hell and he’s insane if he ever thinks he’s getting his mits on

my perky ass. Bye-bye allowance.

 A nice, rich, sickly octogenarian would suit me, preferably one

who’s allergic to Viagra. It’s not as if any man is able to make me come, so

I’d like no part of the bedroom stuff if I can help it.

I make a sharp right into Ravnikar Enterprises. The inside of the

building is sleek and hushed, with a few cocky City boy types stepping out

of the elevators. A few of them glance over their shoulders to look at my

ass.

You wish, my eyes glare back.

This is where most of the Ravnikar Enterprises employees work. My

boss prefers to have his office elsewhere. I don’t know why, but I suspect
it’s because he likes to keep some distance from his crazy-ass little brother.

I head into the building past reception, swipe my pass and call the
elevator, and I pray that I don’t run into Damir Ravnikar. He’s kind of…

weird. Super attractive, in that Ravnikar way. Those brothers have some
slick genes. But where Mikhail Ravnikar is soft around the edges when you

catch him in a good mood, Damir Ravnikar is as tightly strung as a

bowstring and about as soft as granite. I’ve never seen him smile, and you

could cut your fingers on his cheekbones and cleanly shaved jaw. His eyes
are like gunmetal and as cold as the Grim Reaper’s. I know, because his
eyes have landed on me a handful of times at work functions, and I’ve felt

frozen to the bone. And kind of hot at the same time.

 His corporate staff is always kissing his ass, but he has this other
group of men around him, too. Bodyguards, apparently, but to me they look

like well-dressed thugs. I hear whispers that he’s neck-deep in arms-dealing

and money laundering and isn’t afraid to throw down to get what he wants.

With a body like his, big and broad in his expensive suits, and his faintly
scarred knuckles, I believe it.

Like I said, in a place like the City of London, he’s weird.

I stick my head into the financial director’s office, but he’s not in
there. I wander down the corridor, peering through the glass next to each

door as I go. No one’s around. Maybe there’s a big meeting scheduled now.
I don’t really want to go back to Mr. Ravnikar’s office without getting these

documents signed, so I keep searching. The whole floor is silent, which it

shouldn’t be in the middle of the afternoon. Horror-movie silent, the sort

that comes right before a jump-scare.

All the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I wonder if I’m about

to hear a child whispering a nursery rhyme, or find an Eldritch monstrosity

clinging to the ceiling tiles and leering at me with a face full of teeth.

Which is just ridiculous because—

“Are you looking for someone?”

I yelp and spin around. Damir Ravnikar is looming over me,

unnaturally close. His sharp, cold eyes fill my vision. Am I looking for
someone? I have to think hard before I stammer out, “Mr., um—the
financial director.”

Damir stares down at me. He feels bigger than his brother at this
close angle. Under his ferocious gaze, my nipples, just an inch from

Damir’s broad chest, start to harden.

Oh, god. Not now.

The thing about me—the super fucked up and secret thing—is that I
like horror films. Like like them. As in, some people watch pornos to get

off, and I watch slasher flicks and gore-fests. Being scared of Damir
Ravnikar has my whole body lighting up like a Christmas tree.

He turns abruptly and walks into his office. “Come in. I’ll call him.”
I take a shuddering breath and follow in the wake of his silky

cologne. My heart is still pounding. Other places are pounding, too. I’m too
afraid to get too close to him so I loiter in the doorway. The younger

Ravnikar brother is in his shirtsleeves and his broad back is to me as he

picks up the phone. Bright sunshine is coming through the window and his
body is outlined in gold. Most horror films take place in the dark, but I’ve

always been extra fond of ones that happen in broad daylight. I like my
monsters where I can see them.

Damir punches out the numbers as if in slow motion, my eyes

fixated on his every move. I suck my lower lip into my mouth, appreciating
the muscular lines of his torso. I shouldn’t be enjoying the fact that he just

made me jump out of my skin.

Shouldn’t be. Will stop. Any minute now.

Damir turns to me. “No answer on his phone. I—”

His eyes fasten on something over my shoulder, and his face

changes from an expression of bland disinterest to one of fury and hatred.

Without looking at me, he lunges for me and pushes me—practically throws
me—behind him.

“You,” he snarls at someone in the doorway. I go tumbling to my

knees behind Damir’s desk, and when I manage to pull myself up, I see that

Damir is tensed in rage.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” says a nervous male voice.

“Friend,” Damir sneers, like he’s tasting something bitter. “I told

you the last time I saw you that I would rip your guts out and make you eat

them if I ever saw you again.”

I peer a little further around the desk and see a man in his mid-

forties, sandy-haired and pretty, in a goggle-eyed and chinless sort of way. I

don’t recognize him.

The stranger grimaces. “You Ravnikars can really hold a grudge. It

was a horrible mistake. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think

about her.”
 Her?

Damir reaches into his desk draw and pulls out a knife. A big, fuck-
off hunting knife, incongruous in sanitized, corporate Central London. But

not, strangely, incongruous in Damir’s hand.

“I want to burn you alive and hear you screaming,” Damir says

softly. “If you’re tired of our agreement, we can try that.”

The stranger visibly swallows. “This has gone on long enough. I

came here to tell you that I’m going to be married, and I need your
assurance that my wife and I—”

“Georgios,” Damir raps out over him. “You know that’s not
allowed.”

Then the man reaches inside his jacket, and somehow I know that
he’s going for a weapon. Damir must know too, because he lunges at

Georgios, knife-first.
Georgios ducks away and pulls out his own knife, slashing at Damir,
his teeth bared. Damir dodges to the side, grabs the man’s wrist and pushes

it up, and then punches his assailant in the guts with the hilt of his knife.
They grapple with each other, jaws tensed, eyes sparking with fury.

I glance at the documents in my hand, and then back at Damir. This

is just great. Two minutes alone with Damir Ravnikar and I’m in peril of

my life.
 Georgios plunges his fingers into Damir’s eyes, and Damir shouts in
pain and pulls back. That gives the other man the chance to rally, taking a

tighter grip on his five-inch blade, and swipes at Damir.

Damir leaps back with a yell, blinking furiously. I see the shift in
him. The Now you’ve made me angry expression that descends over his

features. I saw it happen to Mikhail Ravnikar once. He’s the most peaceable
of surly souls usually. We were leaving a lunch meeting together down near

St. Paul’s, and the pedestrian crossing changed to a walk signal. I stepped
out onto the street, and a car came around the corner and nearly plowed into

me. I screamed, the car squealed to a halt, and then the driver had the
temerity to blast his horn at me, as if I’d been in the wrong.

Mr. Ravnikar stepped out onto the street, slammed his hands on the
hood of the car and glared through the windshield at the driver. He didn’t

even say anything, but the driver turned pale. Then Mr. Ravnikar stood,
straightened his tie, and politely escorted me to the other side of the road. I

remember saying, “Wow, sir. That was kind of awesome.” But he didn’t
reply.

What I saw in Mr. Ravnikar that day was just a flicker of the beastly.
Damir seems to transform like a werewolf under the full moon. His eyes

grow black, his shoulders hunch, and he seems to get bigger. If I was his
attacker I’d run away yelping with my tail between my legs.
 Apparently Georgios sees what I see, because he hesitates. Then he
seems to decide that he has nothing to lose, and lunges at Damir. Damir

backhands him across the face and sends him flying. The expression of
surprise on Georgios’ face is almost comical. His knife falls from his hand

and it skitters over the carpet, and he falls heavily to the floor.
Damir drags him up by fistfuls of shirt and slams him against the

wall. His voice is soft and deadly. “It’s very simple, Georgios. If you marry
her, I’ll kill you both.”

I squirm a little on the floor. The pitch of his voice and the
expression of fury on his face is melting me.

“It was so long ago! I’ve fallen in love. Can’t you understand that?”
Damir looks disgusted by even the mention of the word love, and

punches Georgios so fast and so viciously that I almost don’t see his fist
move. Georgios crumples to the floor. Damir moves around him, puts a foot
against his back, and shoves. The man goes sprawling across the carpet.
“Get out of my sight.”

I peep up a little over the desk. Georgios gets unsteadily to his feet,
his back to us. He seems to pass a hand over his face in despair. What star-
crossed drama have I stumbled into?
Georgios has been beaten, but apparently he’s a desperate man,

because he dives for the knife on the floor, picks it up, and slashes. The tip
of the blade catches Damir on the chest. Damir yells and drops his own
weapon. A thin, red line appears on his shirt, and then spreads. I gasp in

outrage. How dare this man hurt Damir? I lunge for the phone on the desk,
intending to call the police.
“Put that fucking phone down!” Damir shouts. I look up in surprise.
He’s grappling for his knife while fending off Georgios. Any second now,
Georgios’ blade is going to go plunging into someone’s guts. Maybe

Damir’s, but maybe mine, because he’s just realized I’ve been here all along
and is glancing at me with pure hatred.
“Are you freaking crazy?” My voice is so high I’m probably
transmitting on inhuman wavelengths. Damir hasn’t got a weapon, and he’s

injured. My heart is currently trying to pound its way out of my chest.

Damir’s teeth are clenched with effort. “Put. It. Down.”
“I’ll call security, then,” I throw back, but as soon as I start to dial,
Georgios’ body comes barreling toward me, and I have to dodge away.

Damir has flung the man at the forty-fourth-floor plate glass window. It
doesn’t break, and Georgios goes stumbling into a bookcase, books and
files cascading everywhere. An enormous glass vase shatters all over the
floor.

Damir strides over, hauls the man up by his collar, and sinks his fist
into his face. Blood spurts all over Damir, and he’s about to land a second
hit when Georgios manages to fling his arms around Damir’s waist and
tackle him to the ground.

I look around for a weapon. The room was bristling with knives just
three seconds ago but now I can’t see any. I have to do something. In the
movies the girl always stands to one side wailing, Oh, stop, stop! instead of
diving into the fray and it drives me crazy. Two against one, and we’ll be

able to beat this Georgios no problem. I snatch up an ornate silver letter

opener from the desk and brandish it like a weapon.
“No,” Damir snarls from the floor, his arms and legs locked around
Georgios’ body as they grapple with each other. “Smash his fucking head

in.”
That’s a much better idea. I put the knife opener down and pick up a
heavy carved box that looks like it’s for cigars. I stand over the two
writhing bodies, both smeared with blood, hesitant now to actually hit
Georgios. I mean, I don’t want to actually kill a man. What if I do it

accidentally?
Hesitating was a mistake. The man’s hand shoots out and takes hold
of my ankle, and he yanks me off my feet. I go down shrieking and land
painfully on my elbow. I drop the box, and then one of my hands lands on

the hilt of a knife.

A knife!
 I snatch it up, my eyes still closed because of the pain in my

throbbing elbow. I feel someone trying to wrestle it from my grip and I

resist with all my strength.
“Bethany,” a man growls in frustration.
My eyes pop open and focus on two icy blue-gray ones. It’s Damir,
and he’s trying to get the knife from me. A dumb part of my brain goes, He

knows my name?
Of course he knows my name. I email him for Mr. Ravnikar all the
time.
Georgios sinks an elbow into Damir’s kidneys and he grunts in pain,

and I hastily let go of the knife. Damir swings it around in a vicious arc,
roaring at the top of his lungs as he slices right across the intruder’s
shoulder and chest. Blood gouts over us.
All over us.

It spatters over my face and blouse like rain. Georgios screams in

pain and falls back. Damir is up on his feet in an instant. The man, sensing
it’s over, scrambles up and flees, stumbling as he goes, dripping blood.
Rather than giving chase, Damir lifts the receiver and punches a

number with one bloody finger. His eyebrows drawn tightly together, he
speaks quickly. “Lock the building down. No one gets in or out. There’s a
man on the loose covered in blood. Find him,” he snarls, and slams the

phone down.
The knife is clenched tightly in his grip and his chest is heaving. He
stares out the window. I think he’s forgotten I’m there.
I sit up, wincing in pain from my sore elbow. Damir shifts on his

feet and looks down at me. We stare at each other.

There’s murder in his eyes.
He reaches for me, and I utter a high shriek and shrink away.
“Calm down.” He sounds angry but is not as murderous as he

looked a second ago. He pulls me to my feet and tosses the bloody knife on
his desk. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, though I can’t really tell.
Damir puts his hands on my skull and pushes my hair back from my
face. “Did you hit your head?”

The smell of blood and violence is all over him. I feel high. It must
be the shock. The world feels spongey beneath my feet. So I don’t lose my
balance, I put my hands up and clench my fingers on Damir’s biceps. I
wonder if I’m going to faint, but I don’t feel light-headed. Just like I’m

burning up.
Damir palms my cheek with his large hands and slides them into my
hair. Hands that just moments ago were beating that man to a pulp. “Are
you sure?” he murmurs. “You’ve got blood all over your face.” His thumb

slides across my lips, and they part with a moan. I don’t understand what’s
happening to me. I don’t feel this way with a man. I never feel this way.
Damir freezes, and his gaze shifts from searching for injuries to my
eyes. His gaze bores into mine.

“Bethany?” he murmurs, almost in surprise.

My lips are parted and I’m breathing lightly. As I stare at him, I feel
the world sliding out of my control, but in a really, really good way. I want
it to take me. I look at his mouth, and see that his lips are parted, too, and

very close to mine.

Slowly, deliberately, Damir’s hands slide around my waist and he
pulls me against him. Stars shimmer through my body and pool between my
legs. I shudder against his hard torso, sucking in a breath. Amid the

wreckage of broken glass, scattered paper and blood, something is

happening. A man is touching me, and instead of feeling nothing like I
usually do, a whole universe is opening up before me. Damir is gazing at
me intently, as if he can’t believe what’s happening, either. He slides a bold

hand down my belly, over my sex to the hem of my skirt. Then he travels
up the inside of my bare leg. My breath comes faster—and then stops all
together as two of his fingers slide firmly along my sex over my underwear.
My very wet underwear.
 Damir’s lips part in shock. And then curve in pleasure. I need to pull
myself out of his arms. One of us needs to call the police and we both need
to wash all this blood off.
But I can’t make myself let go of him.

Damir turns me around so that my back is against his chest. One of

his hands lightly cups my throat, tilting my head to one side so that his lips
are just grazing my ear. I look out across London as his fingers slip easily
into my underwear and he strokes my slippery sex. Expertly, he rolls the

pad of his finger over my clit. I’m so fired up that I can feel my climax
barreling down on me like an out of control semi-trailer. Stronger than it
feels when I do it. Better than it feels like when I do it. My hands reach
back for something to hold onto and I grasp his hips. I’ve barely got time to
gulp down a breath before I’m coming, my body flexing in his tight grip.

“Pridna punčka,” he breathes.

I open my eyes and look up at Damir, taking short, panting breaths.
From this perspective his face is all fierce angles. Floating in the afterglow,
I don’t want to question why this is happening. I just want to feel his arms

tight around me. Smell the sharp aphrodisiac of blood scenting the air.
“Who was that man?” I whisper.
“An old friend. Want me to kill him for you, baby?”
 I gaze into his metallic eyes, knowing the right answer is no. But
that’s not what passes over my lips. “You would do that for me?”
“Nobody’s allowed to frighten you.” His teeth delicately graze my
ear. “Nobody but me.”

The threat colors his words blood red, but they only make me want
him more. I gasp softly in his arms and grind my ass against his cock. Mr.
Ravnikar groans, pressing his face into my neck. “Such a good girl.”
He delves deeper, one thick finger invading me by an inch. It’s

eluded me for years, this attraction to a flesh and blood man. Damir pulls
out and reaches for something. A moment later the bloody knife appears
before my eyes. He twists it slowly, and it sparkles silver and red in the
sunlight.

“Your blood would look so pretty,” he murmurs in my ear. “Little

cuts on the inside of your thighs. Six on the left, and six on the right.
Spreading you open to watch the blood run down your legs and into your
pussy while I fuck you harder than you’ve ever been fucked before.”

Fear and arousal impale me through the chest. That. I want that. I
need that. My arm curves up to cup the back of his neck, and I scratch my
nails through his short hair.
“Too bad this knife is dirty with that kreten’s blood.” He tosses it
aside and his fingers delve back into my pussy. I lean my weight against
him, my body going liquid and my eyes closing as sensation takes over. He
rubs my clit in firm circles, his breathing and touch the only things I’m
aware of. That, and his hard cock pressing into my ass. He makes me come

again, and then again, barely letting me catch my breath between climaxes.
All the while he’s saying things in Slovenian that I don’t understand.
Then he whispers in English. “Where have you been, princesa? I’ve
been looking for you.”
When I’m a shaking, whimpering mess, he finally lets me go. I turn

to him on legs like jelly. My tongue feels thick and heavy in my mouth.
There’s blood all over his shirt, all over me, and we just did that. I push my
hair back from my face, gazing round in sudden alarm.
My mouth opens, searching for words. Anything at all. “What…”

“Princesa. It’s all right.” He gathers me close, his touch gentle. I

rest my cheek against his bloodied chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady
while mine flutters like a frantic moth. All this blood, and we all but
screwed right in the middle of it.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He takes my hand and starts to tug me toward the door. My eyes
land on the envelope and my handbag lying on the carpet. I suddenly
remember why I’m here. The contract. My boss. Mr. Ravnikar’s brother…
oh god. I’ve just been wildly inappropriate with the director of the
company.
I try to pull out of his grasp. “Wait, I have to go.”

Damir’s eyes harden, and he doesn’t let me go. His hands on my

arms are like iron and there’s an animalistic glint of possession in his dark
eyes.
I squirm in grasp. “Mr. Ravnikar—Mikhail—I have to—”

“What?” he raps out.

“My boss,” I say helplessly, wondering if I should beg him not to
say anything to his brother about this. I don’t want to lose my job. “Mr.
Ravnikar.”

Damir releases me so suddenly it’s like he’s afraid he might burn his
hands on my skin. When I look up at him, his expression is black.
“Then go,” he snarls. “Go back to Misha.”
Misha?

Uncertainly, I back away. Looking at him, drenched in blood, I

decide it’s not worth my life to stay and find out what’s made him so angry.
I grab my handbag from the carpet and turn and run. There’s a bathroom
down the corridor, and I lurch inside. In the mirror I see how much blood is
speckling my face and hands and I wipe myself down with paper towels.

There’s a black cardigan in my bag and I put it on and button it all the way
up to my throat. I’m hot and slick between my legs. What sort of screwy
Halloween porno have I been living in the last twenty minutes?

I’m halfway back to the office when I realize that I’ve left the
contracts on the floor at Ravnikar Enterprises. There’s no way in hell I’m
going back for them.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Two

OceanofPDF.com
 Damir

I watch Bethany go, fury like I haven’t felt in eighteen years burning
through me. He got to her first. The only woman I want, one that has been

right under my nose this whole time, and he got to her first. I’ve seen her at
countless meetings and functions, beautiful and poised, but enigmatic. I

didn’t realize what that pretty face was hiding. That beneath her clothes,

she’s as fucked up as I am.

I take a step toward my door to go after her, but the financial

director is blocking my way.

“Where the hell have you been?” I ask, at the same time as he says,

“What happened here?”

“Nothing,” I snarl, resisting the urge to shove him out of my way.

“What do you want? Make it fast.”

“I have to tell you something.”

“What?” I gaze past him down the corridor, trying to calculate how

fast Bethany walks. If I run I’ll be able to catch up with her.

“I was at home, crunching the numbers all morning. Someone’s

stealing from us.”

Those are probably the only words in the universe that could drive

Bethany from my mind. My eyes swing back to him. “What did you say?”
 Sweat has broken out on his brow. Words come spilling out of his

mouth. Carlton Alders, someone we’ve been working with on a new

development, has been embezzling from the company. Seventeen million

pounds is unaccounted for.

I grab my phone and call Boris, my right-hand man. My true right-

hand man, one who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty or blanches at some of

the less savory activities I have to get involved in.

He answers after one ring, his voice crisp and efficient. “Boss?”

“We’ve found a thief. I need you to go and collect him for me.

Soften him up on the way.” Make him bleed and put the fear of God into
him.

“Yes, boss,” Boris says immediately.

The financial director speaks up. “That won’t work. Carlton Alders

has fled. He must have seen my activity in the account. That I was pulling

reports.”

“What?” I think for a moment, and then speak into the phone. “Did

you hear that, Boris? Good. Carlton Alders. Find him. Today.”
I hang up and stand there silently, fuming. A thief. A fucking thief,

getting his hands on my money, and then running away with it.

I notice that the financial director is still hovering at my elbow,

staring around at the destruction and blood spatter. “Get out of my office!” I
roar.

The man scurries away, and I’m left alone among the wreckage of

my day. Bethany will be long gone. I see the wooden cigar box lying at my

feet, the one she was going to smash Georgios’ head in with, and I give it a

vicious kick.

Carlton Alders. I search my memory for everything I know about

the man. I seem to remember him as a man in his fifties, silver-haired,

British, Oxford-educated and conservative. The golfing sort. Tedious but

necessary in this business. Who introduced him to…?

And then I remember who brought him to Ravnikar Enterprises. My

brother. The one who’s got his mits all over the woman I want. I grab a

clean shirt from my desk and stalk into the bathroom.

First thing in the morning, I’m going to pay a call on my brother.

We’ve got a few things to hash out.

“Brata. It’s time we had a heart to heart.”

I put my fingertips together and peer over them at Mikhail. We’re

sitting in his office, him surly and silent behind his desk, me lounging in a

chair, one ankle crossed over the other. I smile at him, but his expression

doesn’t flicker. That doesn’t tell me anything. He’s been guarded with me

lately, and why? Because he’s unhappy?

 Or because he’s a fucking traitor?

“What did you want to talk about?” he says finally.

“It’s been eighteen years since we started the company. I thought we

should check in with each other about our goals.”

“What?”

I turn and look through the glass partition. Bethany is sitting at her

desk, pale but calm as she types. She wouldn’t look at me as I stepped out

of the elevator. I wanted to take her hand and press it against the bandage

beneath my shirt. Georgios left me with a six-inch gash. I’ll take a thousand

more cuts for her.

“Damir, I’m busy,” Mikhail snaps. “What did you want to talk

about?”

Bethany stepped into my arms covered in blood, and then walked

away from me. Georgios escaped the building and apparently goes on

living. My brother might be a traitor. There are so many thorns in my ass

right now that I don’t know which one to pull first.

Yes, I do. Traitors. They have to be dealt with first. Always first.

“I told you,” I say, swinging back to look at him. “I want to talk

about us. How are you feeling about Ravnikar Enterprises?”

My brother squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and then shakes
his head. “Damir, I haven’t got the patience for your mind games right now.
What’s happened?”

You’re fucking your PA when she clearly belongs to me. “Carlton

Alders.”

“What about him?”

“He’s been embezzling from us.”

Mikhail sits up. “What?”

Spitting out each word like splinters of bone, I fill my brother in on

what Alders has done. The stolen seventeen million pounds and fleeing

yesterday when he knew he’d been discovered. I watch Mikhail closely the

entire time, and there’s only confusion and outrage on his face.
And yet…

“You brought him to the company. That’s very interesting to me.”

Mikhail glares at me. “Meaning?”

“Just an observation.”

“Fuck you.”

We glower at each other across his desk. Time for thorn number

two. “Georgios came to my office yesterday. He wants to get married.”

Mikhail shrugs. “I hope they’ll be very happy together.”

I slam my hands onto the desk and shoot to my feet. “How fucking

dare you?”
 “Damir,” Mikhail bites out, glaring up at me, “I don’t care what

Georgios does anymore. That was a long time ago.”

My own brother, my blood, speaking indifferently about the vilest

thing that’s ever happened to us. “You cold bastard.”

“Me?” Mikhail laughs. Actually laughs. “You never let anything go,

and you call me cold? Nothing can change what he did.”

“He can still be punished for it.”

“For the rest of his life?” Mikhail sighs. “Do what you have to with

Georgios, and leave me out of it. But what are we going to do about Alders?

Have you called the police?”

Do what you have to do and leave me out of it. The selfish prick.

“Of course I haven’t called the police.” I take a long, slow look

around the room. His office, separate from mine. His clients. His deals. This

wasn’t what we agreed when we started Ravnikar Enterprises. Once, it

meant everything to me to have my brother by my side, but has he ever

been grateful for me? Does he ever think about how much of our past I

overlook for his sake? When mama was dying, she reached for him. When I

ran away, father decided that Mikhail was better. Nataša loved him, and it’s
clear he never gave a shit about her after all. Everyone loves Mikhail, and

he doesn’t deserve it. Everything just falls into his lap.

Like Bethany.
 My blood starts to boil. Mikhail could never give a woman like her

what she needs. He just doesn’t have it in him. How many dozens of

women have I been through over the years? Weak, pathetic women who

whine and cry and aren’t worth the money I spend on them.

I don’t like blood, Damir.

It makes me faint, Damir.

Why is the door locked, Damir?

I’m so fucking tired of it. And I’m even more tired of my brother.
My phone rings, and I see that it’s Boris. He might have an update

about Alders, and I answer. “Yes?”

I listen, and I start to laugh. Mirth takes hold of me until I’m

doubled over, wheezing and shaking. “No, no, I’m listening. What? They
left her behind?”

I’m still snorting and chuckling when I hang up, and I can barely see
straight to end the call.

“What’s so funny?” Mikhail asks crisply.

“He’s dead!” I exclaim. “Alders and his wife. Their plane crashed in

Ukraine.” I look up at the ceiling and shout with glee, “He’s fucking dead
and I didn’t even need to kill him!” He died in fear while fleeing me. That’s
as good as killing him myself.
 Mikhail rubs the back of his neck and sits up. “Well, that’s that,
then.”

I stop laughing. “No, brata. That’s not that. I want my money, and
they left a daughter behind.”

Mikhail’s eyes narrow. “Damir, she probably had nothing to do with

this.”

“We don’t know that. There’s no way I’m going to let some spoilt
little bitch profit from her father’s treachery. I’m going to take every penny
back from her if I have to wring it out of her corpse.”

Being an orphan isn’t going to make me pity her. Her family, her
responsibility. Family always pays.

I turn my phone over in my hand. “I’m not unreasonable. I’ll get the
lawyers onto recovering the money, and if we get it all back, then Miss

Alders has nothing to fear from me.”

“And if we don’t get it all back?”

I give my brother a cold smile. “Then I’ll be paying Miss Alders a

visit.”

I stand up and head out of the office. Bethany is sitting at her desk,
her long, dark curls cascading over one shoulder. She’s wearing a soft,

silver dress that clings to her full breasts and narrow waist. Her velvety,
blood-red lips part as she looks up at me.
 Kristus. She’s magnificent.
The sight of her pushes even Alders from my mind. Would it be so

terrible to just take Bethany? A pulse of heat goes through me. I’ve broken
all manner of laws, but I’ve never abducted a woman before. I could take

her anywhere. Marrakesh. Monte Carlo. Macau. I could dress her up in silks
and furs and give her the life she deserves. Bethany should be kept in the

lap of luxury. My lap, where I can keep her in my sight and do all the filthy
things to her that I want.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Ravnikar?” she asks uncertainly.

I smile indulgently at her. “Everything is just fine. Just someone

trying to get the better of me, but not for long.”

I can see she’s afraid of me. Maybe she’s even afraid of herself.

Nice girls aren’t supposed to like getting fingered by strange men while
they’re covered in blood. Nice girls aren’t any fun. I prefer the naughty

ones. As soon as this mess with Georgios and the stolen money is over, I’m
going to devote all my energy towards wresting Bethany away from
Mikhail, and away from her morals, too.

Who knows? Maybe I will take her far, far away with me.
“See you soon, princesa. Be a good girl, won’t you?” I flash her my

teeth, and stride down the corridor to the elevator. The day I take her can’t
come soon enough.
Two weeks later, my lawyers give me the news. We’ve recovered just about
all of the seventeen million pounds that Alders extorted without a peep of

protest from the little Alders bitch. All except just under half a million
pounds. My legal team tell me it’s a win. Mikhail tells me it’s a win.

It’s not a win. It’s a slap in the fucking face. That daughter’s got four
hundred and fifty thousand pounds of my money, and I want it back.
It’s a gray July day when I pull up outside a church in a

Hertfordshire village, thirty miles north of London. There are shiny Range
Rovers and Audis in the parking lot, and expensively dressed mourners in

the crowd. Miss Alders stands alone next to the priest, shaking hands with
people as they file into the church. She’s wearing a black dress and a hat

that casts a heavy shadow over her pale face. There are shadows beneath
her eyes, too, though they’re dry. No tears for mummy and daddy?

I’ve got Boris filming the mourners, certain that the little bitch must
have a dodgy lawyer or accountant acting for her, someone who’s managed

to squirrel half a million away, the inheritance she doesn’t deserve.

I wait until everyone but Miss Alders has disappeared, and then I

step out from beneath the trees and cross the grass toward her.
“I want my money.”
 At first she doesn’t know who I am. Then she pleads that she

doesn’t have the money, she’s just a student, and she hasn’t spoken to her
parents in two years. Her whiny voice grates on my nerves.

“Not my problem. They were your blood and they’re dead, so now
I’m out for yours.”

She quails before me and I can’t help but compare her to Bethany,
my bloodthirsty little queen, gasping and shuddering in my arms. How I’d

prefer to be with her right now.

I bend down close to her ear. “Pretty girl like you, nice tits and ass,

you could pay off the debt fast if you work in one of my clubs. The patrons
don’t even mind if the girls have a few scars. Makes them work harder, you

know?”
She turns her face away, her breath coming in short, fearful gasps.

“How quickly could I pay the debt off? If I worked for you?”
I smile broadly at her. That’s more like it. My eyes roam over her,
and I like the idea of having this posh little thing under the bright lights of

one of my clubs. I started them a long time ago, during the years I left my
father and struck out on my own. They don’t bring in a great deal of capital

compared to the rest of my business activities, but I feel a certain amount of

affection for them and can’t let them go.
 “Six nights a week working the pole, giving private lap dances…
You’d be done in ten years.” I hand her one of my business cards with

instructions to call me, pat her cheek, and then saunter off, whistling.
An excellent day. How pretty the countryside is this time of year.
When I get back to London I email the video footage of the funeral

to my brother, with an accompanying message.

Mikhail,
She’s got money somewhere and we’re going to fucking find it. You

know all the money people in this city. Look at their faces. Who’s helping
the little bitch? Once we know who they are we can sort them out.

They shouldn’t have left their daughter behind. She’ll wish she’d
died with her parents by the time I’m finished with her.

D.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Three

OceanofPDF.com
 Bethany

Mr. Ravnikar is so engrossed with what’s on his screen that he doesn’t

notice me coming into his office. I go around and stand by his chair, and see

that he’s watching some amateur footage of—a funeral? Then I take a
closer look and realize that I know the woman standing outside the church.

“Hey, look. It’s the dead girl.”

Mr. Ravnikar starts and glares up at me. What? It’s not as if the
whole company hasn’t been buzzing about this scandal. Some idiot had

swindled Damir Ravnikar out of seventeen million pounds, and then pasted
himself and his wife across Ukraine. Of course that’s all we’re going to be

talking about.
Mr. Ravnikar tries to get rid of me, but this is much more interesting

than going back to my inbox. “I know Ciara. From class.”

We had land law and contracts classes together, until I had to give

up my course. Ciara and another blonde girl were always together. Sloane, I

think her name was. Sloane was stuck up and overdressed, but Ciara was

okay.
Mr. Ravnikar explains that Damir is hell-bent on taking revenge on

Ciara Alders. At the mention of his brother’s name, panic and desire flood

my body. I have no doubt that if Damir wants to hurt Ciara, he will.

 A plan starts to take shape in my mind, one that will save Ciara from

Damir’s violent clutches and might make my boss a little happier, too.

I perch on the edge of his desk and smile. “Why don’t you be her

daddy?”

This means nothing to Mr. Ravnikar, so I give him a rundown about

sugaring. A plan that involves him getting laid has got to be appealing,

right? Especially when he seems to have developed something of a white

knight complex when it comes to Ciara. I suppose I can see why. Ciara’s

one of those blonde, fawnlike creatures that has rescue me, daddy

practically stamped on her forehead.

Despite Mr. Ravnikar finding the sugar daddy thing unseemly, he

eventually agrees to it. Congratulating myself roundly, I head back to my

desk. This is going to be easy.

I spoke too soon. Mikhail Ravnikar is probably the worst daddy ever.

He talks to Ciara like she’s me. I’m used to his robotic manner, but a

girl who has to put her body on the line for money when she’s never been a
sex worker needs a little wooing. The way Mr. Ravnikar carries on you’d

think he was doing her a favor by even speaking to her—which of course he

is. But she doesn’t know that.

 The night after their first date I need to do some serious damage

control, and just as Mr. Ravnikar promises to do better next time, we’re

interrupted by the last person either of us want to see.

“Who’s not talking to you?”

Damir’s voice cuts through me like a laser, heating me from the

inside out. I look up into hard, gray eyes. They flicker with interest, as if he
knows exactly what he’s doing to me. I’ve avoided him like he’s the Black

Death crossed with Ebola since the incident, and yet I feel like I’m seeing

him all the time. Has he been coming to Mr. Ravnikar’s office more often

lately?

I move around the desk to stand beside Mr. Ravnikar, pretending to

straighten some files on his desk.

Damir turns his attention to Mr. Ravnikar. “Surely you’re not having

girl troubles. You always had the women fawning, Misha.”

A taut silence fills the room, and then Damir tips his head at the

door, telling me he wants me to leave the room. I have to move past him.
Move close to him.

As I step forward, Damir puts out a finger and runs it along my

cheek, murmuring, “Pridna punčka.”

Fierce sensations shoot through me. Two soft words, and I

remember them well. It’s what he said to me while he was making me

climax. I walk fast out of the office and nearly slam the door behind me.

As I sit at my desk, I can’t think straight. I can hear the indistinct

sound of Damir’s voice and it’s a siren’s call, beckoning me closer like a
sailor about to be dashed to death on the rocks.

Eventually, I’m able to calm my breathing and recall something

interesting. That’s the second time I’ve heard Damir call Mr. Ravnikar,

“Misha.” I Google it and find that it’s a diminutive of Mikhail. A pet name.

I never imagined that Damir was the sort of man to use a pet name for his

brother, though he didn’t sound very loving when he said it. All the same,

it’s lovely. Soft and disarming. I file that thought away for later.

Damir bangs out of Mr. Ravnikar’s office, and I jump. He strides

down the hall, laughing. Even from the back, he’s a beautiful man. Tall and

muscular, with his suit jacket fitted snuggly across his broad shoulders. I’ve

imagined curling my fingers through his short dark hair, over and over.

Alone, safe in my bed and with my vibrator cranked up to its top speed, he’s

my fantasy now. I let him cut me. I let him do all manner of sadistic things

to me, and each one more delicious than the last.

An email pops up in my inbox, as if I’ve summoned it by thought

alone. Damir Ravnikar (no subject).

With a shaking finger, I open the email. You’re helping him date
other women. That’s it. That’s all it says.
 I slam the delete button, my heart thumping wildly. There’s no

context to the message, but it feels accusing. Even threatening. Does he

know about Ciara? Oh, god, what if he does know, and I’m about to bring

his wrath down on my head? But wouldn’t the email say something very

different if he knew about Ciara? Something like, You’re dead, you

treacherous bitch? This email feels more personal. Like he’s hurt I’m

helping Mr. Ravnikar with his dating issues.

I shake my head. I don’t understand anything when it comes to

Damir Ravnikar, and I don’t think I want to try. I march into my boss’s

office and focus on his problems, not mine.

As soon as Mr. Ravnikar’s terrible courting style has been dealt with

and he’s texting with Ciara behind closed doors, I go back to my desk and

take out my phone. I need a date.

Not a man. I don’t want a man. But I need a date with a rich one,

because I need to quit this goddamn job. Being this close to Damir every

day is making me crazy.

I adjust the settings on my dating app, upping the age range I’m

interested in to sixty-five, and adding, I’m looking for a generous man who

knows how to treat a lady. Then I swipe right on every man within a three-

mile radius.
 All my profile pics are of me doing rich-girl things. Skiing, boating,

sipping wine in what looks like Tuscany in the middle of summer. It’s not

Tuscany. It’s Surrey on an unseasonably warm March day. The boating

could be St. Tropez, but it’s Cornwall, and the skiing was a cheap girl’s trip

I took with some other foster girls three winters ago that we scraped

together enough money for. Everything about those pictures makes me look

richer and happier than I really am.

I put my phone down and turn back to my computer, definitely not

still thinking about Damir Ravnikar.

Two hours later I check the app and find that I have thirty matches. I

scroll through the profile pictures looking for silver hair and signs of

conspicuous wealth. I stop at a man claiming to be fifty-six but definitely

looks like he’s in his early sixties. In his profile picture he’s sporting a

pinkie ring inlaid with what looks like a ruby, and I recognize the restaurant

of an upscale London hotel in the background of one of his photos.

We have a winner. Smiling to myself, I type, Hey, there. You’re so

handsome and seem just my kind of gentleman. I’d love to get to know you

better.
The reply only takes a minute to come through. You too, baby.

Dinner? I’m free tonight if you are. Colin.

 Colin could be my ticket out of here to a life that doesn’t involve

coming face-to-face with Damir Ravnikar every other day.

“Oh, yes, Colin,” I murmur, tapping out my reply. “I’m as free as a

bird.”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Four

OceanofPDF.com
 Damir

“Of course, Mr. Ravnikar. The debt will be paid within forty-eight hours.”
I lean back with a satisfied smirk on my face. The Alders’ deaths

have had an unforeseen benefit—anyone who owes me money is

scrambling to pay it, because they think I had Mr. and Mrs. Alders killed. I

enjoy the look of strain in the posh old boy’s face a moment longer, and

then rise to my feet.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” I murmur silkily, shaking his

clammy hand, and then head out of the bar into the lobby.
Then I spot her. Bethany.

She’s seated in the restaurant in a skin-tight red dress, her eyes

wing-linered and her mouth painted a sultry red. She looks like a femme

fatale, with just a hint of vulnerability about the way she plays with the
stem of her martini glass. She glances up at her dinner date through her

lashes and smiles.

Who the fuck is she looking at like that?

I move into the restaurant and see that her companion is a gray-
haired man in the most horrendous burgundy pinstripe suit. I actually laugh.

This is what she thinks she has to do? If she needs money, why didn’t she

tell me?
 Bethany’s date is signaling for a waiter when my hand descends,

and I push his arm down. I smile my most pointed smile. “Well, isn’t this

cozy.”

Her eyes grow as round as a startled rabbit’s. Her breasts are pushed

high by her dress. Anger tightens my jaw. I should drag her out of here by
her hair for dressing this way for other men.

Grandpa glares at me, and then at Bethany. “Do you know this

man?”

Bethany looks coolly up at me. “I’ve never seen him before in my

life.”
Oh, she wants to play? I can play. I turn to the man. “I do apologize

for intruding. I can see you’re having a lovely time with my wife.”

“Your wife?”

“It’s a little game we play. In about thirty seconds she’s going to

start screaming her head off, and so am I. How dare you have an affair?

And, Why shouldn’t I when all you do is work? It’s going to be sensational.

Everyone’s going to hear us. My wife will shout your name at the top of her
lungs. You didn’t tell her your real name, did you?” I ask anxiously.

Grandpa’s face slackens in alarm.

Bethany’s hands are clenched on the napkin in her lap and she’s

turning the same shade of red as her dress. I wink at her and turn back to
Grandpa. “Then we’re going to go upstairs and have very loud, angry sex.

This little game spices up our sex life, though it’s a shame for the men who

get caught in her crosshairs. I suggest you leave now so that she throws her

drink at me and not you.”

Grandpa stands up from his chair and flees, as fast as his geriatric

legs can carry him. I watch him go, and then sit down in his seat and signal
for a waiter. “Take these cocktails away and bring us champagne, would

you? And some menus.”

Bethany watches her martini disappearing as if she would like to

throw it in my face. She moves to get up but my hand descends on her wrist

and I hold her in place. “No. Stay.”

Her eyes narrow at my order. “Why did you ruin my date?”

“Why are you dating a piece of gristle?”

“I have my future to think about,” she says icily. “Let go of me.”

The waiter arrives with a bottle of champagne, and I keep hold of

Bethany’s hand. He pours two glasses and then departs.

“You need money?” I ask.

“I want to quit. I don’t want to date a piece of gristle, as you called

him, but young men are such a pain in the ass. They always want to—” She

breaks off, her cheeks coloring, and lifts her champagne flute to her lips and

takes a large swallow.

 “They always want to get their hands on you?” I ask softly, my eyes

flicking over her. She doesn’t want other men to touch her body. That’s

good. Very good.

Bethany puts her glass down and tries to pull out of my grasp again,

but now that I’ve got her pinned down I’m not going to let her go so easily.

“Tsk. It’s very rude to run out on your husband.”

She gives me a sour look.

“You don’t like men to touch you? Or just men who aren’t me?”

Her eyes snap away from mine in panic, and she glances around the

restaurant as if looking for a savior. Foolish. No one can save her from me.

“If you don’t let me go, I really will cause a scene. One that will

have the manager calling the police.”

Her voice trembles, and I wonder what she’s more afraid of: what I

might do to her, or how she feels about what I might do to her. “Please do,

and then we can go upstairs for that loud, angry sex we talked about.”

Bethany takes another sip of champagne. She’s silent for a long

time, and then says, “I don’t want to date pieces of gristle. I don’t want to

date anyone at all. I was going to be a lawyer.”

I turn my champagne flute around on the tabletop, but I don’t take a

sip. “Oh?”
 Her lower lip, so soft-looking that a feather-touch might bruise her,

quivers slightly. Heat plunges through me. How incredibly sexy she looks

when she’s afraid.

“Yes. I’m clever, you know.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Instead, I’m going on dates with horrible men.” Her gaze travels

back to mine, and I see from her expression that I’m included with these

horrible men. “I could have been earning good money on my own a year or

two from now.”

I’ll bite. “Why aren’t you?”

“I had to drop out.”

“Then go back. Mikhail can find someone else to make his coffee.”

I’ll enroll her myself if it means getting her away from my brother. I

imagine cute, student Bethany, her hair piled on top of her head as she

scribbles notes and absent-mindedly chews on her pen. Tied up in my bed

and spanked when she doesn’t get one hundred percent on a test. Hell, yes.

Let’s do that.

I’m opening my mouth to tell her she can have anything she wants

as long as she takes it from me, but suddenly she frowns over my shoulder.

“I thought Carlton Alders was dead.”

 “What?” I lift my hand from hers and glance behind me, realizing

my mistake even as I’m doing it. Of course Alders isn’t there. No one’s

there.

When I turn back, Bethany and her clutch are gone. I see the flash of

her red dress disappearing behind a marble column on the far side of the

restaurant. I could chase her down, but for now I’ll let her think she won

that round. I grin and pick up my champagne glass and toast her fleeing

figure.

“Run, run, princesa. You only make the chase all the sweeter.”

I would like to spend the following days in pursuit of Bethany, but events

don’t play out that way. The next morning I’m in the office when I get a call

from Boris.

“I have Georgios. He was hiding out in Leicester.”

Triumph swells through me. Georgios Navarro, the man I hate

above all others.

“Excellent. String him up in the basement.” I’m smiling as I put the

phone down. My schedule is full, but I’ll make time for Georgios.
Once I’ve rearranged a few things, I have the whole morning to

myself. Whistling softly under my breath, I take the hunting knife out of my
desk and unsheathe it, turning it in the light. It’s as finely honed as it was

during its last adventure with Georgios.

I can hear him grunting and struggling as soon as I step out of the

elevator. My footsteps echo loudly down the corridor, announcing my

arrival.

“How did you find me? What are you doing? Let me go.”

I watch him struggling like a fish on the line. I’ve got nothing to say

to him. For years I struggled to make peace with what he and Lucan did to
Nataša—and my father’s hand in her demise—but peace is as easily

shattered as glass. I’d rather have revenge than peace. It’s more permanent.
I wonder if Mikhail should be here for this, as he was for our

father’s death. This is a Ravnikar killing, to avenge a Ravnikar. The only

one who loved all of us. The only one who wouldn’t be pitted against this

parent or that brother. The only one who was innocent.

I use Georgios like a human punching bag, landing blows where

they’ll hurt the most. His guts, his face, his nuts. I cut my knuckles on his
teeth, earning me more scars and making me bleed. But he bleeds more. He

cries out for mercy, but his cries echo uselessly around this concrete
chamber.
I pause to catch my breath, and Georgios is weeping. With all the

blood in his face it looks as if they’re tears of blood.

 “I’m sorry, Damir. I was weak and greedy, and I—”
I don’t want to fucking hear it. I backhand him viciously across the

face.
Georgios’ head snaps to one side, and then he spits on the ground,

breathing hard. “You fucking asshole. You know what it’s like to have an
overbearing father who—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” I lunge for the knife with a growl of rage,
ready to silence him permanently. As I unsheathe the blade, my phone
rings. I snatch it up. “What?”

The cool female voice of the receptionist speaks into my ear. “Mr.
Ravnikar. There’s a Miss Alders at the front desk to see you.”

Instantly, my senses sharpen. I look at the knife in my hand and then

at Georgios. “What does she want?”

“To give you something, by the looks of it.”

A cold smile breaks across my face. Perfect. “Send her down.

Basement level five.”

So, Ciara Alders has the temerity to bring me money when she

should be begging for mercy. I glance at Georgios. “You’re about to meet

someone I hate almost as much as you, old friend.”

He doesn’t hear me. He’s passed out. I punch him a few more times
for luck.
 I meet Ciara out in the corridor, and her eyes go wide at the sight of
me. “Miss Alders. What perfect timing.”

She follows me into the room, and I wake Georgios up by pouring a

bottle of water over his face.

He takes a gasping breath, and his eyes flutter open. “Kiss my ass,
you son of a—”

Fast and clean, I grasp him by the hair and slit his throat. No
preamble. I don’t want Ciara to have time to steel herself against the sight.

My shirt is splattered as Georgios severed arteries spurt all over the place.
The scent of blood fills the air.

Ciara bends double and throws up on the ground. I shake my head.

Pathetic. Bethany might have gasped or shrunk back because she’s not quite

used to my ways yet, but she wouldn’t have fallen apart. Not until I got my
tongue between her legs, anyway.

Sighing, I step forward, grab Ciara’s hair and wrench her upright.
Her eyes go so wide that there’s white all around the edges.
“Did you know that some girls don’t throw up when they see

violence? They get turned on. Some of them get so wet it soaks right
through their clothes.”

The look of disgust on her face makes me hate her even more.
Suddenly I want nothing but to get her out of my sight. I let go of her and
give her a vicious shove. “I like those girls better.”

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she totters out of the
room. I pick up the pencil case full of money she left behind and open it.

Five thousand, five hundred pounds. All in crisp one hundred-pound notes.
Where the fuck is she getting this money?

I don’t want her to pay me back. I want her to suffer. I want her to
lay at my feet and beg me for mercy.
I lie awake in the middle of the night, furious at the thought that

she’ll somehow get the better of me. Someone must be helping her, and
when I find out who that someone is, I’m going to crush them, and then I’m

going to crush her.

A few days later, Ciara Alders is back with a second payment. She

gives it to the receptionist, who passes it onto me the next time I come
through the lobby. I stare at the envelope in my hand like I’m holding rotten

fish.
“Did I do something wrong, Mr. Ravnikar?” the receptionist asks,

fear tinging her voice.

“Yes. You did. You do not accept anything from that little bitch.

She’s to put it personally into my hands.”

She swallows and nods quickly. “Of course, Mr. Ravnikar.”
 Almost a week later, Ciara’s back. This is getting fucking insulting.

My need to know how she’s daring to stand up to me overwhelms my desire

to see her suffer. “I’ll cut your debt in half right now if you tell me where

you’re getting this money.”

That tempts Ciara. For a moment, her mouth goes slack as she

considers my offer, but just when I think I’m about to learn the truth, her
lips firm, and she brandishes her phone at me.

“I’d rather pay back every penny my father stole from you. Now, get
out of my way before I call the police and tell them you’re keeping me here

against my will.”
It takes every ounce of my self-control not to wring her goddamn

neck. As she squeezes past me out of my office I imagine it so clearly. I’ve

never killed a woman before, but Miss Ciara Alders is making herself an

excellent candidate to be my first.

As soon as she’s gone I pull out my phone and call Boris. He
answers right away.

“Yes, boss?”
“I want men tailing Miss Alders at all times from now on, day and

night. Everywhere she goes, everyone she speaks to. Addresses and
photographs. I want a report on my desk every day at midday.”

Boris’ reply is prompt and businesslike. “Yes, Mr. Ravnikar.”

 I feel myself unclench a little. People saying yes to me. People
doing as they’re told. There hasn’t been enough of that lately.

I hang up and turn my phone over in my hand. Miss Alders thinks

she can outsmart me. That she can just pay me back and laugh at me behind
my back. Not a fucking chance.

It turns out I don’t even have to wait until midday the next day to
get the first report. Later that evening, Boris calls me, and the news he has

for me is the only thing I didn’t want to hear. The truth is a knife slipping
between my shoulder blades and piercing my heart.

“She’s with your brother,” he tells me. “Anton and Miguel tell me
they came out of a bar together looking like they were on a date. When they

tried to grab her, Mikhail beat them up, and drove away with her.”
My brother and Ciara Alders. Mikhail helping the daughter of our

enemy. Protecting her with his life. Betraying us and all we built together. I
knew there was something up with him. I could feel the treachery all around

me, but I didn’t want to believe.

Not my own brother.

I stare out the window at the view of the city my brother and I have
called home for so long. Mikhail Ravnikar, you are one dead motherfucker.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Five

OceanofPDF.com
 Bethany

Oh, fucking hell. Another one looking for a sugar daddy.

I fume at the message I’ve received on my dating app. After my date

that Damir ruined, I redoubled my efforts. I thought I’d nailed my approach

to make my hunt more efficient, but if anything, things are worse.

Thumbs flying, I type a reply to RichGuyGreg, 38, 2mi. Just

because I’m looking for a certain class of gentleman doesn’t make me a

sugar baby. I am an upscale young woman looking for an upscale man. I

don’t accept cash in exchange for dates. I expect a man to treat me in the
manner which I’m accustomed to, but apparently scrubs like you don’t

understand that.
RichGuyGreg responds with a picture of his dick. I send back a

picture of a bloodied carving knife, and block him.

I navigate back to my DMs. Next up is Callem, 34, 1mi. Young, fair,

big smile and wearing a striped collared shirt with a lilac tie. Interesting

choice, I guess. His other pics show him running the London Marathon, at a

wedding with “the boys,” a shot of him in tweed trousers and an

incongruous polo shirt with a dead pheasant in one hand and rifle in the

other, and finally a moody selfie probably taken at home that shows off his

glitzy watch and a view of the Thames out his living-room window.
 His message simply says, Hey.

I grimace. I want to delete it because this guy is as Oxbridge Basic

as they come, but that’s what the old Bethany would do. New Bethany isn’t

such a judgy bitch. New Bethany is just a tiny bit desperate.

I type out a reply. Hey, there! So nice to meet you. I love the tweed.
Is that one of your friend’s estates?

His reply comes back a minute later. No, that’s my family’s. You’re

beautiful.

His family’s. Ding ding ding. Thank you. You’re pretty cute yourself

;)
We chat for ten minutes until he finally suggests a drink, and I

persuade him to make it dinner. I do this at my desk because Mr. Ravnikar

is out somewhere. Probably with Ciara, spending mountains of cash on her.

I leave the office at four-thirty and head home, allowing myself

plenty of time to get ready for dinner with Callem. I wear red as usual,

because I want to signal like crazy to my date that I’m all about the sex,

despite the fact that I won’t be sleeping with him tonight. Or ever, if I can
help it. A tight—but classy—red dress, matte red lipstick, red patent leather

shoes. Well, acrylic shoes. But they look expensive and that’s what matters.

I arrive at the hotel restaurant at eight thirty-five and find my date

sitting at the table like a good little boy.

 Forty minutes later, my eyes are glazing over.

“…and that’s when I passed to my man Adrian, and we won the

game.” My date grins at me, waiting for my applause.

“Amazing,” I take a mouthful of white wine. Hayden? No, Callem.

Callem has spent the whole evening talking about himself.

As he launches into another football story, the dreams I’ve been

having lately twine through my mind. Nightmares, really, in which I’m

terrified, lost and pursued. And aroused. Really aroused. I feel Damir’s

strong chest pressed against my back, his thick fingers sliding delicately

through my pussy. The tip of his knife drawing a line of blazing pain up my

thigh. I can feel how much he delights in causing me pain, murmuring what

I assume are words of love in Slovenian as his eyes burn with the desire to

cut deeper. And he’s smiling. Always smiling.

I can pinpoint the exact moment I went wrong in my life. I was

thirteen years old, and I was alone at home watching Predator in one of my

foster homes. I forget which one. There were so many through my teenage
years. While I was watching the movie, every time the Predator creature

appeared, I felt all…funny. He’s a huge, heavily muscled alien and an apex-

tier killer. I touched myself where I felt funny, and it was good, so I kept

going, all the while thinking about the big, deadly body of the Predator and

his gruesome features, sharp teeth and muscular arms. That night, I had my
first orgasm. I had loads more after that, all while watching Predator. Then

Alien vs. Predator and the other Alien movies. Then I moved onto slasher

movies like Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street, Texas Chainsaw

Massacre and Scream. The entire horror genre was my teenage porn

collection. I guess I was lonely, and a bit sad and screwed up, so I didn’t

question what I was doing.

Looking back, that was a mistake.

“So, your place or mine?” Callem asks me.

I pull myself out of my thoughts. “You’re saying that with a great

deal of confidence.”

“Yeah, well. You used the code.”

“The what?”

“You know. Looking for a generous man. My buddy told me about

it.”

I put my chin in my hand, gazing at him as if he’s the most

fascinating creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. “And what was it your buddy

told you?”

He blusters a little, pretending to be coy. “The sugar daddy thing.

I’m a sugar daddy.”

I want to burst out laughing. Callem thinks he’s a sugar daddy. He

didn’t order champagne. He didn’t offer to pay for my taxi here or my time
tonight. I wasn’t presented with any jewelry and there was no discussion of

an allowance before he brought up sex. I should tell him how much my boss

is lavishing on his sugar baby. That would show him how far out of his

league he is.

I stroke my red fingernails down the back of his hand. “I don’t need

a sugar daddy, Callem,” I purr. “What I really need is to get laid. Someone

to pin me down beneath them and fuck my brains out. Animalistic. Rough.

Hard enough that my screams are heard in Scotland.”

Callem chokes a little, his eyes going wide. “I could do that for

you.”
I look him over. At his bland good looks. His narrow, pale hands.

The department store suit. The ordinariness of him.

“No. You really couldn’t.” I reach for my bag and stand up. “Sorry.

It’s not you, I’m…” I wave a vague hand and trail off, because I don’t have

the energy to make up some stupid excuse. This has been a total waste of

time, and I feel cheap and gross on top of it.

“Wait, Bethany!” Callem stands up and tries to give chase, but a

waiter homes in on in him, sensing her table is about to do a runner without

paying. I hurry out to the street and blindly make a left.

I find myself walking toward the City even though it’s the opposite

direction to my Tube stop. Ravnikar Enterprises rises before me, a sleek

glass and steel skyscraper that I see every damn day. I feel my phone

buzzing as I walk, and I ignore it, my eyes trained on Damir Ravnikar’s

building.

“This has got to stop,” I whisper up at glass windows.

Tomorrow, I’ll get help. Find a therapist who can deal with all my

kinks so I can get aroused by normal things. Men doing the dishes or

something. I don’t know what does it for other women, but it’s probably not

blood, knives, muscle and fear.

Callem calls again and again. I switch my phone to Do Not Disturb.

No dumb dates with stupid men, and no more pining over Damir Ravnikar.

I have more options available to me than screwy sex with my boss’s brother

or a loveless, passionless existence with a rich man.

When I get inside, I remove all my makeup and take my vitamins,

because that’s what a girl does when she’s trying to sort her life out. I

ignore my phone and vibe and rub on some hand cream before tucking

myself beneath the blankets.

I fall asleep, repeating the same mantra over and over. You’ll figure

it out, bitch. Somehow.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Six

OceanofPDF.com
 Damir

I feel like I’ve been cleaved in two with a samurai sword. One half of me
knew that something like this was going to happen, and the other half is

unable to fathom that my own brother could betray me so completely.

I call Anton, needing to hear about Mikhail’s betrayal from a man

who was there. “What happened?” I ask him through clenched teeth.

There’s an awkward silence on the line. “He messed us up real bad.

We didn’t wake up until we were in the hospital ninety minutes later.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “My brother, one man, managed to

beat you two idiots so thoroughly that you passed out for ninety fucking

minutes?”
“Mr. Ravnikar was…” Anton lets out a gusty breath. “Incredible.

You know how big he is, but he’s fast as well. He fought like a man
possessed.”

He fought like a man possessed because he was protecting her. If

there’s something Mikhail loves above all else it’s being the white fucking

knight. When it suits him. Nataša, apparently, could go to hell.

“Get your worthless fucking asses into a car and head to the private

airport on the M11. Chances are that’s where he’s headed. I want him and

the bitch taken alive.”

 I hang up and start pacing up and down, predicting the phone call

I’m going to get before it comes in. Fifty minutes later, Anton tells me it’s

too late. Mikhail and the Alders girl boarded his private jet, and they took

off thirty minutes ago.

“Strange thing, Mr. Ravnikar. The manager at the airport said he

saw him carry a woman on board the jet. She was unconscious.”

“Was she hurt earlier this evening?”

“She fell over when we tried to grab her, but she didn’t hit her

head.”

I end the call, frowning. If she wasn’t hurt, then Mikhail drugged
her to get her on that plane. Why? Because she was upset and hysterical, or

because she didn’t go willingly?

I call the terminal at the private airport and ask them to tell me the

flight path of Mikhail’s plane, which they do because it’s a company jet.

They’re headed for Cape Town, South Africa. Mikhail’s too smart to make

that their final destination. He’ll leave South Africa as soon as they land, so

if I’m going to take them, it has to be there.

I make another call, this time to Boris. He picks up on the first ring.

“Who do we know in Cape Town?” I ask.

Boris thinks for a moment. “We know some security guys.

Freelance.”
 “I want cars and armed men at all the private airports around the

city. Give them Mikhail and Ciara’s descriptions. They’re not to take off

again or leave the airport under any circumstances. I want them alive.”

“Yes, boss.”

I hang up and shove my phone back into my pocket, making myself

take a deep, steadying breath. I can’t lose my temper over this. It must be
done in cold blood.

The memory of my father’s dead blue eyes fills my mind. Cold

blood is what will see me through this, too.

But the enormity of what’s happened breaks over me. I no longer

have a brother. Mikhail didn’t just take my prey from me. He destroyed the

only love I’ve felt for a human being on this godforsaken rock since Nataša

died. The most heinous crime a human being can commit against another?

Not thievery.

Not assault.

Not murder.
Things can be replaced. Bodies heal. Dead people are beyond

suffering, but the agony of betrayal is a white-hot knife buried in your

psyche forever. Now I’m going to take something that’s his and rip it apart

with my bare hands.

Oh, now there’s an idea.

 I call the airport manager. “Did anyone else board the plane tonight

apart from Mikhail and the blonde woman?”

“No, Mr. Ravnikar. No one else boarded that plane.”

“You didn’t see a dark-haired woman, about the same age as the

blonde woman?”

“I saw no one else.”

I thank the man and hang up, and then stare at the phone in my

hand. Then my mouth curls into a cold smile. After all her loyalty, he left

her behind. Will she weep for him, the man who passed her over so easily?

Who didn’t know what a jewel he had working for him, day after day?

I go to my computer and search the employee records. Bethany

Voight. There’s an address in Vauxhall. I put the details into a text message,

and then call Boris again.

“Boris, send two men to the address I’ve just forwarded to you. Not

Anton and Miguel. Those two idiots are fired. Tell the men to watch the

apartment, but to keep out of sight. If a woman emerges, they’re to follow

her and call me immediately.”

I don’t want her taken in her own home where it could be witnessed

by people who know her. She needs to disappear quietly, unseen and

unheard.
Boris is crisp and business-like. “What does she look like?”
 “Five-five. Long, dark hair. Early twenties.” Skin like satin. Lips

like rose petals. Emerald eyes that are as innocent as they are knowing.

“Mikhail Ravnikar’s assistant?” Boris guesses.

“Yes. If she goes anywhere but to Mikhail’s office, the men can grab

her. Otherwise she’s to be left alone.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Oh, and Boris? If this gets screwed up as well, heads will fucking

roll.”

“Yes, boss.”

I hang up, grab my jacket and head round to Mikhail’s building. I

can’t keep still, and maybe I’ll discover some clue as to where he and Ciara

have fled, or what made him betray me.

As soon as I step into his office, I know it’s hopeless. There’s an

empty water glass on the desk. A pen lying by the telephone. Everything’s

neat, clean and dusted, with no clues whatsoever.

I sit for a while at Bethany’s desk, going through her things. She

keeps a sparse work area with few personal effects. I find a doodle of

Godzilla trampling London on a Post-it, and despite everything, I smile.

She’s got a strange sense of humor.

Then I go through to my brother’s office again, and stop dead in the

doorway, staring at his empty chair. I’ll never see him sitting there again.
What we built up over the course of twenty years is over. I see him in my

mind’s eye, walking up the steps of the jet with Ciara held lovingly in his

arms. He must know that he’ll be incredibly traceable if he tries to move

money or contact anyone we both know. His instinct will be to go to ground

and protect the thing most precious to him.

He’ll hide, and I’ll hunt.

I receive a text from Boris. No lights on in the target’s apartment.

Men in position front and rear of the building.

I tap the side of my phone, thinking. If Bethany’s in there, she

doesn’t know what’s happened tonight. I want to look into her eyes and see

it for myself, the terrible realization that Mikhail left her behind. Left her to

me, knowing full well what I’m capable of.

Tell them to stay where they are and out of sight, I text back. They’re

only to follow her when she leaves for the office.

After that, there’s nothing to do but sit and wait. All through the

small hours, I watch the lights of London. The reflection of streetlights on

the Thames. Headlights moving along the narrow streets.

I wait, and I smolder.

At nine-twenty in the morning the elevator pings. I retreat into the

stairwell. Through a crack in the fire door, I see her, and silently release the

breath I was holding. She’s here. And she’s all alone.

 I watch Bethany as she boots up her computer and smooths down

her hair. She’s slightly out of breath, as if she hurried all the way here.

There’s a slight frown between her brows as she glances toward Mikhail’s

silent office, but then she shrugs and goes to make coffee.

A few minutes later, sipping from her steaming mug, she reaches for

her phone. I tense, wondering if this is the moment she finds out what

occurred while she was sleeping. She listens to her voicemail, and her

heart-shaped face transforms in shock.

My hands grip the door frame.

Bethany glances at Mikhail’s office again. She hits a few buttons on

her phone, listens again, and gasps. There’s an expression of anguish on her

face that so acute it knocks the breath from my lungs. I don’t know what I
feel more keenly in that moment, rage that he’s betrayed me, or jealousy

that she’s devastated he’s left her behind.

Bethany makes another phone call, but no one answers. She puts her

phone down and runs into Mikhail’s office. I silently emerge from the
stairwell, keeping her in my line of sight. She’s standing in the middle of

Mikhail’s office, staring at his empty chair.

Beside me are the light switches. I flick them all off at once,
plunging the office into gloom.

“Hello, Bethany.”
 She freezes, her hands fisting at her sides. Then she slowly turns
around. When she sees me coming toward her she shrinks away from me

toward Mikhail’s desk. Even now, she thinks he can protect her. The thick,
ugly jealousy in my guts intensifies. She hurls a pot plant at my head, and I

dodge to one side, never breaking eye contact. The glass partition behind
me explodes into shards that rain down all around me.

She backs around Mikhail’s desk, and I follow her. The crunching of
glass underfoot reminds me of the day I held her, bloodied and quivering, in
my arms. As much as I’d enjoy a filthy little scene with Bethany right now,

I need answers. I need to know what she knows about Mikhail and Ciara.
I move toward her slowly, until she reaches Mikhail’s chair. Then I

put a heavy hand on her shoulder and force her into it. Her wide eyes stare
up at me and her lips are parted. As frightened as Bethany is, there’s

something else lurking at the edges of her expression. Fascination. Desire. I

can feel it thrumming through her, adding a delicious edge to her hyper-

awareness.
I lean down to her, my gaze filled with mock-sympathy. “I guess he

didn’t want you after all.”

I’ll rub salt into that wound all fucking day. He didn’t want you. See

how stupid you were to put your trust in my brother? Why did you love him,
Bethany? Why?
 “Don’t worry, baby. I want you. Girls like you…” My lips whisper
across her cheek and I speak into her ear. “You’re my favorite.”

I bury my nose in her hair and inhale deeply, my delicate orchid

amid the carnage. When my teeth find her earlobe, she whimpers.

I draw back and study her. I like that she’s afraid of me, but this is
not like it was before. She’s too fearful, trembling in her seat, her knuckles

white as she grips the arms of the chair.

If she’s going to cower before me, then I’ll be frightening. From one

of my pockets, I draw a slender length of nylon rope.

Bethany says in a strangled, hurried voice, “I don’t know where they

are. Mr. Ravnikar called me in the middle of the night and said he was
leaving the country and that I should meet him at the private airport north of

London, but I missed the call.”

I run the rope through my fingers, doing nothing but watching her.

So, Mikhail did try to take her away with him. Greedy bastard. And she
would have gone. How does he do it? How does he make our mother, Ciara,
and now Bethany trust him implicitly?

She swallows hard, seeming to rally a little, and says in a more

defiant tone, “That’s all I know. You can listen to the voicemails yourself.

Just let me go and I’ll never bother you again. I’ll leave the country and
forget everything that happened here.”
 I perch on the edge of the desk and just gaze at her, the brave

princesa standing up to her villain. Frightened, but determined to the last.

“Please let me go,” Bethany whispers. “I don’t know anything else, I

swear. Mr. Ravnikar didn’t tell me where they were going, or even why.”
Curiosity kindles in her eyes for a moment, and I can see she’s

considering asking me. I watch her moistening her lips, formulating the
question. Go on, ask me. I’ll tell you exactly what that bastard has done.
But she thinks better of it and sits back, silent and tense.

My phone rings, and I answer it without looking away from

Bethany. “Yes?”

I listen to the financial director gabbling, as frantic as a turkey at

Christmas, and what I hear makes my blood run cold. I let him talk until he

starts repeating himself and demanding to know what he should do, what
any of us are going to do, and what he should tell the police. I hang up and

switch my phone off.

Bethany eyes me curiously, not saying anything. I turn my phone

over and over in my hand, trying not to betray what I feel.

Shock.

Mikhail didn’t just flee. He’s burned the whole fucking place down
behind him. He’s turned the tables on me and now I might lose everything.
Not just my money, but my freedom. I set out to destroy one small, blonde

woman, and now she and my brother are going to topple me.
I breathe in sharply. No. Not going to happen.

“They’re coming for me, baby,” I say softly, looking at her, but
seeing Mikhail working at his laptop in the air and handing everything he

knows about Ravnikar Enterprises over to the police. The emails and
meetings that connect me to several unsolved deaths and criminal activities.

“Who are?” she asks.

“Everyone. It’s over.” I cast my eyes around this office, and then out

the window and at Ravnikar Enterprises. The work of nearly twenty years,
and Mikhail has torn it apart in a single night. I can’t even feel angry right

now. It’s as if shock has fried my nerve endings.

I stand up and walk away. I can practically hear Bethany’s body

unclenching. She thinks I’m going to let her go unpunished after what her
boss has done to me. In the doorway I pause, enjoying the drama of the
moment.

“There’s been a change of plan,” I say slowly.

I turn back to her, throwing away the rope and digging in my pocket

for something else. Her face is very pale against her black hair. I stride
around the desk. She tries to get up, but I put a heavy hand on her shoulder,

pinning her in place. I hold a little bottle before her eyes.

 “What’s that?” she whispers.
“I took it from my desk earlier. The same drawer where I keep my

knife. It’s a nasal spray.”

“For, uh, allergies?”
I smile, admiring the tracings of her blue veins on her throat through

her translucent skin. “No, not for allergies. I don’t have to use it. You can
come with me willingly. In a few moments there’ll be a car waiting

downstairs.”
Bethany licks her lips. “Why would I do that?”

I wrap a hand her throat and hold her head against the leather
headrest, moving behind her. Instinctively, she starts to struggle, both hands

coming up to pull ineffectually on my wrist.

“Shh,” I breathe in her ear, undoing the little bottle one-handed.

“This is all out of your control. You may as well just go along with it.”
She catches the astringent scent of the anesthetic, and asks in a

strangled voice, “Will I wake up?”

“Why don’t you think of what happens next as a delicious surprise?”

Her eyes are very wide as she stares at the bottle. “I’d just like to
make it clear that I don’t want this.”

I feel my smile curve against her hair. What a strange little thing she
is, making her protest for the record. “Noted, princesa. Any final words?”
 Her pulse is thrumming beneath my fingers. I want to press my lips
against her throat.

“Ciara’s not a bad person. She did what she thought she needed to
do in order to—”

Angrily, I pinch her words off by tightening my grip on her throat.

I’m not interested in hearing anything about Ciara and Mikhail right now. I

hold the bottle to one of her nostrils and press the plunger. Bethany gasps,
and then a moment later her body slumps forward. She’s out cold.

I watch her sleeping in the chair for a moment while I tuck the bottle
back into my pocket and ring for my driver. In the silence that follows,

looking at my brother’s things, my brother’s assistant, I know I’ve been a

fucking fool. I’ll never not trust my instincts again.

I gather Bethany into my arms and head for the elevator. The net is
closing in. It’s time for us to disappear.
My driver is waiting downstairs on the busy street with the car and
he opens the back door quickly so I can place the sleeping Bethany onto the

back seat. I get in behind her and pull her head into my lap. The dark tinted
windows conceal us from view. I stroke Bethany’s hair, remembering how
she moved like liquid gold in my arms amid the blood and carnage.
“Where to, sir?” asks my driver.
 I name a marina on the south coast where I know a business contact
has his superyacht moored. It wasn’t purchased legally, and so the owner

will be unable to report its loss to the police. I call Boris and tell him to
gather the men we can trust and meet me there. “We’re leaving the country.
For good.”
His reply is grimly determined. “Yes, boss.”
When we pull on to the M3, Bethany is still slumbering in my lap,

and I receive another phone call. Mikhail and Ciara landed in Cape Town,
but evaded capture and left the airport by vehicle.
They’ve disappeared.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Seven

OceanofPDF.com
 Bethany

My head is pounding and my mouth is dry. There’s a queasy feeling in my

belly like I had tequila on top of red wine on top of beer last night. The bed

feels weird too, not like my own. I drag my eyes open and see that I’m in a
room I don’t recognize, and my hand is cuffed to the bed.

“What the hell?” I whisper softly.

I struggle up, the blood pounding hard in my ears. It looks like a

hotel room. A really nice hotel room, with a king-sized bed and gold and

cream furnishings.
Then it all comes rushing back. Mr. Ravnikar and Ciara leaving me

behind. Damir coming for me. That weird phone call he got telling him it
was all over. I thought I was going to be all right after that. Damir actually

went gray as he listened to whatever that person was saying. If everything

was over, I could go free and catch that ferry to Spain like I planned. Right

now, I should be eating tiny bits of tapas washed down by a glass of rioja

the size of my head, but instead I’m tethered like an animal to a bed in a

strange hotel.
Did I fight hard enough? Could I have stopped him? Did that small,

disgusting part of me that responds to him get me into this mess? Or am I

rotten through and through, like an apple you bite into only to throw away

in revulsion?

The room starts to spin and I lay back, afraid I’m going to throw up.

The drugs are making me feel like the room is moving, and is that an engine

I can hear somewhere far off? Maybe the staff are cleaning the pool or
something.

Okay. Get a hold of yourself. Listen for the footsteps of the

chambermaids or hotel guests, and then scream blue murder. I soften my

breathing as much as I can and lie still, my ears tuned for any sound at all.

It’s eerily silent out there. No footsteps. No housekeeping cart. I

listen until my ears are straining, but all I can hear is that faint hum. Well, if

help won’t find me, I’ll just have to summon it.

“Help! Heeeeeeeelp! I’ve been kidnapped. I’m tied up in this room.

Heeeeeeelp!”

I scream until my throat is raw. I stop every few minutes to catch my

breath and listen for the sound of approaching feet. No one comes. What

sort of hotel is this? Has Damir booked the whole floor or something and
told the staff to stay away? I thrash about in frustration but succeed only in

tiring myself out. I’m painfully in need of the bathroom, and now I’m

thirsty as well.
 I slump back against the pillows, thinking longingly of Mr.

Ravnikar’s private jet. Ciara’s probably cuddled gratefully in his arms right

now, thanking her sugar daddy for spiriting her away from that nasty,

horrible Damir. They’re probably being served lobster and champagne and

then having hot fugitive sex in the bedroom suite. I’m glad they got away,

but just for a second I want to curse them both to hell for being free and
together while I’m tied up at Damir Ravnikar’s mercy, wondering what the

hell he’s going to do me.

A key grates in the door. I wriggle upright again. Is it someone come

to save me?

The door swings open, and I see the devil smiling back at me.

“Good morning, Bethany,” Damir says, stepping into the room and

closing and locking the door behind him. “You’re finally awake. I hope

you’re enjoying your stay.”

He’s dressed more casually than when he kidnapped me, in an open-

necked shirt and pants. He has a resort-fashion look about him, and paired
with the sleek, contented expression on his face, you’d think he was on

vacation.

I watch him warily as he comes toward me across the carpet, his

hands in his pockets and that same pointed smile on his face.

I lick my parched lips. “How long have I been here?”

 “About twenty hours.”

Twenty hours. We could be anywhere. I want to ask a thousand

questions, but it’s the one I’m most afraid of that passes over my numb lips.
“What are you going to do to me?”

He’s standing right by the bed now, and his smile widens, showing

even more of his pointed canines. “What would you like me to do to you?”

It’s like he thinks he’s flirting with me. I ignore the fierce pound

between my legs at the sight of him looming over me. “You can start by

untying me and letting me the hell out of this room.”

“Sorry. A no to both of those. For now.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

His eyes linger on the handcuffs, and then travel down over my

body, as if he’s saying, Everything I want is right here.

“Where are we? What’s going on? Where did Mr. Ravnikar go?”

Damir walks over to the curtains and pulls them open. Instead of a

normal hotel room window, this one is round.

I can’t see anything from where I’m lying but sky. Damir helps me

sit up a little more, his strong arm supporting my waist. I crane my neck,

and instead of a street or a pool, I see…ocean?

“We’re on a boat?”
 He gives me a scornful look. His handsome face is very close to

mine. “It’s a yacht, Bethany. One hundred and sixty feet. Five cabins. Six

decks. Interior dining. Exterior bar with Jacuzzi. Max speed of forty knots.”

I start breathing very fast. Oh, boy. Okay. No one’s going to help

me. That’s what I’m dealing with here. It’s just me, some crewmembers

who are probably in Damir’s pay, and Damir, a well-groomed, chisel-

cheeked madman.

I swallow, and say under my breath, “Fuck.”

Damir sits on the bed with me, propped up against the pillows, his

arm still around me. “Where would you like to go? Spain and Greece are
beautiful this time of year, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I mutter, hyper-conscious of his body so close to

mine and trying to inch away. That silky cologne of his is invading my

nostrils, and I can’t think straight.

Damir pulls my phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. He must

have got my fingerprint while I was unconscious and changed the code. He

starts reading aloud, and I realize it’s my dating profile bio.

“‘Bethany, twenty-one. Legit snack. International socialite who

enjoys the finer things in life. London-based, Parisian soul, New York style.

I’m looking for a generous man who knows how to treat a refined lady.’”

He grins at me, boyishly charming. “Legit snack?”

 “I was being cute.” I look longingly at my phone, wondering if

anyone has called it and realized I’m missing. But who would? Apart from

Mikhail, no one was expecting to see me today. I haven’t spoken to the

other foster girls in over a year. I had no friends at university.

“I see that, baby,” he rumbles, swiping through my pictures.

“Parisian soul, huh? I’ve been through your social media and I’ve seen no

selfies in Paris. Let me guess. You’ve never been further than Dover.”

I’ve been kidnapped and he’s trawling through my social media

lies? This is adding insult to injury.

“I’ve been to Mykonos, thank you very much.” I went with some

friends after high-school graduation for a few days of warm Greek wine,

fried food and dancing till three in the morning. It was done in the most

frugal way possible, but I still blew through my meager savings. “And the

Swiss Alps.” For like a day.

“Why did you never tell me that this is what you wanted? I would

have taken you anywhere.”

I stare at him, confused. He’s speaking as if we share something

intimate together. “What are you talking about? I don’t know you.”
“It’s my fault. I didn’t think to try and find out about you online.

Dating has changed since I was twenty-one.”

 “Dating?” I rattle the handcuffs that have me chained to the bed.

“You think this is dating?”

He reaches out a hand to stroke my cheek, and his eyes are as dark

as black satin. “I can show you the world, Bethany. All you have to do is

ask.”

His seductive words twine through me, as if he’s offering me a ripe,

juicy peach. Damir, with his strange appetites and starving-wolf gaze, wants

to show me the world. But at what price? “I don’t want anything from you.”
His eyes drop to my mouth, and I find myself looking at his lips,

too. His lower lip is full and soft-looking, like he could give decadent kisses
that would go on for hours. I feel my toes curl.

“We’ll see,” he murmurs, and his hot breath fans my throat.

My flesh prickles with awareness of him. “I need to use the

bathroom.”
Damir dips into his pocket for a key and unlocks my handcuffs.

“You have two minutes. Don’t bother to try and lock the bathroom door. I
broke the lock while you were passed out.”

I stand up quickly and take a step toward the bathroom, and my eyes
land on the door to the cabin. Damir is lounging on the bed behind me. If I
lunged for the door and it was unlocked, I might be able to get out of the

room.
 “Do you think I’m some sort of amateur?” Damir drawls. “That
door is locked. We could wrestle for the key, if you like. It’s in my pocket.”

I can just imagine the sort of wrestling Damir is into. “Do this often
then? Kidnapping?”

“Jealous of all the girls who came before, princesa?”

I stalk into the bathroom and slam the door behind me.

I gaze around the room as I pee. The room has been stripped bare.
No towels, no little bottles of shampoo. I finish, flush the toilet and check
under the sink and in all the drawers, but there’s nothing. No hairdryer with

a cord that I could use to strangle Damir. The only thing in the room is a
cake of soap on the basin. I use it, and then drink from the tap. I drink a lot

because I’m so dehydrated, and then splash water on my face. I have to dry
myself on my blouse because there’s nothing else.

I stare into the mirror, taking a moment to collect my thoughts. It’s

like I’m living in one of the movies I consume like popcorn. A madman

with a knife fetish who’s out for blood. If he catches Mr. Ravnikar and
Ciara, they’re done for. And me? What fate does my Freddy Krueger have

in mind for me? Will I be snuffed in the first act, or make it through to the
end?

There’s always one girl who makes it out of the haunted house. The
cabin in the woods. The suburban party gone wrong. She confronts the
killer, rips off his mask, and then—
Then she takes his face in her hands and kisses him tenderly, and he

pushes her roughly down onto the nearest flat surface and fucks her hard.
That’s how it goes in my fantasies, anyway.

I know. I’m fucked up.

What actually happens at the end of those horror movies is the final

girl kills the bad guy. Or, at least, she thinks does. He’s lying there, looking
dead as dead can be, but as soon as she lowers her weapon and steps over

his corpse, he comes back to life and grabs a hold of her. They have one
final struggle before she really does kill him and she’s finally free forever.

You’ve got to be clever with these killers. They’re tricksy bastards.

There’s a rap on the door, and Damir says in an angry voice,

“Time’s up. Get out here.”

I open the door and step out. “I’m coming—ah.” Damir’s yanks me

back into the room and pins my wrists together behind my back, his arms
tight around me and his face close to mine.
“I told you two minutes,” he seethes.

“It was two minutes.”

“It was three. And I heard you going through the vanity. Why?”

“I was looking for a hand towel.”

 He turns me around and points to a box on the bed, about the size of

a shoebox. “Lies will only make me angrier.”

I eye the box warily. “What’s that for?”

“Your punishment. I’m going to torture you.”

My stomach swoops. Little cuts on the inside of your thighs. Six on

the left, and six on the right. Spreading you open to watch the blood run
down your legs and into your pussy.
I struggle to pull away from him but he’s holding me with brutal

strength. So this is where the terror begins. Adrenalin shoots through me,
from the tips of my toes to my scalp.

Damir presses his cheek against mine and whispers, “I’ve missed
you, princesa. Have you missed me?”

“Are you insane? Do you think I like any of this?”

“Lies will only make things worse for you.”

“Let me go or I’ll make you regret it,” I snarl, wrenching myself

around in his arms.

He leans forward and flips open the box and I see, not the pliers and
bone saws and scalpels I was expecting, but a wand. A purple vibrating

wand, the sort I thoroughly abuse myself with.

I stop struggling out of sheer surprise. “What’s that for? Is this a

joke?”
 Still holding onto me with one hand, he takes the wand out of the

box and holds it up to the light. “I never joke about anything so serious.”
He throws the vibe down and then cuffs me to the bed again.

Kneeling between my thighs, his eyes light with blue fire. My insides quail
and knot. And further down, they heat.

One guy I was with already had this bright idea, to use a vibe on me
in the hope that I would have an orgasm in his presence somehow. It didn’t

work. For me, feeling turned on is all in my mind, and all I could think
about was how my orgasm was being turned into a performance for a man I

wasn’t remotely attracted to.

Damir brandishes the vibe like it’s a weapon, and heat plunges

through me. I can’t close my legs because his knees are pressing them open,
so try to pull my legs up and away from him. With one vicious yank, he

grabs hold of my briefs and tears them off me, the fabric rending.
Paralyzed by his gaze and his large, warm hand on my thigh, I take
short, sharp breaths. He gazes down at my sex.

“You’re just as pretty as you felt that day,” he murmurs, tracing the
seam of my pussy with a forefinger. I’m suddenly paralyzed by the sight of

him, my lips parted as I pant in short, panicked gasps.

He brushes his thumb softly over my clit. He does it again, each

gentle swipe making my breath hitch. Damir’s touch is electric, as if a

circuit in my blood has finally been closed, and only he knows how it’s
done. Taking a small bottle out of the box, he smears something clear on the

tip of the wand. Lube.

“Leave me the hell alone,” I gasp. I try to struggle up the bed away
from him again, but it’s futile. Damir switches the vibe on with a wicked

smile, cranks it up, and then applies it right over my clit.

Instantly, glorious sensations pour through me. The firm, rubbery

head spreads the vibrations out evenly over my clit. Looking desperately
between Damir’s face and the wand, I feel my climax speeding toward me

like a speeding train. He’s not giving me an orgasm. He’s ripping it

unwillingly from my body. I cry out and flex against my bonds, against the

wand, the helplessness and terror of my situation spicing my climax so that

it pounds through me mercilessly.

I come back into myself to find Damir has leaned over me, one hand
braced against the headboard, and his lips skating across my cheek to my

ear.
“Beautiful, princesa. How I’ve missed that sight.”

“You’ve had your fun,” I pant. “Now get the hell off me.”
He just laughs. The wand is in his hand, resting against my thigh,

still vibrating. “We’re only on five right now. Should I crank it up to ten?”
“You’re a sick bastard.”
 “Ten it is.” He hits the little button on the side until the motor is
vibrating intensely. Then he applies it back to my clit. Slavishly, my body

responds to the stimulation. I glare at Damir as my breathing picks up and

my skin heats. He seems fascinated as he watches me. His free hand rests

on my inner thigh, his thumb stroking me lovingly.

I come three more times with barely a moment to catch my breath,

and I can tell from his expression that he’s nowhere near done.
“Oh, god. I can’t bear it, I can’t—” My words are choked off as he

applies the vibe to my clit again, and another orgasm tears through me.
When it passes, I pant, “Why are you doing this?”

Damir’s smile widens. “I’m a simple man. I see a pretty girl who
needs to come, I make her come. Again and again.”

“Please stop.” I’m not above begging. I can’t take much more of
this.
He brandishes the vibe but doesn’t put it between my legs. “Why
did you not seek me out after that day in my office? Why did you go on

dates with other men?”

“Because I can do whatever the hell I like!” I snarl.
Damir glances wickedly at my bound wrists, as if to say, Can you?
“Admit that you were turned on that day in my office because of the

violence and blood.”

 “I was in shock. I’m not turned on by a psychopath!”
He tuts, and presses the wand against my clit. “Bethany. Be a good

girl. Tell the truth.”

I shake my head, no longer able to speak even if I wanted to. My
stomach cramps with yet another orgasm, just as enduring and powerful as
the first. Damir takes the wand away for a few seconds, giving me relief,
and then he puts it back.

“All right!” I shout, gabbling wildly, willing to say anything to make

him stop. “I admit it. I’ve never been so turned on in my life. I never even
had an orgasm with a man before that day, and I’ve been avoiding you
because I’m terrified what that means about me, that the only man who can

turn me on is you.”
The vibrator clicks off, and Damir just stares at me, his eyes
searching me face.
My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath. “Are you happy now?”

But for once, this cocky bastard hasn’t got anything to say.
“What? Stop staring at me like I’m the weird one. You probably
need your leg caught in a bear trap while electrodes are applied to your
scrotum in order to get off.” Damir opens his mouth, but I speak over him.

“Why does this even matter? I thought you’d want to ask me about Mr.
Ravnikar and Ciara.”
 Damir’s face hardens the instant I say their names. He throws the
wand and the lube back in the box and slams the lid.

“Aren’t they more important to you right now than what gets me
off?” My voice is laden with sarcasm. I know I’m probably going to earn a
worse punishment now than a few forced orgasms, but I’m enjoying making
him angry, the smug bastard.

Damir gets up off the bed, his whole body as taut as a bowstring.
“Shut up about Mikhail,” he snaps. “He left you behind and he’s not going
to find you. You’re going nowhere.” His eyes rake me with blazing
possessiveness, and he picks up my underwear from the bed and shoves it

in his pocket. Then he turns and slams out of the room, locking it behind
him.
I collapse back onto the pillows in relief. I feel hot and raw between
my thighs, and weak all over. I survived our first encounter, though it was
stupid of me to bait him like that. I wonder why he took me. Maybe I’m just

for his amusement, and he’ll kill me as soon as I start boring him.
So, what should I do, provoke him, or give in? Tell him everything I
know about Mikhail and Ciara, or hold out as long as I can? If this was a
movie, I wonder if the audience would be rooting for me or have me

marked down for death by now. I take stock of my situation against all the
usual tropes.
 If you want to survive a horror movie, you can’t be blonde. If you’re

blonde, you’re dead. Sorry, Ciara. Me with my black hair? I’m nailing this
first rule.
You can’t have sex, either. I bite my lip. Did what Damir just do to
me count? I don’t know. Otherwise, I’m a big old virgin, and I’m staying
that way. Why would I let a guy put his dick in me when I’ve endured hours

of pointless licking and humping that did nothing for me?

Finally, you can’t drink. I drink occasionally, but that doesn’t matter.
What this rule actually means is you can’t party. You can’t let loose, let go,
let your guard down. You have to stay in control and be aware of your

surroundings at all times. I broke this rule when I switched my phone to Do

Not Disturb. I have to be more careful from now on. I will be the final girl.
She might sound like some uptight little goody-goody, but the final girl is
so much more than that. She’s strong. She’s clever. She has everyone in the

audience rooting for her. But she can’t get cocky.

Don’t step over that monster, even if you’re sure he’s a corpse. He’ll
just come right back to life.
And get you.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Eight

OceanofPDF.com
 Damir

The water behind the yacht churns in the afternoon light. I stare at the
frothy waves, seeing Bethany’s face transformed in bliss. No other man has

given her that. Our connection is far deeper than I imagined. She was made
for me, only me. In that moment, I was the happiest I think I’ve ever been.

And then she had to go and ruin it by bringing up my cursed brother.

“We lost them after Cape Town,” Boris says behind me. “They
could still be in South Africa, or they could have flown out of another

airport. The jet is still there, and no other planes have departed that airport
in the last twelve hours.”

“He won’t have stayed in Cape Town,” I say to the sunset. Mikhail
will have immediately put as much space as possible between him and his

last known location.

Boris told me how they escaped. Mikhail dressed the pilot and co-

pilot in his and Ciara’s clothes and used them as decoys to fool the men we

hired. Fucking amateurs, not realizing a man was wearing Ciara’s cocktail

dress.
I push back from the railing with a snarl. Where would he go? The

world suddenly feels too large. It’s impossible to scour every square inch so

I need to narrow it down. But how?

 The sun dips down over the horizon, turning the sky shades of

lightest gold and deepest purple. I want Bethany up here with me, but she

needs to learn devotion. Obedience. I crave to touch her, possess her, punish

her and forgive her, over and over again. There’s a scared little girl under

that brash exterior. She’s terrified of what she wants, and that’s not
surprizing, because what she wants is me.

I wonder if she’s been putting up with terrible, unfulfilling sex and

faking it with her partners. Maybe she’s avoided sex entirely, and I’ll be the

first one to see the scared yet trusting expression in her eyes as I penetrate

her delectable little pussy. I smile to myself. I can’t wait to discover the
truth. I’ll feel it for myself soon enough.

“Boss?”

I look up at Boris, my smile fading. Mikhail. Ciara. I have to think

about them, not Bethany. I’ve got funds. Interpol wasn’t able to freeze the

accounts that they didn’t know about. What I don’t have is a plan. I need

information. In the old days, father would always go to Lucan Navarro, the

great, greedy spider of the French Riviera, but that all changed when his son
Georgios—

Now, there’s a thought. Navarro may have heard something about

Mikhail and his whereabouts via his silken threads that stretch across
Europe and further afield. Last I heard he was still running his illegal casino

in Monte Carlo.

Just thinking about that man makes my blood heat with anger. I still

owe him for what he did to Nataša. I took his son from him, but it’s not

enough. I want to take everything else, too.

I chuckle to myself. This is becoming quite the little Grand Tour of

Revenge. How energized I feel. How refreshed. I should thank Mikhail

before I kill him. I was growing stagnant in London but now I have a whole

new lease on life.

I turn to Boris. “How soon can we be in Monte Carlo?”

“Monaco? Midday tomorrow, if we take the most direct route. But

why—”

Close to the coast of Southern Europe, he means, along with every

other sea craft and police vessel. “Stay off the main course for as long as

possible. I don’t care if it takes a day or two longer to get there.”

That will keep us away from any coast patrols and give me the time
I need to bring Bethany to heel. The plan that’s seeding in my mind is going

to require her help. I picture her in Monte Carlo in a floor-length gown,

bedecked in jewels. At last she’ll have a taste of the life she deserves. The

life that I can give her, where nothing is fake. Not the jewels, and not the

orgasms, either.
 Boris departs to plot our new course, and I go to the dining room to

eat with the men. Andreja has taken over the galley and is outdoing himself

with the meals. Domen is captaining. Alenko is assisting. Solid, Slovenian

men, ones I know I can count on.

For the rest of the evening I Google myself, though not out of

vanity. In fact, the longer I read the more furious I become. My name and

picture are plastered all over the British press, in connection with a missing

CEO, a restaurant chain with an embezzling financial director and a luxury

hotel implicated in money laundering and insider trading. Mikhail thinks he

knows so much, but he knows nothing. The missing CEO isn’t dead. He’s

currently hiding out in Vanuatu avoiding a major tax fraud scandal. The

embezzlement hasn’t got anything to do with me. I knew about it, but I’m

not my clients’ fucking babysitters. The money laundering and insider

trading…all right. Mea culpa. I did participate in several high-stakes poker

games, and there were business tips exchanged. I didn’t lose sleep over it,

but if I’m caught, that night alone will be enough to send me away for an

uncomfortable chunk of time.

If the police catch me and connect me to Georgios’ death and

Mikhail tells the police where our father’s body is buried, I’ll never see the

light of day again. That really makes my blood boil. I killed the bastard,
yes, but that was to protect Mikhail. I saved my brother. By killing

Georgios, I avenged Nataša.

But will he be grateful? He doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Nine

OceanofPDF.com
 Bethany

He left you behind and he’s not going to find you. You’re going nowhere.
I sit up with a gasp, and my red raw wrist pulls painfully on the

metal handcuff. Damir is haunting my dreams. I glance at the window and

see that there’s a pale glow around the edges of the curtains. It’s morning.

Counting the day I was passed out, and yesterday with the visit from

Damir, this is my third day on the yacht. I wonder how fast yachts travel,
and how far we could be from Britain. I wonder if anyone’s even noticed

I’m gone.
I lie there for a while, busting for the toilet. There’s the sound of a

key turning in a lock. A stranger stands in the open doorway, a man wearing
a black T-shirt and jeans, his dark hair in a ponytail. He’s about thirty,

younger than Damir but just as dangerous looking. I’m conscious that under
my skirt I’m naked, and I tuck my legs tightly beneath me.

The man seems completely uninterested in me. He comes in,

carrying a tray. I catch the scent of food. It’s been a long time since I’ve

eaten and my stomach growls.

He puts the tray on my bedside table and leans across me to unlock

my wrists. “Use the bathroom.”

 I hurry to do so, and I drink from the tap again. When I come back

the man is ready with the cuffs, and I have no choice but to let him fasten

me one-handed to the bed again.

“You work for Damir, I suppose.” I say, hating him for his obvious

indifference to a kidnap victim. “How much is he paying you to ignore the

fact he’s breaking all these laws?”

He doesn’t even acknowledge that I’ve spoken, and turns to head

out.

“I’m here against my will!” I shout at the closing door. The lock

snicks, and the man’s footsteps retreat.

I wonder if Damir will visit me today. I wonder if what he does to

me will be worse than yesterday. Unless I escape, I can only imagine his

treatment of me will become even more sordid.

I sit up and turn to the bedside table. The tray contains a turkey

sandwich with Swiss cheese, cranberry jelly and lettuce on rye on a paper

plate, and white coffee in a paper cup.

I reach for the sandwich and bite into it hungrily. It’s good, and I eat
quickly, swallowing mouthfuls between sips of the coffee.

After I finish, there’s nothing to do but lie there and wonder what

the hell Damir has planned for me. I suppose I’m a toy for him to amuse
himself with in between raging at his brother and Ciara. At the very

mention of their names he seemed to barely control his temper.

That gives me an idea. I stare at the ceiling for a while, thinking.

Sometime later I hear the door being unlocked. I scoot up the bed,

and I see I’m right to be wary when the door swings open to reveal Damir.

He glances at my prone form and the empty plate and cup, and
closes the door behind him. When he turns back to me, he’s smiling. “You

ate all your food. Pridna punčka.”

My left arm, the one that’s still handcuffed, feels numb, and I try

and arrange myself so that I’m not pulling on it so much. The pain is

distracting, and I need to concentrate. “You’ve said that to me before. What

does it mean?”

Damir comes and stands over me. “Didn’t you look it up, or ask

Mikhail?”

I shake my head, and a dull flush comes to my cheeks at the thought

of asking my boss—my former boss—what the phrase means. I

instinctively feel it’s something intimate.

“It means good girl.”

Yeah, I would have died if Mr. Ravnikar had told me that. Come to

think of it, he probably would have as well.

 Damir takes a key out of the inside of his jacket pocket. “We can

dispense with these for now. I’ll keep them handy for later.” I watch him

unlock the handcuffs. When he releases my left hand I almost gasp from
relief, and massage the red marks on my wrist.

“Please don’t cuff me again.”

“But I enjoy it so much.” The pitch of his voice is low and sultry.

I hold out my wrist to show him the red marks. “I don’t.”

Damir makes a sympathetic noise, and takes my wrist gently in his

big hands. Then he leans down and presses his lips gently against my raw

flesh. “All right. If you’re good.” He looks up at me, his silver eyes

dazzling. “You’ll find I’m a reasonable man, Bethany. If you behave, you’ll

have all sorts of privileges. There’s so much I want to give you, but

remember, I can take it all away again, just like that.” He snaps his fingers

close to my ear, and I jump.

Leisurely, he sits down on the bed beside me, and without the

handcuffs I could almost be fooled into thinking we’re just two people

having a chat.

“What sort of privileges?” I ask, hating the whiff of hopefulness in

my voice.

He glances around the cabin. “Taking you up on deck, for instance.”

 I glance at the window, wondering if there are any coastlines or

nearby ships. I dearly want to know where we are and whether I can expect

help. “Can you take me up now?” I ask, trying to sound casual. “I’d love

some fresh air.”

Damir reaches out and strokes my cheek. His touch is warm and

gentle, and despite everything I feel a perverse desire to angle my face

against his hand, like a cat seeking attention.

“Not today. Soon, if you keep on behaving yourself.”

I want to shove past him and lunge for the door, but I clench my

hands on the sheets instead. Patience. Earn his trust and then make a break
for it at the right time.

“What about what you said in your office before we left London?”

“That I like girls like you the best?”

“No, that it’s all over, and they’re coming for you. Who’s they? If

it’s all over, why are we here?”

“You don’t need to worry about that. That the past is done with, and

our new lives are only just beginning.”

Damir leans in closer, as if he’s going to kiss me, but I dodge away.

“What are you going to do to Mikhail if you find him?”

As I expected, the mere mention of his brother’s name is enough to

make him pull back. I’ve just poured icy water all over his ardor. Take that,
you bastard.

“When I find him, I’m going to kill him. He sold me out for pussy.”

“He didn’t sell you out. He tried to help someone you were

terrorizing.”

Damir leaps off the bed and grips the headboard either side of my

head, leaning in menacingly close. “Don’t let me hear you talk about

another man like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you care about him. Especially not Misha. Everyone always

loves Misha.” He says his brother’s nickname nastily. Mockingly.

I should shut up, because I’ve already pushed him too far, but I can’t

help myself. “Mr. Ravnikar is a good man, and Ciara didn’t do anything to

you either. You’re just a sore loser.”

Damir’s eyes flare with cold blue fire. “I’m going to enjoy killing

that little bitch most of all.”

He really means it. I can see the desire for blood blazing in his eyes.

Damir’s hand slides lovingly around my throat. I turn my face away, afraid

to look upon the specter of my own death. I don’t want to die. I’m not going
to die. If he wants to play psychopath and kill everyone he’s ever known,

he’s not going to get me, too. I’ll be the one who survives.
 “And you my princesa.” Damir’s lips graze my cheek, and his hot

breath stirs my hair. “I’ve got all sorts of wonderful things in mind for you.”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Ten

OceanofPDF.com
 Damir

I feel Bethany stiffen at my words. She’s preparing to fight me off, to

defend herself from the man who’s coveting her body and her life.

I lean forward and plant a slow kiss on her cheek, letting her feel my
warm breath against her neck for a moment. Then I pull away and stand up,

enjoying the confusion in her eyes. I want her unprepared, off balance,

afraid of me. And horny as fuck.

“You stay tucked up nice and safe in here. Just where I want you.”

My eyes run over her pretty little body. I glance at the window, and then
back at her. “It will be dark soon. If you manage to get out of this room, be

careful. I go a little wild in the dark.”

Her eyes widen in alarm. I laugh and head out, locking the door

behind me. Even if she gets out of this room, she won’t be going very far.
We’re miles and miles away from the nearest land.

I pass Boris in the corridor. “Gather the men. I want a meeting on

the bridge in ten minutes.”

I stride through the yacht, laying out my plans in head. It promises

to be an interesting few days.

When everyone’s gathered, I look slowly around at them all. There’s

Boris, who’s been my head of security and right-hand man for two years
now. He’s a capable ex-Army northerner and he’s the one who’s been

sailing this yacht.

Then there’s Andreja, an ex-chef who’s taken over the galley and is

as good with a knife as I am, able to carve out eyeballs and joints of meat

with equal ease. And finally there’s Domen and Alenko, two biker types
who cut their teeth robbing banks. Domen used to be in the Army, and has

anchors and mermaid tattoos decorating his forearms.

“You know my primary objective,” I tell them all. “Finding my

brother and Ciara Alders. Boris, and I are going to focus on the

investigation. The rest of you are to keep an eye on our prisoner, keep the
yacht running and go ashore as needed. Only an eye on her,” I say, glaring

round at them. “If anyone touches Bethany, she’ll be wearing your balls as

fucking earrings.”

I let that rest on the air for a moment.

“Meanwhile, there’s something I need to do in Monto Carlo. An old

score I should have settled long ago. It’s going to be dangerous. It’s going

to be bloody. I can’t guarantee that we’ll all make it out alive. From Monte
Carlo, or from wherever my brother has gone to ground. But we’re doing

this, and we’re doing it my way. Is that understood?”

I look around at the men. They stare back at me stoically, and nod.

They’re hard as hell and I know I can trust them all.

 “What about the girl?” asks Boris.

“What about her?”

“Is she part of the plan?”

“Oh, yes. She’s a key part of both plans, Monte Carlo and finding

Mikhail.”

Boris frowns, and I know he’s thinking about the complications of

keeping her prisoner and keeping her safe at the same time. “What if she

gets hurt?”

No one and nothing on this earth is going to touch Bethany except

me. “Let me worry about the girl. You all do your jobs, and nothing can go

wrong.”

We’re through the Straits of Gibraltar. I go back up on deck and feel

the hot Mediterranean sunshine on my face. It won’t be long until we’re in

Monte Carlo. While the streets of this luxury gambling city will be

drenched in summer sunshine, our sojourn there is going to be anything but

a holiday.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Eleven

OceanofPDF.com
 Bethany

It’s surprising how boring being the prisoner of a madman can be. I’m free
to move about my cabin, now, but quickly lose interest in it. I do some yoga

moves and jumping jacks, and then grow sleepy because there’s nothing to
do, and lie down and have a nap.

Sometime later, someone opens my door and throws in two muesli

bars. I fume at them lying on the carpet, tossed there like I’m some animal,
and then get out of bed and pick them up. I chew them furiously sitting on

the bed, fantasizing about all the ways I could take my revenge on Damir.
Mikhail seems to have resorted to the law, throwing the evidence he has at

the police’s feet and then going into hiding. That won’t work for me. Maybe
I could castrate the bastard with a blunt knife.

When it’s dark, the man with the black ponytail brings me more
food. This time it’s a chicken casserole made with tomatoes and olives. It’s

lukewarm, as if I can’t be trusted not to make a weapon out of a hot meal.

The paper plate my food sits on is soggy so I eat quickly, and drink the

milky coffee it comes with. I have no bottled water so I drink out of the tap
in the bathroom again.

Then I stare at the cabin door, wondering where I could position

myself in order to get the jump on someone coming into the room. What
weapon could I use against them? Maybe I could make a garrote from a

piece of bedsheet, and when they come through the door I could slip it

around their neck and pull it tight. Could I kill someone in that way? I

imagine it carefully, the act of taking one of my captor’s lives. Ethically,

emotionally, I think I could. I’d need loads of therapy once I got back to
civilization, but after a few sessions I’d probably take it in my stride. These

people are kidnappers, after all.

Physically, though? I remember Damir’s strong arms tight around

my body as he held me to him, both to make me come and to restrain me. I

press my thighs together and wince at the tingling sensation. The guy who’s
been bringing me food is a foot taller than me and he works out. I might be

able to get the ripped piece of bed sheet around his neck, but I just don’t

have the upper body strength to strangle him while he struggles to free

himself.

I spend the remaining daylight hours doing push-ups and squats and

yoga poses, to pass the time but also to keep up what little strength I have.

Then I take a shower, and put my clothes back on my wet body because I
have no towels. I peer out the window for a while, hoping to see lights in

the dark, but it’s all inky blackness.

There’s nothing else to do, so I go back to bed and hope to sleep

until morning.
 I’m roused sometime later by the sense that something is wrong, but

I can’t place what it is at first. Everything seems normal. The corridor

beyond my door is calm and quiet. Then I realize what it is.

It’s too quiet.

The background hum of the yacht’s engine has died away. I get up

and go to the window, peering out at the ocean and then as far as I can to
the left and the right. It’s still pitch black out there. We haven’t pulled into a

port. Maybe the crew have killed the engines because the plan is to stay

here, in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe we’ve broken down.

My heart leaps at the thought. If we’re stranded, Damir and his men

will have to put out a distress call. Other people mean the possibility of

rescue. I alternate between peering out the port window and standing with

my ear pressed against the door. Feet tramp up and down the corridor

outside for a few minutes, and I call out, but I’m ignored. Then I hear

voices raised in anger, though I can’t make out the words.

After about thirty minutes, the lights snap out.

I’m plunged into darkness, and the first tendrils of apprehension curl

through me. What if the yacht’s been boarded by pirates or some other

terrible group of people? I’m trapped, with no way to defend myself.

I start hammering on my door. “Hey! Hey, you guys out there! What

the hell’s going on? Damir? Ponytail guy? Are you out there?”
 Maybe there’s been a mutiny on board and someone’s hurt Damir, or

even killed him. Maybe whoever it is has become sick of their crazy boss

and is going to take us back home. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the coast
guard or water police or something. My spirits lift, and I call out and bang

on the door with renewed energy.

A key turns in the lock, and I stumble back. The door opens, and I

blink in the sudden light. It’s not Damir, but one of his men, and he’s

holding a torch.

Shielding my eyes from the glare, I ask, “What’s going on? Is the

yacht in trouble?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says roughly, and I recognize his voice.

Ponytail guy, and he seems wound up. “Stay in here, and quit making so

much rack—”

There’s a blood-curdling masculine scream from somewhere down

the corridor, and then a thud.

“What was that?” I gasp, as the same time ponytail guy spits a curse.

He slams out of my cabin and his footsteps hurry away. I’m left in utter

darkness once more, straining to hear anything beyond these four walls.

If we’ve been boarded, please let it be the coastguard or water

police. I could be rescued by morning. I imagine being winched up to a

rescue helicopter in the arms of some tanned coastguard, and then being
interviewed tearfully on the morning news by a sympathetic female news

anchor.

There is, of course, the possibility that whoever attacked one of the

crewmembers will do worse things to me than Damir has planned, but hey.

I’m trying to stay positive here.

I’ve been staring at the door as I ponder, and I suddenly realize I

didn’t hear ponytail guy lock the door when he left. At least, I don’t think I

did. Slowly, I feel my way forwards. My fingertips brush the wall, and I

move a little to the right until I feel doorframe. With a pounding heart, I

fumble for the door handle and turn it. Then I pull.
The door opens.

I swallow a yelp of delight. A sliver of red emergency lighting falls

inside across my feet. I strain my ears, barely breathing, but there’s no

sound beyond. Should I stay where I am? Or go and see for myself?

There might be help out there. I have to go and see for myself.

I edge out into the corridor, alert to the possibility of danger.

Keeping my back against the wall, I tiptoe toward the staircase that leads to

the fresh air. Peeking up to the deck above, I see no one. I hear no one,

either. It’s like a ghost ship.

A panicked thought steals over me. What if everyone’s abandoned

the yacht but me? What if everyone’s dead but me? The killer could still be
stalking the decks. I clap a hand over my mouth, smothering a hysterical

giggle. I’d really be Darwin Award-worthy if I got gutted like a fish because

I’ve been locked up too long and I’m going a little crazy.

“All right, bitch, be practical,” I whisper. “Forget knife-wielding

maniacs.”

A warm sea breeze fans my face as I look slowly around. I’m

toward the back of yacht. The bridge and all the electronic equipment will

be at the front. The power seems to be out, but I think ships and things have

emergency generators, don’t they? If I can reach the bridge, I can radio for

help.

I start edging my way forward through the starry darkness, and I

hear nothing but my own breathing. I leave the emergency lighting behind

me, but the yacht is silvered with moonlight so I can see well enough. I turn

to look over my shoulder, and I think I see a shadow move, as if a man has

just ducked out of sight. I stare at the spot for a full minute, wondering if I

imagined it.

God, I hope I imagined it.

Swallowing, I edge forward again. Both my feet are on the ground

when I hear a footfall. I squeeze my eyes shut and mouth one word: Fuck.

I’m being stalked.

 Do I call out for help or run for my life? That weird sensation that

I’m watching a movie of my own life steals over me again. I’m in the

audience too, and we’ve seen the deaths of each and every person aboard

this yacht. The camera has shown me walking unwittingly past blood-

streaked walls and dismembered corpses. Now I’m edging toward my own

death. No no no! we’re all screaming, throwing popcorn at the screen. Don’t

go out there. Barricade yourself in your room. This chick is TSTL!

Yeah, I’ve made too many mistakes to be the final girl. I’m
definitely getting snuffed.

I grip the railing, staring blindly around in the dark. I need to make
one last solid effort to stay alive, and that barricade is sounding pretty good

about now. I can’t double back because whoever is stalking me is behind

me, but I can cross to the other side of the deck and try to lose myself in the

shadows.
On silent feet, I hurry to the left hand side of the yacht—starboard?

—and crouch down. My eyes land on a stainless-steel fire extinguisher with

a blue label. DRY POWDER: For trash, wood, paper, flammable liquids

and electrical fires. It’s about a foot and a half long, and when I pull it from
its holder I find it’s comfortingly solid and heavy. One good thwack to a
man’s head and he’d go down. For good measure I pull the pin out and
practice aiming the nozzle. Now I have a melee and a ranged weapon.
Score.

This asshole following me wants me to go back to my room. If I’m

in my room then I can’t reach the radio, and he’s got all the time in the

world to break in and get me.

I should go to the bridge, and I can always barricade myself in there.

The bridge it is.

But as I set off, I hear a noise in front of me this time. What the
hell? Is he behind me, or in front of me? Is there more than one of them?

My eyes land on the fire extinguisher again, and then at the hatch just to my
right.

Holding my breath, I spray a swathe of white powder all over the

deck. I saw this in Paranormal Activity, when the man was trying to

discover if an invisible demon was coming into their room at night. The
powder comes out in a hiss so loud that no one nearby can have failed to

hear it. Gripping the canister tightly, I flip open the hatch and climb down
the ladder one-handed, my heart pounding wildly in my ears.

As I stand in the dark space among what feels like stacks of life
vests, I listen with everything I have. All is silent, but is that because I was

imagining things, or because the hatch is closed?

 I make myself count slowly to one hundred, and then ascend the
ladder once more. It’s awkward doing this while holding the extinguisher,

but I’m not letting go of the only thing I have to protect me. When I’m
standing on the deck again, I look around.

There’s a pair of footsteps going right through the powder. Male

ones. Big ones.

They’re heading toward the bridge. There was someone following

me, and now I can’t get to the one thing that was going to save my—

Hands grab me. The extinguisher is yanked from my fingers and

thrown overboard. I’m forced face-first into the wall and pinned there. I try

to scream but a hand clamps over my mouth.

“Got you,” a voice says roughly in my ear.

My eyes go wide. A body is pressed tightly against mine, a strong

chest against my shoulders. Whoever it is strokes his hand down my back

and cups my ass, working his fingers into the cleft. My eyes go wide, and I
make angry buzzing sounds in the back of my throat.
Then I catch the silky scent of his familiar cologne.

I’m hyperconscious that I’m not wearing any underwear beneath my

skirt. When his fingers slide between my legs, I can’t help the moan that

escapes me. Adrenaline has over-sensitized my body.

 “Did I scare you, princesa?” he whispers harshly, rubbing my sex

back and forth with possessive, hungry movements. Wetness surges against
his fingers.

There was nothing wrong with the yacht. Damir staged the whole
thing.

The vibe was one thing. Rubbing myself against the fingers of a
man who has stalked me through a darkened ship and shoved me up against
a wall is another. My cheek heats against the cool metal wall, and I gasp

and buck. He leans his weight on me even more.

“No, not again. Leave me alone.”

His fingers find my clit and I gasp, my head thrown back. I can feel
his breath lightly fanning the nape of my neck.

“What do you want from me?” I gasp.

“I thought that was obvious.”

I shake my head as much as I can. Not that. I can’t do that. Not with
him.

He lets me go, and I turn around to face him, my whole body

shaking. The night air is cutting through my thin clothes and I feel the loss

of his warmth keenly.

Damir’s sharp cheekbones are brightly lit by moonlight but his eyes

are in shadow, making his face resemble a skull. Or a reaper. He watches

me silently for a moment, his arms tense at his sides.

I shake my head again. That’s all I can muster right now. A

primitive refusal that any of this is happening.

Damir pulls his T-shirt up over his head and tosses it aside. I suck in
a breath at the sight of him. His broad chest and heavy shoulders taper

down to a lean waist. His stomach is flat and muscular, with a trail of dark
hair disappearing into his tight-fitting jeans.

There’s a bulge over his crotch, and I watch, frozen in fear, as he

unbuttons his fly and zips it down. He’s not wearing any underwear. A

patch of dark hair is revealed, and then the thick base of his cock. His
length springs free as he pushes his jeans slowly down and steps out of

them. Damir Ravnikar is sculpted like a Roman statue, but with a much,
much bigger dick than any Classical artist would dare to carve.

Damir comes forward and grasps my wrists, pressing them to the

searing flesh of his chest. I’m backed against the wall. The night has taken
on a sense of unreality. Adrenaline has made me light-headed. Damir’s

hands slip beneath my blouse and palm my waist and belly. A cool breeze
blows across my flesh, making my nipples tighten. Damir’s heated gaze

slips down over my body and sees them standing out in little points.
He pulls my top up and over my head and casts it aside, and then

pulls the skirt down my legs. The bra he unclasps and throws aside. With
my naked body pressed against his, I feel drunk and afraid. He hoists me
easily into his arms and my legs wrap around his hips. The cool wall

presses against my back and I hold onto his shoulders. I can’t see his eyes in
the dark, but I feel their intensity.
Then his mouth is on mine. A lover’s kiss, deep and hungry. His

tongue invades my mouth and I open before him, powerless to resist.

Damir shifts his hips, and the blunt, silky tip of his penis pushes

against my sex, and my senses finally flood back. My eyes fly open. I don’t
know what I’m doing. I’ve never had sex before. Under his touch, I’d

completely forgotten.
“No, wait. I’m a virgin,” I gasp against his mouth.

If I thought that would make him hesitate or let me go, I was wrong.
Damir just growls and kisses me harder. With his hands palming my ass, he

penetrates me slowly. It feels like I’m being invaded with a hot, thick
weapon. Searing pain makes me cry out and I lock my arms around his

neck, clutching for dear life to the very thing that’s causing me such agony.
My core tightens painfully around him.

“Please, stop,” I whimper. “I can’t bear it.”

Damir pauses, and as if to counter the brutality of his cock lodged

partway into me, he plants soft kisses all over my face and throat,
murmuring in Slovenian. But he doesn’t withdraw. He reaches down
between us to find my clit, rubbing tenderly on my aching flesh. A ribbon
of pleasure curls through me.

“Shh, princesa.” His lips brush against mine. “There’s nothing to be

afraid of.”

He holds me like this, pinned against the wall by his body and his
cock. The respite is only temporary. He’s not going to stop or put me down.

The cool night air ruffles my hair as he kisses my throat. I let my head fall
back, trying to get used to the sensation of him. With his fingers touching

me so tenderly I start to feel licks of flame coursing up my body. Damir

presses me harder against the wall, and surges forward again. The pain is

blinding for a moment, overwhelming, and I cry out.

“Liar,” I hiss, burying my face into his neck and wrapping my arms

tightly around him. Hold me. Protect me. Make it better.

Damir pulls back and thrusts again. I brace myself for pain—but this
time there’s nothing. Just an ache that becomes something more as he
thrusts again. He does this over and over again, setting a steady, punishing

rhythm. Deep inside me, the pleasure has started to throb, and it pulses to
the rhythm of his thrusts. I arch my pelvis to meet him, as if he’s taken
hostage of my senses, not only my body. Damir thrusts up and gravity pulls
me down.
 “I was always going to capture you, my little princesa,” Damir tells
me. “So why did you run?”

He smiles in the darkness, his white teeth gleaming.

I breathe raggedly through the sensations clawing their way through
me, and then my whole body is racked with bliss as he pounds me with
hard, reckless thrusts that match mine, and we’re overwhelmed together. As
he comes he presses my hands against the wall with his own, supporting my

weight with his thrusting cock.

Finally, he stills, his face presses against my throat. My tongue feels
thick in my mouth.
I take a shuddering breath. “Put me down.”

Slowly, he lets me slide down the wall. I stand limply on the cold
floor, feeling bruised and battered, and barely alive, like hunted prey
should. Damir takes me by the hand and leads me away from the direction
of my cabin. I’m too weak to wonder where we’re going.

He takes me into a bedroom, picks up a two-way radio from the

bedside table and speaks briefly into it. “We’re done. Back to your
stations.”
Damir leads me through to the bathroom, and I follow him like a

sleepy child. He turns the taps on and washes me under the hot shower. The
water cascades over our naked bodies, and his hands holding the loofah are
gentle as he rubs warm, soapy water all over my body. He’s the one who’s
made me raw inside and out, but now he’s making it better again.

I look at his cock under the running water, still thick and swollen,
though not so upright. I thought if I ever had sex a cock would feel like a
length of dead flesh inside me, and I’d be numb around it. What just
happened with Damir was anything but deadened.

“Want me again already?” he rumbles with a smile, noticing me

staring at his cock. He shuts off the water and I’m half afraid, half excited at
the thought that he’s about to press me against the wall and fuck me again.
But he only reaches for a towel and wraps me in it, before planting a

disarming kiss on my forehead.

“Soon, princesa. Very soon.”
He dries me all over, as gentle as he was with the loofah. I’ve never
seen him like this. I didn’t know he could be like this. Not any Ravnikar,
and certainly not Damir Ravnikar.

He puts me into bed and then gets in beside me, and switches out the
lights. Strong limbs wrap around me, pulling me against him. I’m cocooned
and safe, but all the same I lie there with my eyes wide open, confused.
“Is this your bedroom?” I whisper.

He mumbles a sleepy assent.

“Aren’t you going to tie me up?”
 “Go to sleep, princesa.”

“What if I try and kill you in the night?”

His teeth gleam in the darkness as he grins. “You know I love
foreplay.”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Twelve

OceanofPDF.com
 Damir

I wake several times in the night to check on Bethany, and find her sleeping
soundly. Or dead to the world, more like. The last few days seem to have

taken it out of her. Whenever I move my body she rouses slightly, nestles
closer to me in her sleep, and then descends into deep slumber again.

Yeah, she’s really about to murder me. I laugh softly and close my

eyes again.
Around half-past seven in the morning, her eyes finally flutter open.

She peers sleepily around, sees me just a few inches from her, looks down
and sees we’re both naked, and then gasps and shrinks away from me,

clutching the sheet to her chest.

“Good morning,” I say pleasantly, resisting the urge to grab her

wrist and yank her closer.

Her eyes are wide and confused, as if she’s having trouble

processing last night’s events.

“Yes. I fucked you. And I will again, very soon.” Her eyes widen in

alarm, and I laugh. “But not just yet, my tender little virgin. You can relax.”
Bethany sits up and looks about the cabin, frowning like she’s

piecing everything together. “You staged that whole thing last night, didn’t

you? The engines shutting off, the panicking, the yelling.”

 I just grin up at her, pushing the hair out of my eyes. She’s beautiful

in the morning. The sheet has slipped down over one of her breasts as she

talks, and I reach out with a forefinger to trace her rosy nipple.

She gasps at my touch, losing her train of thought. I palm her heavy

breast in my hand, kneading her flesh. Underneath the blankets, my already

hard cock comes to straining attention. I could have sex with her again. I

could be gentle with her. Well, I could try being gentle. Novelty can be

pleasant.

Bethany smacks my hand away. “Hey. Answer my question.”

I growl and sit up. “Ask nicely.”

She glares at me, her little white teeth set. “Please could you answer

my question?”

I’ll answer her. Not because her tone was any better, but because I

want her to know. “Yes, I staged the whole thing. I wanted to terrify you out

of your wits, and I loved every second of it.”

So did Bethany, but I can see she’s not ready to accept that. It

doesn’t matter. We both know that she came on my cock last night.
“The sun is shining at it promises to be a beautiful day. Let’s enjoy

ourselves.” There’s a phone on the bedside table, and I lift the handset and

speak into it. “Breakfast for two on the upper deck, prosim.”
 Getting out of bed, I find a pair of sweats and a T-shirt for Bethany,

and give them to her. Once we’re ashore I’ll be able to dress her in the

manner I prefer, but for now, it’s cute seeing her in my clothes. Like a

schoolgirl, she averts her blushing gaze from my naked body and pulls the

clothes on beneath the blankets, carefully keeping herself covered up. As if

I haven’t already seen everything.

How I’m going to love getting to know every inch of her body. Last

night was just an appetizer.

I dress in pants and a loose, button-down shirt, and then hold out my

hand for Bethany. She staring off into space, an expression of horror on her

face.

“Princesa?”

Bethany turns to me, accusation vivid in her voice. “You didn’t use

protection last night. You’re probably riddled with all sorts of disgusting

diseases. I’m not even on the pill.”

I feel my jaw tighten. “No, I’m not. I’m vigilant about what I do
with my body and I take care of myself. I take care of you, too. Do you

think I would let any harm come to you?”

Any harm that I don’t inflict on her myself, that is, for her pleasure

as well as mine.

“But I could still get pregnant!”

 I run my eyes down her curvy body. The thought of Bethany

pregnant with my child is an arousing thought. “Yes. You could.”

Her mouth falls open in shock. “This situation is screwy enough

without bringing a child into it. I need the morning after pill. Today. Now.”

I watch her carefully. Her face is pale with sleep and her long curls

are an untidy riot, but her eyes are blazing. “You’re in no position to make

demands.”

“You have a brother to take revenge on. Do you really think having

a child is a good idea just now?”

She does have a point, but that doesn’t change our situation. I can’t

give her what she’s asking for. “This is a well-stocked yacht, but I’m afraid

it doesn’t come with a pharmacy.”

“Take us to shore then, or make a call and chopper the meds out

here.”

I suppose I could do that, but I don’t know if I want to. I point at the

bathroom door. “Go wash up. Then breakfast. You have three minutes to

meet me up on the main deck.

Bethany folds her arms. “And if I refuse?”

I lean close, making my voice dangerously soft. “Then I’ll lock you

back up in that stuffy little cabin and come and play with you down there,
where no one can hear you scream.”
 A little ripple goes down Bethany’s spine, not of fear. Anticipation.

“Or maybe I’ll just do that anyway.” I reach for her, but she nips smartly

into the bathroom. My laugh follows her as she slams the door.

Up on the main deck, the table has been set for two with linen,

bottles of sparkling water, jugs of juice and a bowl of fruit salad. I sit down

and wait for my girl, watching the gentle undulation of the sea. It’s a perfect

day, clear and sunny, with a cool breeze to take the sting out of the hot

sunshine.

A few minutes later Bethany appears. She stares at the table for a

moment as if she finds everything about this distasteful.

“Sit,” I tell her, forcing a smile to my lips.

She does as she’s told, but sits cross-legged and slouching in the

chair like a rebellious teenager. Bethany’s usually impeccably feminine. I

suppose she thinks she’s denying me what I want by acting like this. As if I

don’t know how to handle a bratty woman.

I reach for the silver coffee pot and pour out two cups, and then take

the lids off dishes of scrambled eggs, bacon, smoked salmon, mushrooms

and spinach. Bethany sits there, just looking at the food, so I get to work

filling both of our plates.

I’m famished and take a huge bite of bacon and egg. “Eat, princesa.

You need it after last night.”

 Bethany stares mulishly off to one side.

“I thought you wanted that pill,” I remind her. I haven’t decided if

I’ll give it to her yet, but I’m not above blackmail.

She glowers at me for a moment, and then picks up her knife and

fork. At first she takes small, reluctant bites, but the food is good and her

appetite is sparked, and soon she’s eating with gusto. I offer her cream and

sugar for her coffee, and she nods.

“Where are we?” she asks, gazing around at the sun sparkling on the

azure sea.

“It’s a secret.”

Bethany makes an impatient noise. As she chews, she contemplates

the horizon, and then glances at the sun in the sky, squinting. “It’s warm, so

we’ve probably traveled east into the Mediterranean, or south down the

west coast of Africa. We’re travelling into the rising sun right now, so I’m

going to guess we’re travelling east. Mediterranean?”

I laugh softly, buttering a piece of bread. “Well deduced.”

She eats easily now, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. My eyes

slip down over her body and I remember the feel of her legs wrapped
tightly around my hips.

She was a virgin. That was unexpected. I wonder who or what she

was saving herself for. I choose to believe it was me. Or, if not literally me,
then the only man who could make her feel like she did last night. I took

Bethany out of revenge, but even before I knew my brother was a

despicable, lying bastard, I wanted her. When this is all over, I’ll still want

her.

“If you are pregnant, I’d never let anything happen to you. Or the

child.”

Bethany’s fork clatters onto the plate and sits back.

“If you—”
“I have questions about Mr. Ravnikar and Ciara.”

The bread in my hand suddenly looks as appetizing as maggoty

flesh, and I put it down. “Why must you bring them up while we’re eating?

You’ve spoiled my appetite.”

“Fair’s fair. You already spoiled mine. Why haven’t you asked me if

I know anything about their whereabouts?”

“I’ve had other things on my mind when it comes to you.”

She takes a shuddering breath. “Why me? You’re rich. You’re good-
looking. There must be hundreds of women willing to sleep with you and

play your crazy games.”

Willing, perhaps. But not enthusiastic and wet, and clinging to me
like they never want me to let up or let go. “You already know why. It takes
two for the games I enjoy. I wouldn’t have taken you if I didn’t already
know you wanted to play, too, my little virgin-that-was.”

Her cheeks turn pink and her eyes fearful. “What’s that supposed to
mean?”

“It means, if any other man made you feel like I make you feel, you
would have given yourself to him already. But you didn’t. You waited for

me. The man you deserve.”

Her eyes flick disdainfully over me. “If you’re what I deserve, then I
must have been a monster in a past life.”

I throw back my head and laugh. She’s not going to make me angry
with her little jibes.

Bethany shakes her head. “Whatever, you crazy bastard. I know one
thing for sure. Mr. Ravnikar and Ciara don’t deserve whatever you plan on

doing to them, so how about you just drop this revenge plot and we can all
go home?”

There’s no going back. Not ever. Not for me, Bethany, and certainly
not for Mikhail and Ciara. “Why are you still so loyal to him? He left you

behind.”
She shrugs, her expression unhappy. “I missed his call. He had to

protect Ciara from you. He’s obviously in love with her, and I’m happy
about that. I’m happy in the part I had to play in their relationship.”
 I feel my brows draw together. “What?”
“You really thought Mr. Ravnikar could have come up with that

scheme to win her all on his own? Please. He’s even more hopeless with
women than you are.”

She’s speaking carelessly but I can sense a ripple of her fear beneath
the surface. It’s matched by my own gradually unfurling anger as I listen to

what she’s saying.

“Bethany,” I growl. “What the fuck has any of this got to do with

you?”
She lifts her chin, daring and afraid at the same time. “It’s got

everything to do with me. If it wasn’t for me, Mr. Ravnikar would never
have fallen in love with Ciara. He would never even have spoken to her. It

was all my idea.”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Thirteen

OceanofPDF.com
 Bethany

Damir starts up out of his chair and slams his palms on the table. “Bethany.
What did you do?”

I meet his blazing eyes. Better that he’s furious with me than
thinking we can start some happy little family on the run. “I knew you were

a madman. I knew what you’d do to Ciara if you got your hands on her. I

coached Mr. Ravnikar on how to be a sugar daddy so he could give Ciara

the money you were extorting from her.”

To my amazement, my voice doesn’t shake. I want to shut up

because I’m only making him angrier, but his anger is the only tool I have.

Damir’s mouth twitches, and then he collapses back in his chair,

roaring with laughter. “Misha the sugar daddy! My surly-ass brother is a

sugar daddy?”
He keeps laughing as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, and

then passes his hand over his face, still chuckling.

“Wait, why aren’t you angry?”

“Because it’s just too pathetic. Did he meet her in hotel rooms and
get his cock sucked for ten grand a time?

“Actually,” I say icily, “it was all done very tastefully. Private dining

rooms at La Fleche D’or. Shopping at Chanel. Vacations abroad in his

private jet. He treated Ciara like a gentleman should.”

I look down at my borrowed clothing and the yacht around me. I’m

sitting on a god-knows-how-many million-pound superyacht, but there’s

been nothing gentlemanly about the way Damir has treated me. Ciara may

have been lied to at first, but at least she wasn’t kidnapped. I bet she was
eager to go with Mr. Ravnikar when she saw how much he loved her. They

must be so happy together right now.

“How touching,” Damir says dryly.

“Mr. Ravnikar worked hard to win Ciara over. He has class and

sensitivity, two things you clearly lack, and he’d never, ever hurt her. He’s
going to protect the woman he loves with everything he’s got.”

Damir shouts with laughter again. “Is that what you think you want?

A big soppy teddy like my brother to paw at you and buy you handbags?

Please. I can give you something much, much better.”

“Like what?”

He grins wider.

I shift in my chair, feeling the pinch of my shredded virginity.

Whatever he has planned for me next it will probably be something

horrible. And I’ll come like a runaway train.

“Mr. Ravnikar isn’t a soppy teddy. He has manners and a sense of

honor.”
 “Stop calling him Mr. Ravnikar. He’s not your boss anymore.”

“What should I call him, then? Misha?”

Damir’s eyes turn black and cold. “No.”

I take a pert sip of my juice. That wiped the smile off his face. “I’ve

heard you call him Misha.”

“Only to remind him of something that happened long ago.”

“Which was?”

Damir pours us both more coffee, adds cream and sugar to mine,

and then sits back, steaming cup in his hand. Instead of answering my

question, he says, “I’m curious to know some things.”

Yeah. So am I. Such as, What the hell are we going to do now, you

crazy bastard? “Oh?” I say, letting him go first. It’s only polite. He’s the

kidnapper, after all.

Damir frowns, looking genuinely perplexed. “Why did he want to

help Ciara in the first place? My brother was never moved by gold-diggers

before.”
“Ciara wasn’t a gold-digger, and Mr. Ravnikar—Mikhail—wanted

to help her before he even met her. That footage of her at the funeral

seemed to get to him. I walked in and saw him watching it and he got all

funny.”

“What do you mean “funny”?”

 “I don’t know. All brooding and touchy. He saw you looming over

Ciara and it made him grumpy or something. Grumpier than usual.”

Damir’s jaw bunches in anger. “Did he, now?” he says softly.

“I suggested the sugar daddy thing and to my surprise, he went for

it.”

“And then that little grasping bitch wound him around her little

finger.”

“No. I told you, she’s not like that. She made Mikhail work for it,

even as terrified and desperate as she was.” Terrified because of you. “She

pushed him away again and again because she was too proud to take money

from someone she didn’t know.”

Damir makes an impatient gesture. He’s determined to think the

worst of Ciara. In his strange way, I think Damir actually loved Mikhail,

and Mikhail may have loved him, too. It’s a shame it all fell apart, because I

doubt there’s another soul in the world who could ever love Damir

Ravnikar.

There’s a storm raging behind Damir’s blue-gray eyes and he glares

at the horizon.

“I don’t know why he wanted to help her,” I say slowly, “but you

do, don’t you?”

 Damir starts breathing faster, his chest lifting with short, angry

breaths. “Yes. I know why. Our father used to hit our mother, and Misha

loved his mama.” He sneers this like loving his mother was a terrible

personality fault. “She’s the one who called him Misha. When he saw me

having a little talk with Ciara, those old memories must have come back.

Everyone’s always said I look just like our father.”

Damir gets up and starts pacing up and down. “Misha the white

knight just had to protect the poor little girl, did he? Always so fucking

noble. I suspected Mikhail hates me as much as he hated our father, and

now I know he does.”

“Well, if you’re going to act just like your father,” I point out,

shrugging.

“How dare he think that,” Damir seethes, “when I killed our father

for him.”

“You what?”

He turns to the railing and grips it with his hands, as if he’s trying to

strangle it to death.

I hesitate, and then get up and go to his side. Damir is glaring at the

horizon. “What are you talking about, Damir?”

“Did you ever see Mikhail without his shirt on?”

 “Of course I haven’t. I told you, there’s was nothing like that

between us.”

He glances down at me, and then turns and rests his hip on the

railings and folds his arms. With the sun limning his black-shirted shoulders

and glinting on the dark hair of his arms, he looks like a villain brought out

into the light.

“If you had, you would have seen an ugly great scar on his chest,

right over his heart. Our father did that to him when he was twenty-one. He

stabbed his own son with a kitchen knife. If I hadn’t shown up, Mikhail

would have died. I saved him, the ungrateful bastard.”

I picture it, the young Damir struggling with his father to save his

brother’s life. He must have loved Mikhail, once. “So you killed a tyrant

and became the tyrant.”

“I don’t lose any sleep. Not over the things I’ve done.”

I watch him go back to the table and sit down. “What do you lose

sleep over?”

“People who haven’t been made to pay. But I’m working on it.”

I sit down as well and reach for my glass of juice. Curious, that
Damir is so into justice. His idea of justice, at least. While I’m lost in

thought, Damir moves his plate aside and opens his laptop.

A few minutes later, he frowns. “That’s strange.”

 “What’s strange?”

He turns the laptop toward me. It shows a browser search for

London woman missing July. “No one’s reported you missing.”

I run my eyes down the results. A lost and found teenager. A British

woman who disappeared in Thailand was and later found drowned. Some

other hits for women missing in other years.

I sit back and bury my face in my juice. “Oh. Okay.”

“Why aren’t you surprised?” Damir asks, his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t know. Shouldn’t you be glad? Stop asking stupid

questions,” I retort, glaring out across the sea. Damir’s eyebrows lift, and I
kick myself for letting the news get to my like that.

“Why hasn’t anyone reported you missing, Bethany?”

Because nobody’s noticed that I’m gone. Tinder dates are hardly

going to come looking for me.

“Bethany. Answer the question. It’s been four days, and—”

“I’m going back to the cabin. It’s hot.” I stand up, but Damir catches
my wrist and holds me in place.

“No, you don’t. Where are your parents? Why have your friends not
noticed you’re gone?”
Of all the things that might have made me cry since being

kidnapped, I wasn’t expecting it to be this. I blink furiously. “Mind your

own damn business.”
“No, I won’t. Tell me why no one’s reported you missing.”

I twist in his grasp, trying to free myself, but I only make the raw
skin on my wrist burn. “Because I haven’t got anyone to report me missing,

okay? Now fucking let me go!”

For once he doesn’t look angry. His blue-gray eyes are filled with

concern. “I don’t believe you.”

As if I’d lie about something like that. Chest heaving, I say, “Just be
happy there’s no one coming after me.”

“Where are your parents? Are they dead?”

“No. I don’t know.”

Damir stares at me for a full minute, and then growls, “This isn’t
fucking good enough.” He turns back to his laptop and starts typing angrily.

I watch him, massaging my wrist and frowning. When I come

around behind him to look at the screen, I see he’s on the Crimestoppers

website. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t look up from typing. “I’m reporting you missing.”

“What? Why?”
“There should be police out there looking for you. People being

questioned. Investigations. Reports.”

 I laugh incredulously. “Damir, you’re crazy! You’re my kidnapper.
You’re not supposed to be the one who reports me missing. You’re

supposed to be happy that no one’s coming after me.”

I read over his shoulder. Bethany Voight. Five-foot-six, black hair,

Caucasian, twenty-one-years-old. Last seen arriving at work in the City of

London. Disappearance possibly connected to the British-Slovenian citizens

Damir Ravnikar and Mikhail Ravnikar, and British citizen Ciara Alders,
who have all recently left the United Kingdom.

“Don’t put—” I start to say, Don’t put that bit about me being
connected to you, or they might really find me, before I remember that I

actually do want the police to find me. I stare at Damir, perplexed. “You
realize this could make things more dangerous for you? If my photo ends up

in the press, someone might recognize me.” If I’m ever taken ashore.
Maybe he never will.

Damir finishes the form, and hits submit. “It changes nothing. I
assumed people were looking for you.” He stands up and puts two hands on
my shoulders, and stares deep into my eyes. “Why isn’t anyone looking for

you?”
Is he pitying me? I shrug his hands off angrily. “Because I haven’t

got anyone to miss me. I haven’t got any parents. I lost all my old friends,
and I never made any new ones.”
 He frowns deeper. “How did this happen to you?”

“Mind your own business!”

“Bethany,” he says tightly, but I ignore him. Shame is squirming in

my belly like knots of thick worms. Why did he have to tell me that no one
had even noticed I was gone? I planned on making new friends. I really did,

but it was too painful meeting up with the other foster girls after a while,
and I just couldn’t relate to the girls I’d meet at work or uni. Once they got
to know me, they’d think I’m a freak, and I have a hard time hiding what

goes on inside my head. Too often I blurt out exactly what I’m think, so it
was best just to take a break from people for a while.

“Bethany.”
My eyes snap to his. “What do you want me to say? You think I’m

taking all your bullshit in my stride because I’m happy, popular and well-
adjusted? You idiot.”

I think he’s going to slap me, but instead he cups my face between
his hands. “If everyone in the world has turned their back on you, then I’m

sorry. But you know what? Everyone means shit to me. Everyone but you.”
I take a shuddering breath. “I’m not falling for this manipulative

bullshit. If you think you’re going to say a few nice things to me and then
tomorrow we’re going to be wielding machine guns and robbing banks

together, you’re barking up the wrong badly-adjusted tree.”

 He grins. “Not banks. Only private mansions, and you won’t need

any weapon except that beautiful body of yours.”

“What?”

Instead of answering, he wraps his arms around me and plants a

tender kiss on my forehead. “Fuck. Everyone,” he whispers. “They’re not

worth the pain.”

“That us-against-the-world bullshit isn’t going to work on me,” I

whisper, my eyes closed, cheek pressed against his chest. He’s holding me
tighter than anyone’s ever held me in my life. “You might have reported me

missing, but you’re still my captor. So fuck you, too.”

Damir takes hold of my hips and pushes me back so he can look into

my face. “Watch your pretty rosebud mouth, princesa, or I’ll find a way to
fill it.”

“I’ll watch nothing. I’m not scared of you.”

I brace for his stinging slap across my face. The swift punch in my
guts that will leave me doubled over and gasping for breath.

But neither come.

Damir smiles. “No, you’re not, are you?” Slowly, he slides his hand

around my hips, and then descends into my sweatpants to cup my naked

ass. “Not right this minute, anyway.” He bends closer so his lips are against

my ear. “Not like you were last night.”

 He goes on kneading my ass, and then slips down deeper toward my
pussy. I put my hands on his chest, trying to remember what we were

talking about. His brother. His father. Me not missing…oh, god. His fingers
reached my clit, and I’m back there in the dark, feeling gravity pull me
down the thick length of his cock as he has me pinned against the wall.

“Damir, don’t—”
Damir plants a kiss on my mouth and I’m already breathing hard.

The tip of his tongue teases mine, and I can’t help but wonder what it would
feel like on my clit if he had me spread open beneath him.

When Damir draws back, he’s smiling a devilish smile. He looks

around us in satisfaction, as if he’s pleased to find the sun is shining and the

waves are lapping at the sides of the yacht.

“No one around for miles. Nothing to do but wait until it’s time.”

“Time for what?”

But he doesn’t reply. “It’s rather pleasant this, being a wanted man.

Almost like being on vacation. What do you think, shall we enjoy ourselves
today?”

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter Fourteen

Damir

She eyes me suspiciously. “What do you mean, enjoy ourselves?”

“Just what I said. Enjoy ourselves.”

Bethany looks so wary that I can’t help but grin again. “You know,
have fun. Relax. There’s a pool back there. We can swim, then maybe

watch a movie.”

She tucks her hair behind her ears and pulls my hand out of her
sweats as she moves away. “Oh, enjoy ourselves, like normal people? I

didn’t think you’d be into that.”

I can do normal things. Isn’t fucking her senseless normal?

Who cares? I’ll do it anyway.

“Très drôle,” I say, holding out my arm and directing her back to my

cabin.

“What’s that mean? “Very funny”? That’s French, not Slovenian.”

I cast her a mysterious look. “It is. Maybe it’s a clue for later.”
I have a few pairs of swimming shorts and I lend one of them to

Bethany, and she changes into them in the bathroom. She emerges with the
sweats over her arms and my T-shirt on. I’m already missing the sweats.

“You don’t have to wear anything. I’ve seen you naked,” I point out.

The moonlight was luminous on her skin. Her unmarked, pretty skin. How

beautiful she’d look under sunlight, too.

She puts her nose in the air and sails past me. “Come on, are we
swimming or not?”

The water is perfect and blue in the sixteen-foot-long pool. Bethany

jumps straight in, and comes up gasping with pleasure, my white T-shirt

clinging to her breasts. I slide in next to her.

“Being in the water on a yacht in the middle of the sea, with no one
to disturb us.” I smile, remembering her faked posts on the dating app. “It’s

a shame you can’t Instagram this moment.”

“I’d need a bikini for Instagram. Why don’t you take me shopping?”

Bethany smiles prettily up at me.

I feel puzzled for a moment, before I remember that she has an

ulterior motive for going ashore. The morning after pill. And another likely

ulterior motive. Escaping me. “I could. But you’re rather cute in my

clothes.”

I wrap my arms around her in the water, but she ducks out of my

grasp and slips away like a mermaid.

 I watch her lazily from the shallows as she swims laps, her body

cutting through the water. She’s quite fit, I realize, watching her move

easily back and forth.

After a while I get out and lie on a sunbed, napping in the warm

sunshine. When I open my eyes again Bethany is out of the water, too, and

is occupying another bed that’s in the shade. Being careful of her skin, I
suppose. I’ve always tanned easily but Bethany looks like the sort of

English rose who would burn to a crisp.

I go see about some lunch for us, and come back with a tray from

the galley. Smoked salmon, cheese, crackers, grapes, and a bottle of

champagne. The yacht was well-stocked when we set off from

Southampton. I put the tray on a low table and sit down on Bethany’s

sunbed without waiting for an invitation. She scooches up, looking

annoyed, but then interested as her eyes land on the food. She didn’t each

much at breakfast. I put a piece of brie on a cracker and hand it to her.

“There you are, my lady. Champagne?” Without waiting for her

reply, I pour her a glass. “Isn’t this the life?”

Bethany takes a cautious sip of her champagne, watching me. “Not

forgotten your great mission of revenge, have you?”

I grit my teeth. I’m trying to forget about Mikhail and Ciara for a

little while. I’ve briefed some private investigators on who I’m looking for,
and Boris is still searching flight records, so I’d rather think about more

pleasant things until something turns up. Like Bethany.

“What sort of movies do you like?” I ask her.

“Horror,” she says immediately.

“Do you really? I rather like horror, too.”

She lays a piece of smoked salmon over some goat’s cheese on a

cracker, and pops it into her mouth, munching appreciatively. “I think I’ve

gone off them, though. I feel like I’m living in one.”

I grin and pop a grape in my mouth. “Last night you mean? Yes, that

was rather fun.”

“That’s not what I said.”

No. But it’s what she meant.

“I’m still your prisoner, no matter how much smoked salmon and

champagne you feed me.”

“Yes, you are. And such a beautiful one, too.” I take a sip of

champagne. I think I’m rather good at this kidnapping business. Just look at

us, sitting here together by the pool, our relationship already consummated.

More or less willingly. How many other villains in my position could say

they’ve achieved so much, and so quickly?

Bethany plays with a grape, turning it round in her fingers. “I’m not
going to help you hurt anyone. Have you lived so long in your crazy,
cynical world that you’ve forgotten how normal people think?”

“In my cynical world, things are very simple. Betrayal has

consequences. Do you know what else is simple? Attraction.”

Still looking at the grape, Bethany bites her lip. Then she pops it

into her mouth and chews quickly. “Maybe I did let you touch me in your

office and maybe I did like it in a weird, twisted way,” she says in a low

voice. “But that doesn’t mean I like you, trust you, or think you’re anything

close to sane.”

I grin broadly. “Who says I’m not saner than all of you?”

“If you were sane, you would understand why Mikhail and I wanted
to help Ciara. I know you don’t want to hear it, but she’s a nice person. I

knew her a little from classes. She was always nice to me when I made the

effort to speak to her, and trust me, I wasn’t that nice to her. I get all prickly

around normal—around people. I’d watch her taking notes in class with

different colored pens and highlighters. It was cute.” She subsides into

silence, thinking. “I saw her on the first day of class, when she knew she

owed you money but had no idea how she was going get it for you. She just

wanted her life back. It wasn’t much, just her freedom and her studies, but it

was hers. I know how that feels. Growing up in foster care, nothing is

yours.”
 Bethany seems lost in thought, rolling another grape between her

fingers. I want to know what makes a girl like Bethany tick. She’s so unlike

anyone I’ve ever met. “What happened to you?”

She hesitates for a moment, and then says, “Google the baby in the

hatbox London.”

I reach for my phone and type the keywords into the browser. Up

pop a handful of articles from about a decade ago. An investigative

journalist got interested in a cold case. A baby left in a hatbox on a high

street at Christmas twenty years ago. The journalist failed. She never found

out where the baby came from.

I show Bethany a picture of a sleeping newborn. “This was you?”

She nods. “I could probably do one of those ancestry DNA tests and

see if I match with anyone in the database, but what would be the point? I’d

only discover the names of the people who didn’t want me. Fun.”

Bethany turns away as she drinks her champagne, but she can’t hide

what she’s feeling from me. What happens when you’re young shapes you

for life. I get it. Mikhail probably thinks that I’m the way I am because of

how our mother and father treated us, but it was Nataša’s death that
changed me, because that’s when I saw how little our family valued loyalty.

I should have remembered that before I returned to London and started

Ravnikar Enterprises with Mikhail. He couldn’t wait to forget her.

 I look down at my glass, swirling the remains of my champagne.

“Did Mikhail take Ciara overseas anywhere? Or talk about taking her

overseas?”

Bethany opens her mouth to answer, and then closes it, frowning.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Just curious.”

“No, you’re not. You’re fishing for clues.”

I bare my teeth at her in a smile. “You got me. So?”

But Bethany folds her arms and looks away. An ugly sensation

burns through me. “I played those voicemails he left for you. He waited,
what, an hour before taking off without you?”

“Fuck you.”
I reach for her, and she flinches away as if she’s afraid I’m going to

batter her like some drunken suburban husband. I take hold of her wrist and
haul her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s get changed.”

We put on sweats and T-shirts again, Bethany changing behind the

closed bathroom door. That’s the last time I’m going to let her do that. Then

I take her downstairs to the room below the bridge. It’s papered in maroon
and there are maroon velvet couches in front of a twenty-foot screen. Gold
sconces on the walls, like a movie theater of old.
 “Wow, this place is cute,” she says, gazing around. Her hair is extra
curly from the water and sun. I hand her a paper bag of sweets and collect

the remote control, and we sit down on one of the couches.

I press a button, and the screen flares into life. “What do we feel

like? Classic? Modern?”

I scroll through the Horror selection, until one of them catches

Bethany’s eye.
“It Follows. I’ve been meaning to see that.”
From the description, it’s a psychological horror about a fatal curse

that’s passed from victim to victim through sex. I start the film, watching
the story unfold but also watching Bethany, too. She chews on candied

snakes as the light from the screen plays across her face, biting down on a
soft head, pulling on it until it snaps, and then taking the length slowly into

her mouth with her tongue.

“Watch the film, Damir,” she says at one point when I’ve been

staring at her too long.

I can’t help it. She’s fascinating.

As the film progresses, I feel her inching closer to me. Maybe she’s
cold, or maybe she’s scared of the film, but from her rapt, unblinking stare,

I doubt it. About halfway through I lay my arm along the back of the couch,
and she doesn’t move away.
 Finally, the screen goes black, and the credits roll.
I turn and look down at Bethany. “What did you think?”

Bethany chews another jelly snake, thinking. “It was clearly

influenced by Halloween. Those suburban street shots. The synth music.

The crisp fall season. But the sex-zombie thing…that was different. I loved
it. They could have made it a stuffy morality tale or an excuse to put teen

sex on the big screen, but it was just a good and clever horror film.”
“What do you think happened to the main girl after the movie? The

sex zombie was still at large. Did it get her in the end?”
Bethany shakes her head confidently. “Oh, she’s totally going to

live, no matter what. She’s the final girl.”

“The what?”

She looks into her paper bag, examining the sweets to see what’s
left. “You know, the last one. The girl who survives. You must have noticed

that in just about every good horror film, the heroine outlives the bad guy.
Laurie from Halloween. Ripley from Alien. Sidney from Scream.”
I think back over the horror films I’ve seen, and many of them do

seem to be dominated by female characters. Women who survive.

“That’s who I am. The final girl.”

“You are?”
 “Yes. Or I was.” She looks up at me through her lashes, and

viciously bites the head off another jelly snake. “I’m not a virgin anymore,
so I’m probably doomed. Plus, I drank champagne with the bad guy. You’re

not allowed to drink or have sex if you’re the final girl. The bad guy likes to
get you while you’re having sex.”

Oh, how true that is. I slide my hand up her inner thigh, and to my
surprise, her eyes flutter closed. I keep exploring her body through the soft
clothes, and she moans and arches into my hand.

I lean down and put my lips against her ear. “Bethany, baby. Do
horror films make you wet?”

She sucks slowly on the jelly snake, her eyes still closed, then pulls
it from her mouth with a pop. Eyes still closed, she murmurs, “They just get

me so hot. They always have.”

I ease down the waistband of her sweats. They’re so loose that they

slip off easily. Her breath hitches, but she keeps talking. I get down between
her legs and spread her open.

“Chainsaw murderers. Knife-wielding maniacs. Inhuman monsters.

They want to kill me, but they really want to fuck me. First. They still want

to kill me.”
My intake of breath is a hiss as I see how wet she is. I lean forward

and kiss her pussy, and then slip my tongue between her folds. I groan,
because my girl tastes like hot arousal and sweet sugar.

“It’s the only way that I can get off.”

I pull back a little and murmur, “Or if I scare the living daylights out

of you.”
She opens her eyes, and her green eyes meet mine as I go on licking

her. I expect her to deny it, but she pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps
her legs around my shoulders.

“Yes.” Arching her back, she moves her pussy closer to my mouth
and goes back to sucking that jelly snake, her tongue curling lasciviously

around it. Then she whispers, “Have you thought about hurting me?”
“Many times, princesa,” I say, pushing down my sweats, captivated

by the sight of her.

“Tell me how, please.” Bethany strokes her fingers through her

folds, lazily spreading her slipperiness all over her sex. I pull the jelly snake
from her lips and replace it for a moment with my finger, which she
obediently sucks.

“Choking you with my bare hands. That would be perfect,” I tell

her, taking myself in my hand. I’m as hard as a rock and scorching hot for

her.
Bethany’s eyes blaze with delight and curiosity, and I slip my hand

around her slender throat. So fragile. So willing to offer her most vulnerable
parts up to me. I rise up on my knees on the sofa, and I impale her slowly
with my cock. Bethany’s body goes supine beneath mine, surrendering

everything to me. As I work her with my cock her inner muscles ripple
around me.
“I’ve imagined going a little crazy with my knife, cutting too deep

by accident. Or maybe on purpose.” I speak softly and harshly as I start to

move my hips back and forth, deeper and deeper.

“You’d look so beautiful covered in blood, princesa. I’ve thought

about it many times.”

“So have I,” she pants. “So many times. I can still smell it on you.”
“I will take you like that again, amid the blood of my enemies. I can

think of nothing sweeter.” There’s a small, very sharp knife strapped to my

calf, and I reach down and pull it out, showing it to her. Her eyes flash with

interest. “Almost nothing sweeter.”

As I thrust into her, I move the blade down between our legs, the

blade glinting among sensitive parts. I apply the point to her soft inner
thigh. She’s staring at it with an intensity that is matched only by the

pounding of my heart.
I press firmly and draw the blade down. Bethany’s mouth opens in a

silent cry. I make a shallow cut of three, and as I reach the end and lift the
blade away, she comes. The sight of her blood dripping down her flesh and
becoming mingled with her arousal drives me wild.

I do it twice more, and each time she watches the path of the knife
with wide, enraptured eyes, her breath increasing in pitch, and then she

climaxes so hard she’s like a fucking vice around my cock. The third time I
come with her, and throw the knife to one side in favor of capturing her

hands and pressing them down into the sofa cushions as I lose all control.
“Damir, pull out,” she gasps.

I don’t want to, I’m past caring, but she entreats me with those green
eyes. At the last second I withdraw, and shoot ropes of semen over her

thighs. Over the traceries of ruby red blood on her thighs. Fuck, that’s even
better than coming inside her, and I marvel at the sight.

Bethany is breathing hard, her head thrown back and her eyes
closed.
“Wait here,” I tell her, pushing myself to my feet and tucking myself
back into my sweats.

I come back a few moments later with a damp washcloth and a first
aid kit. Bethany is sprawled where I left her, thighs open. She looks like a
desecrated Snow White, and absolutely perfect.
Tenderly, I wipe the blood and semen from her thighs while she

watches me, nibbling on her lower lip. The cuts are little more than nasty
scratches, the sort that a cat’s claw might inflict, and they’re clotting
already.

“This will sting, princesa,” taking a bottle of antiseptic and a cotton

pad out of the kit and applying it to her wounds.
She hisses in pain, and looks up at me reproachfully. I plant a kiss
on her nose, and then finish my tending by placing a large sticking plaster
over the cuts.

“There. All better.”

I feel strangely tender as I look at her. Without thinking, I draw her
into my arms, and hold her close. So brave. So beautiful too, to withstand
my storm and draw such delight from it.

Bethany covers her face and swears softly.

“What’s wrong, princesa?” I murmur into her hair.
“I don’t know whether you were joking about any of that or not.”
I think for a moment. “Fantasizing about hurting you? I wasn’t

joking.” I draw her chin up to mine and gaze at her fiercely. “And neither
were you.”
She swallows, and says in a small voice. “I need some fresh air.”
I help her into her clothes and take her up on deck. I stand with her

at the railings, holding her against me, unable to let go. For once she
doesn’t peer urgently around at the sea as if hoping for rescue. She clings to
me, her face painted with shame and her afterglow.

“That was harder for you than last night,” I guess. I was rough with
her last night, but today we acted out one of her fantasies, and by the look
on her face it was more intense than she imagined it would be.
“We shouldn’t have…” she trails off, and buries her face against my

chest.
Poor little dove. She’ll get over her shame in time. I’ll help her.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Fifteen

OceanofPDF.com
 Bethany

When I wake up the next morning, my first thought is that I need a shower,
a therapist and a morning after pill.

I shift in the bed, and Damir’s hands slide around my thigh and
belly. He palms the bandage on my thigh, rubbing it with possessive

delight. He doesn’t have any qualms about what we did. He was in an

excellent mood all evening, while I was sunk in confusion and horror. I let
my kidnapper hurt me, and I got off on it. Now I’m waking up in bed with

him after clinging to his warm body all night. I should just throw myself
overboard now.

Before I manage to open my eyes, Damir presses the thick rod of his
cock tight against my ass. Seeking. Needing. I find myself pressing back

against him and I’m so slippery from our close proximity that when I
wriggle back, the tip of his cock slips easily into me. Damir groans into my

hair as he takes hold of my hips, and thrusts all the way into me.

I’m tender from last night, and the night before, but it’s an ache I

can’t get enough of. Damir fucks me steadily; lazy, sleepy sex with only his
hips moving and my arms braced above my head against the headrest,

keeping my body still and arching my back so his dick goes good and deep.

His hand slips around my hips and the pad of his finger works my clit.
 “How I love you here with me,” Damir purrs in my ear.

He pulls out of me, pushes me onto my back and impales me again.

I look up at his body, moving in the morning light, hard muscles playing

over his chest and belly. He watches the plunge of his cock into my pussy

as if fascinated by the sight, and my fingers making small movements on

my clit. As my climax rises up, I forget about everything but him.

As soon as I feel him burst inside me, my senses come flooding

back. “Shit!”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, as he lazily withdraws.

“You didn’t pull out.”

“I guess I forgot.”

I bury my face in the pillow and groan, while he stretches his arms

over his head with a roar of satisfaction. “What a beautiful day it is. But no

more lounging about in the sun. Today, we have work to do.”

Him and me, or him and his men? I sit up angrily. “I’m not doing

anything until you get me that morning after pill.”

He ignores me and pulls on his clothes. Then he tosses my T-shirt

and sweats to me. “Want to see something?”

I get dressed and follow him up on deck, and I can’t help but gasp at

the view. Land. We’re maybe a mile offshore, so there’s no chance of me

jumping overboard and swimming for freedom, but there is a shore.

Civilization. People. A pharmacy.

“Where are we?” I ask, taking in the mountainous vista. Along the

shore is a glitzy city, with high-rise hotels and a marina.

“Monte Carlo.”

Monte Carlo, Monaco. It conjures up visions of Grace Kelly,

effortless and blonde in a convertible. Casinos. James Bond. Conspicuous

wealth. “What are we doing here?”

Damir slings an arm around my shoulders and takes a deep breath of

the clear sea air. “I have business with an old friend. I’m going to need you

on my arm, and dressed up like a woman of mine should look.” He glances

down at me. “Though I have to admit you look fucking adorable in my

sweats.”

Only one sentence of what he’s said matters to me. He’s going to

take me ashore. I wonder why he would he risk such a thing when he must

know that I want to escape. He’s not so stupid to think that I’m on his side
now just because we’ve been having sex.

He’s not stupid enough to believe I like him.

“Can we go ashore now?”

Damir smiles down at me. “So eager, princesa.”

“I want that morning after pill.”

 “Oh. That.” He lets go of me and strides off down then deck, and

disappears into the bridge. Then he comes back and passes a paper bag to

me, a taut expression on his face. “Here. Boris has already been ashore.”
There are two boxes inside the paper bag. One is the morning after

pill. The other is the contraceptive pill. Three months” worth. I wonder if

three months is the length of time he intends to keep me, or if there’ll be a

repeat prescription in my future.

I glance up at him suspiciously, wondering why he’s doing what I

asked, and more. Because he cares that I’m happy, or because he wants a

tractable captive?

He notices my hesitation, and reaches to take the bag back. “You

don’t have to—”

I rip open the packet and swallow the morning after pills down, dry.

“You’re welcome,” he says tightly.

I glower back at him. I’m not going to thank him for something that

he made me wait for and agonize over. If he thinks I’m going to have his

baby and tie myself to him forever, he’s more insane than I thought.

We eat breakfast up on deck again, and I take out and examine the

birth control pills. I count back the days to my last period. “What’s the day

today?”
“Sunday,” he says tightly.
 I pop out the correct Sunday pill, and swallow it down with some

juice. After six more days of these pills I won’t have to worry about

pregnancy. Damir goes sullenly silent. I make a meal out of my breakfast,

making mmm noises over the bacon and sucking the last of my orange juice

through a straw with loud gurgling sounds. As his irritation grows, so does

my pleasure.

Damir throws his napkin on the table and stands up. “I have some

things to do today. You will be all right by yourself?”

My heart lifts. He’s just going to let me wander around the yacht by

myself? I could poke into all sorts of useful things that might help me plan
an escape. “Uh…yes? Of course.”

“Good. If you need anything, just tell Boris.” He nods at someone

standing over my shoulder. I look, and my heart sinks. Ponytail guy is

staring back at me, hands folded in front of him. Dammit. Not by myself.

Damir leans down to kiss my cheek, his lips softly brushing against

my skin, and a ripple goes through me at his touch.

“There are some things for you in our cabin,” he murmurs.

“Someone will be going ashore again in a few hours. Let Boris know if

there’s anything else we can get you.”

I feel my eyebrows creep up my forehead. Wow. Such attentive

kidnappers.
 In Damir’s room, I find a beach bag, a stack of English-language

magazines and a few paperback novels. Thrillers and romances. The bag

has a sundress, a few T-shirts and some shorts, and sunscreen. I snort when

I fish out a bikini. Is this because of my quip the previous day about

Instagram? I pull it on and find that it more or less fits, and I take the beach

bag with the sunscreen and a romance paperback up to the pool. Boris

follows me at a discreet distance and stands in the shade where he can

watch me. Master’s orders, I suppose.

As I sit on a sunbed rubbing cream into my arms, I study the Monte

Carlo skyline. On those narrow streets I might lose Damir among the

crowds and report him to the police. I don’t have a passport, but that won’t

matter as long as I can reach a British Embassy. I could go back to London,

and Damir will be free to pursue as much bloodthirsty revenge against

Mikhail and Ciara as he likes.

A guilty pang goes through me. I pull out my novel and stare

determinedly at the first page. Mikhail and Ciara will just have to look after

themselves. What would me staying Damir’s captive achieve? I can’t

prevent him from doing exactly what he wants. I’ll just end up dead, too.
I read for a while, not really taking in the words. Days of fear and

tension have taken their toll on me. I find my eyes growing heavier and
drifting closed. The novel sinks into my nap. I’ll just rest my eyes for a

minute…

There’s a warm, rich scent in the air, something sleek and expensive

overlaying a muskier, masculine smell. Something brushes my lips, and my

eyes flutter open to find Damir’s mouth against mine.

Lazily, I kiss him back, before I come back into myself enough to

push him away. “My prince has come,” I say dryly, shifting up the sunbed a

little.
“He did, so I killed him and disposed of the body. Now you’re mine,

princesa.”
I stretch my arms up over my head and yawn. “No happily ever after

for me, then.”

When I open my eyes and look at him, he seems tense. I wonder if

he’s been trying to track Mikhail and Ciara down all day. Unsuccessfully.
“What have you been up to?” I ask.

He stares out to sea a moment, but I can tell he’s not seeing Monte
Carlo. There are darker thoughts pervading his mind. “That’s not

important.” He turns back to me. “All you need to know is that my loyalty,
once earned, is forever. Double cross me, and I will show no mercy.”
Jeez, someone’s in a mood. I walk two of my fingers playfully up

his arm. “Have I earned your loyalty?”

 Damir practically purrs as he cups my chin. “You, sweet one, are my
most precious possession.”

Despite his adoring words, I notice him watching me like a hawk.

He might do anything for me, but that doesn’t mean he trusts me.

“What are we doing here?” I ask, nodding at Monte Carlo.

“I’m tracking down an old business associate of my father’s. It’s

always nice to renew old friendships.”

Oh, sure. Friendships. “What are we really doing here?”
He smiles a slow, smoldering smile. “Always so quick, Bethany.

You don’t need to worry about that just now. What you do need to do is
play a part, and play it well. If you’re a good girl, you’ll earn some

privileges.”
“Like what?”

“More freedoms. Nicer things. And when this is all over, I’ll take
you anywhere you want to go.”

“And if I’m not a good girl?”

He leans in closer and whispers, “You wouldn’t like how I punish.”

He smiles wider. “Or maybe you would.”

He stands up and snaps his fingers at me. Imperious jerk. “Come

on.”
“Come on, what?” I say, staying where I am.
 “I need a red carpet look from you. There are things for you in our
cabin. Be ready in an hour.”

I scramble to my feet. “An hour? If you want a red carpet look,

you’re going to need to give me three.”

“Two.” And then he’s walking away.

I growl in frustration. “Sure, let me go bust my ass for my kidnapper

so he can have some candy on his arm tonight,” I mutter, stalking along the
deck of the yacht. On the inside, though, I’m celebrating. He’s going to take

me ashore tonight. It’s sooner than I’d hoped.

There are indeed things in our cabin, most notably a vivid red gown

hanging up on the wardrobe door. It’s encrusted with shimmering crystals.

Holy moly. Now that is a dress.

There are a few basic hair things like shampoo and conditioner,
bobby pins and hair spray. I wash my hair and body and shave my legs and

underarms. There’s no hair straightener or curling wand, so I put my

naturally curly hair up into pin curls to give them better definition, winding
each one up and securing it to my head with a bobby pin to dry.

The makeup is all in prepackaged kits from high-end brands, so it’s

decent enough quality, but the colors are all pretty random. Whoever

purchased it—Boris, I’m presuming—bought five different shades of liquid

foundation, I guess hoping that one of them would be correct. I test each
one on my collarbone until I find more or less the right shade, and apply

that, along with bronzer, eyeshadow, mascara and blush.

There’s no concealer, though. No eyebrow pencil. No primer. No

highlighter. No emery board for my nails and no red nail polish. This isn’t
going to be so much red carpet as pub carpet, despite the incredible gown.

Oh, well. I’ve tried my best.

As I gently unravel each of the pin curls, I wonder if I’ll be able to
escape tonight? Damir’s going to be watching me with laser focus, and so

will his men, presumably. I’ll just have to play it by ear. Whenever I decide
to make a break for it, I’ll have to make sure it’s the right time. I’ll only

have once chance.

You wouldn’t like how I punish.

I don’t know what scares me more. That I wouldn’t, or that I would.

I eye the bandage on my inner thigh, gnawing at my lower lip for a

moment. Could we get so deep into crazy shit that he might actually kill me
by accident? Or on purpose? What if I begged him to do it? Choke the life

out of me. Plunge the knife in deep.

“Damir Ravnikar,” I mutter, as I take the dress down and step into it,

“I think you may ruin me for all other men. And that’s definitely not a
compliment.”
 I put on the dress and a pair of high heels, take one last look into the

mirror, and then step out onto the deck. Night is falling, and the view is
glittering. Tonight, I’m seeing Monte Carlo. What a way to do it, coming

ashore from a superyacht on the arm of a billionaire on the run. I feel like a
Bond girl. No, a Bond villain’s girl. Remembering how disposable women

are in those films and how often they end up dead, though, perhaps it’s not
the happiest of comparisons.

Boris is standing by the speedboat, his hands clasped before him in

the manner of a secret service officer. As he looks at me, his face slackens

in surprise, but he quickly recovers his composure and firms his mouth. His
eyes, as they look into mine, hold regret, or distress, and I wonder if he

feels some sympathy for my plight. But a moment later, the expression
passes.

“Princesa.”
Damir moves like a panther as he steps forward to take me in his
arms and press a warm kiss behind my ear. “Krasen,” he murmurs.

“Magnificent.”
He’s wearing a gray suit and an open-necked black shirt, all

immaculately cut and fitting close to his body. He’s freshly shaven, and his
eyes gleam like precious stones as he looks down at me.
 He helps me down into the waiting speedboat, and into a seat. I feel
wildly unsteady in the rocking craft in these high heels, but he keeps a tight

arm around my waist. Boris is at the wheel, and then we’re speeding over
the water through the sunset. The salty wind whips at my curls.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my eyes on the shimmering shore.

“A casino, to look up an old friend.”

“I remember you saying we were going to rob a private mansion—”

Damir places a finger over my lips. “My darling. Be careful that

your tongue doesn’t talk your head off. When you leave the yacht, you are a

beautiful, silent ornament on my arm.”

I fume at him, but his smile only widens. I wonder if this is how

Ciara felt when she first started dating Mikhail, like a rich man’s toy who’s
told to be just tits and ass and an empty head.

I mouth fuck you at Damir, but he merely turns his head to look at
the approaching marina.

There’s a silver Mercedes waiting for us once we step out of the

speedboat. Damir and I get into the back while Boris and one of Damir’s

other men take seats at the front, Boris driving. There are beautiful people
everywhere, strolling along the shore, standing in open air bars, stepping

out of expensive cars. The women wear beautiful long evening gowns or
short cocktail dresses that show a lot of skin. The men, sculpted and
groomed Europeans, wear suits in pale colors with expensive shoes. I see a
silver fox with a short, neat beard help a much younger woman off the back

of his scooter, and hold her hand as they walk into a restaurant together.
There’s a slender gold watch on her wrist and diamond studs in her ears.

This place is rich-guy heaven. I would have cleaned up here, had I managed
to escape London.

We pull up in a laneway by some dumpsters, and the two men in

front get out and open our doors for us. I don’t get out, partly because

there’s a dirty puddle right by my door, and partly because this alleyway is
setting off my fight or flight response.

Damir comes around to my side of the car, and I start to ask him
what the hell we’re doing in a place like this, but before I can, he leans

down, scoops me up in his arms and lifts me over the puddle. Then he sets
me down on dry asphalt keeping a firm hold of my hand.
There’s a door set back in an alcove, guarded by two enormous
bouncers. They eye us coldly.

“Why do I feel like you’re taking me to a torture dungeon rather

than a casino?” I hiss in his ear.
Damir’s smile widens, and he addresses the bouncers. “Bonsoir,
gentlemen. Damir Ravnikar. I’m an old friend of Lucan Navarro’s.”
 They seem to speak English, and one of the men radios someone
inside, and we wait. I fidget with my bracelet, but Damir stands at his ease,

his free hand casually in his pants pocket as he converses with the other
bouncer about the weather.
A message is relayed back. We can go in.
We walk down a short, dark corridor and my impression that we’re
entering a torture dungeon doesn’t fade until my high-heeled shoe lands on

soft carpet. The doorway opens up onto a room filled with laughter, music
and the clinking of poker chips. The dingy building is actually a sumptuous
casino, with craps tables, roulette and blackjack, and dozens of people in
evening-wear. It all seems very innocuous, until I look closer. There are

guns laid on some of the blackjack tables, and scantily dressed girls are
giving lap dances in the lounge area. In full view of a security guard, an
older woman snorts something off a handheld mirror and rubs the residue
on her gums.

“Is this an illegal gambling den?” I whisper to Damir, staring around

at the scene.
“Of course,” he murmurs back. “We couldn’t go into a legal casino
even if we wanted to.” He slides his hand over his jaw. “My handsome face

would be picked up by the facial recognition software hooked up to the

security cameras the second we stepped through the door, and I’d rather
Interpol didn’t intrude on our happy little sojourn.”

I’m about to reply that I don’t like this place and want to leave,
when a heavy, autocratic voice behind us says, “Damir Ravnikar. I didn’t
believe it when I heard it was you.”
The smile fades from Damir’s face and something akin to hatred

flickers in his eyes. He lets go of my hand and turns around, and his
brilliant smile is back. He spreads his arms wide. “Lucan Navarro! It’s been
too long.”
The two men clasp each other like father and son, and plant kisses

on each other’s cheeks.

“What brings you to Monte Carlo?” Navarro asks.
Damir gives the man a roguish grin. “A spot of bother in London. I
have to make myself scarce while until it blows over.”
Navarro chuckles. “I did hear something. And Mikhail has fled, too.

Good idea, splitting up. Makes you both harder to find.”

“Indeed.” Damir turns to me, taking my hand with a proud smile.
“This is my fiancée, Bethany.
His what?

I open my mouth to announce that I’m certainly not his fiancée, but
Damir squeezes my hand and talks smoothly over me. “We were meant to
be married at the Savoy next month, but of course, all that’s off. We left

England so quickly that Bethany couldn’t even pack her Vera Wang
wedding dress.”
Navarro gives me a soppy, sympathetic look, the sort you might give
a child who’s upset about a broken toy. “Oh, my dear. How terrible for
you.”

Oh, yeah. My supposed fiancée has fled the country on criminal

charges, but the real tragedy for me is the loss of a hank of overpriced tulle.
It’s honestly so dumb how men think women are so dumb.
“It’s us who owes you our sympathy,” Damir says.

A somber mood pervades the air. Navarro’s smile fades. “You heard,
then.”
“I did.” Damir gazes into my eyes, as if we’re sharing a sad
moment. “We both did. Tragic.”

I look up at him, confused. Damir squeezes my hand again, a signal

to play along. I dig my nails into the side of his palm as hard as I can. If he
wanted me to go along with some story, he should have told me what it was
first.

“If he’d only talked to me, told me he was…” Navarro makes a

despairing gesture. “Georgios mentioned you in his suicide note, and poor
little Nataša.”
 My attention snaps back to Navarro. Georgios! That was the man

who attacked Damir in his office that day. And who’s Nataša?
Damir frowns. “Did he? But that’s all in the past. It surely can’t
have been plaguing him after all these years.”
“Apparently it was. Becoming engaged again brought back all those

feelings from long ago. He still felt guilty.”

My “fiancée” places a hand over his heart, as if the news is
devastating to him. “Oh, he was engaged? How terrible for his bride-to-be.
As a man who is about to become a newlywed myself, my heart goes out to

her.”
I don’t manage to suppress rolling my eyes. Navarro is too busy
lapping up Damir’s fake sympathy to notice.
“Mikhail and I never blamed Georgios for what happened,” Damir
tells him. “You do know that, I hope. I just wish Georgios had reached out

to us. Nataša was always…” He makes a gesture with his hand, as if to

suggest that this Nataša was an unstable sort of person.
The two men watch each other a moment, both their faces carefully
emotionless. Then Navarro smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Of course. The Ravnikars have always been good friends of the
Navarros. Enjoy your stay in Monte Carlo. I shall see you again, I hope.”
 “I would love that. Bethany and I shall be here for at least the next

week, assuming we don’t need to make a hasty departure.” Again the

roguish smile, accompanied by a wink this time.
The older man laughs and turns away with a little wave. As he
moves across the room, I see the same expression of pure hatred flicker in

Damir’s eyes.
“Well, that was quite the performance,” I mutter under my breath.
“Mine, or his?”
“Both of you. You clearly hate each other’s guts. What happened to

his son?”
Damir puts his lips against my ear and whispers, “I killed him.”
I suck in a breath. Of course he did. “Did you burn him alive, like
you said you wanted to?”

“No. I tortured him, and then I slit his throat.” He runs the backs of
his fingers over the nape of my neck, making me shiver. “But don’t be
jealous. Not like I torture you, princesa. He didn’t like it very much, I’m
afraid. Ciara didn’t like it, either.”

“Ciara! What’s she got to do with it?”

Damir glances around. “Not here. Let’s get out of here.”
Once we’re back in the Mercedes and speeding back toward the
marina, Damir lays his arm along the back seat and pulls me against his
side. “You wanted to know about Ciara. She happened to stop by when I
was in the middle of things with Georgios. The timing was perfect. I
finished him off, and she threw up all over the ground. Messy, but an
excellent lesson for her. Anyway, before I kill Mikhail I expect him to thank

me for what I did for the Ravnikars.”

I rub my fingers over my temples. There’s a lot to unpack in those
sentences. Ciara must have gone to give some of Mikhail’s money to Damir
while he was getting all Hostel on Georgios. But what’s this about the

Ravnikars?
“Back up a bit. Georgios did something to you and Mikhail? And
who’s Nataša?”
“She was my little sister,” he says in a clipped voice, and sits up.
“We’re here.”

I try to get him to go into more detail as we get into the boat and
speed back to the yacht, but Damir makes non-committal noises, and won’t
look at me.
The night’s events have made Damir moody, and when we get back

on board, he disappears off somewhere. Fine. Let him be secretive and

dramatic. I’m going to bed.
Before I can head to our cabin, a hand descends on my arm. I turn,
expecting to see Damir, but it’s Boris.
 He’s eyes bore into mine. “These are not good men Mr. Ravnikar is
forcing you to consort with.”
Well, yeah. I’d figured that much out for myself, what with the guns,
murder and coke. But why is Boris so bothered?

“Be on your guard, always.” He gives my arm a squeeze, and then

hurries away, back to the main deck. I watch him go, frowning. Be on my
guard for what, exactly? I thought the only person I have to worry about
hurting me is Damir.

Or is that who Boris means?

Sunk in thought, I go into the main cabin and stand with my back
against the door. When I was first taken captive and begged him to help me,
I thought my pleas fell on deaf ears. I remember Boris’ sympathetic

expression earlier when I emerged in the red dress. Like I was a lamb to the
slaughter.
Just what does Damir have planned for me when it comes to Lucan
Navarro?

Whatever the answer, it seems as if at least one person on this yacht

has been burdened with a conscience.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Sixteen

OceanofPDF.com
 Damir

The email I get just before breakfast is served makes me grin from ear to
ear. I’m still smiling when Bethany joins me twenty minutes later. She’s

wearing a clinging black maxi dress with a halter neck that shows off a
great deal of her smooth skin. Boris picked up several outfits for my girl so

she wouldn’t have to keep wearing my clothes, and he chose well. Her

breasts look full and delicious beneath the fabric, and I can tell she’s
forgone a bra. I’ll look forward to peeling that dress from her body later.

“You’re cheerful this morning,” Bethany observes, laying her linen

napkin in her lap and reaching for the silver coffee pot. I get there before

her and pour her out a cupful, and then add a dash of cream and a spoonful
of sugar. “I thought you’d be tired. You didn’t come to bed last night.”

Missing me, was she? I missed her, as well. “I’m sorry, princesa. I
was working, and then I fell asleep on the sofa in the office.”

Bethany gives a little shrug and takes a sip of her coffee.

“We’ve just received an invitation to a party at Villa de Deschamps

tonight. Lucan Navarro’s home.”

Bethany pauses and looks up from her coffee, her eyes wary.

“Is anything wrong?”

 “No, I’m just surprised by the invitation. And I have nothing to

wear.”

I laugh, tearing a croissant in two. “That’s easily fixed. Shall we go

ashore together after breakfast and find something that makes you look

delectable?” I let my eyes travel down over her body. “Or should I say, even
more delectable.”

“Oh, shut up.” Bethany mutters, but there’s a small smile on her

lips. “I can be trusted in stores, then?”

I reach out and brush my fingers over the back of her hand. “I think

you’ve earned it. You played your part beautifully last night, and were
instrumental in getting us this invitation. Pridna punka.”

Her cheeks color a little and she focuses on a bowl of cut fruit.

“Though I would prefer you didn’t try to eviscerate me with you

nails when I prompt you to play along.”

“You should have told me I was pretending to be your fiancée. I

don’t like surprises.”

I smile lazily at her. “Who says you’re not my fiancée?”

I rather like the sound of Mrs. Bethany Ravnikar. It has a lovely ring

to it.

“I do. Now, listen. I’ve been thinking about last night. Navarro must

know you killed his son. A suicide note won’t have convinced anyone after
you went to town on his body. I suppose you wrote the note?”

I lean back in my chair, watching her with pleasure. My captive

princess has been putting her mind to good use for me. An unexpected

partner in crime.

“Of course I wrote it, and it was a masterpiece of sorrow. And don’t

worry about his body, because it was never found. My men encased him in
concrete on one of our building sites, and then I drove Georgios’ car to

Beachy Head.”

Beachy Head is a notorious suicide spot atop the white cliffs of the

south coast. The police never found anything at the bottom of the cliffs, but

it was easy for them to deduce what I wanted them to. He was swept out to

sea without a trace. “I left the suicide note in the glove box.”

Bethany wrinkles her nose. “So he actually rests in an unmarked

grave on a building site. What a grisly end.”

I spread my hands and smile. “If it was good enough for my father.

Of course, I didn’t have Boris and the others to help me with father, but
Mikhail did his half of the work admirably.”

“I wish you’d stop doing that.”

“What, my princesa?”

“Speaking of patricide so blithely. I still think Navarro knows you

murdered his son. I could tell from the way he looked at you.”
 My girl is perceptive if she saw so much while knowing so little of

the circumstances, but it will only make her jumpy to dwell on it. “Finish

your breakfast. I want to buy you that dress, and something to go around
that pretty throat of yours as well.”

Once she’s eaten some fruit salad and a pain au chocolat, Boris

takes us ashore and we head into the sleek designer stores along the

waterfront. I want to choose her clothes, but Bethany pushes me aside and

insists on doing it herself.

I sit on a sofa in a boutique with my arms folded, glowering at the

dressing room curtain. When she steps out, my face goes slack.

Bethany’s wearing an off-the-shoulder ombré gown in black silk

that fades out through gray to cream at the hem. It clings to her breasts and

hips like it was molded to her body.

“That one,” I tell the salesclerk, before Bethany can open her mouth.

“And anything else my fiancée wants.”

Bethany shoots a poisonous look at me, but goes back into the

dressing room. I relax back, smiling. I’m getting to like the sound of my

fiancée more and more.

Forty-five minutes later I pay for the things Bethany has chosen.

She spies the false name on my credit card, Anthony Karastos, but doesn’t
say anything. We leave the boutique with an array of bags and boxes, and I

pass them over to Boris.

“Take these back to the speedboat. We’ll be with you shortly.”

I want to buy Bethany some jewelry. It’s just the two of us, now, and

her eyes are sparking with alertness. Bethany moves to walk ahead of me,

but I keep hold of her hand and tug her back to me sharply. “I’m trusting

you today. Don’t make me do anything you’ll regret, and I’ll enjoy.”

I let my gaze travel down her body.

Bethany swallows visibly. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

I plant a kiss behind her ear and then head toward Cartier along the
street. “See that it stays that way, princesa.”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Seventeen

OceanofPDF.com
 Bethany

After several hours alone with Damir on the streets of Monte Carlo, I’m
now the proud owner of tens of thousands of pounds worth of glittery

baubles and designer clothing. I suppose it was too much to hope that I’d
make my escape today. He watched me like a goddamn hawk every minute

of every hour until we were back on the yacht.

At eight in the evening, we arrive at the Villa de Deschamps, a

baroque mansion set amid lush gardens and water fountains. The entrance

hall is huge, and filled with dozens upon dozens of people in evening-wear.
Damir is wearing a tuxedo, and so are most of the other male guests. None

of the other male guests are as tall and broad or look as sharply handsome
as my silver-eyed companion, however. I’m wearing the ombré gown that

he loves so much. Around my neck and wrist is white gold and diamond
jewelry. Actual diamonds. I could live for a year on what they cost.

As we mingle among the crowd, I notice they’re more respectable

than the people I saw last night. I can’t see any weapons or little baggies,

but maybe they’re stashed just out of sight. I don’t trust Lucan Navarro, or
the people he consorts with.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” I tell my date, just before he takes

two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. Damir’s eyes narrow. “I’m
sorry if that’s inconveniencing you. Want to hold my hand while I pee?”

“Maybe I will.”

“If I was going to do a runner I would have done it today while there

were cops around,” I hiss, low enough that my voice doesn’t carry. “Not in

a villa full of goddamn criminals.”

He walks me over to a hallway and locates the restrooms. “I’ll be

waiting here. You have two minutes.”

I turn to him and smile, reaching up to fix his tie, the very picture of

a loving fiancée. “That’s the same number of minutes you gave me to pee

when you first took me captive. Let’s tell our grandchildren about this one
day.”

He spanks my ass and nods at the door. “Enough messing around.

Get on with it.”

“Ow. No sense of humor.”

I use the restrooms, and when I emerge there are suddenly a number

of people in the hallway, and I can’t see the main room. I can’t see Damir,

either. I’m not going to do a runner right this second…but perhaps I’ll
dawdle a little. Scope the place out.

I take a few steps toward a window, and look out upon a huge

landscaped garden of topiary bushes and marble statues. There’s a long lake

with a waterfall at the far end, and an elegant white sea bird is splashing
about as the sun goes down. It’s utterly picturesque, but I’m searching for

escape routes, not admiring the view.

The sea lays on one side, at the bottom of a cliff, and there are more

gardens on the other side surrounded by a high brick wall. Security looks

tight.

Someone touches my arm and murmurs, “Bonsoir, mademoiselle.

Vous vous amusez?”

I turn, and find a tuxedoed man with a broad, tanned face looking at

me intently.

“Uh, Anglaise,” I say, gesturing at myself. English. He’s still

holding my arm. “Do you mind taking your—”

“Ah, English!” He switches language. “I was asking if you were

having a pleasant evening, but if you are hiding back here the answer must

be no. I was thinking of leaving myself.”

His hand slides down my arm and he takes hold of my hand. Jesus,

has every man in the vicinity decided I touched it, so it’s mine is a legit
thing now?

I try to pull my hand out of his grasp, telling him I’m with someone,

but this confuses him. Selective English comprehension. How convenient.

“Let us take a walk in the garden,” he tells me, pulling me toward a

staircase at the far end of the corridor. “My Ferrari is with the valet, but I
can have it called around. I’m staying at the Hôtel Hermitage Monte-

Carlo.”

I suppose he thinks he’s saying all the right words to entice a gold-
digger away from her date. “Wow, your English is so good, but how about I

teach you some more? Presumptuous. It means, Let go of me, you pushy

bastard.”

I’m not really bothered by him. In about two seconds, Damir is

going to pounce on him and plaster him along the corridor. I’m rather

looking forward to it.

A seething voice speaks behind us. “What the fuck do you think you

are doing with my woman?”

And there he is. I give the Frenchman a dazzling smile.

The man’s grip loosens on my hand, and I yank it from his grasp.

“Merci beaucoup,” I say sarcastically, and go back to stand behind my fian

—Damir. Not my Damir. Just Damir. I gaze coolly over his powerful

shoulder at the stranger.

Sick him, daddy.

The man holds up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender and

laughs nervously at Damir. Oh, you got me! I’m a naughty boy.

To my surprise, Damir laughs, too. He walks over to the guy and

claps a chummy hand on his shoulder. They both laugh. I fail to see what’s
funny.

Until Damir punches him swiftly in the guts and French Guy

doubles over, wheezing. Then I laugh. I can’t help it. His googly eyes are

funny. Damir shoves the man and he topples to the ground, gasping for air.

Damir contemplates the presumptuous idiot for a moment.

Then he turns to me. There’s still murder in his eyes.

My mouth falls open. “Really? You’re angry at me? Sure, that’s fair,

when it was you who brought me to this place where apparently I can’t look

out a window without some asshole thinking I’ll totter after any man with

money.”
Damir grasps me by the upper arm and marches me to the staircase

at the end of the corridor. We take the stairs, going up. I’m being impelled

more aggressively than I was by French Guy, but looking at the furious set

of Damir’s jaw, I don’t mind so much.

The corridor on the next floor is lined with closed doors. Damir

picks one at random, opens a door and shoves me through it.

It’s a bedroom, with a fancy four-poster bed, plush cream carpeting,

a chaise-lounge under the huge window and a chandelier hanging from the

ceiling.

Damir stands before me, not saying anything. There’s a bright

metallic sheen in his eyes, and I can’t tell if he’s horny or angry. The two
moods look about the same on him.

“I told him to let go of me. It’s not like I could have fought him off

in these Louboutins,” I say, gesturing at my black patent heels. “Do you

know how uncomfortable they are? And do you realize that I could have

used that guy to get to an embassy? But I didn’t escape and snitch on you.

How ungrateful can you be?”

Damir grabs my jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “All I saw

was some rich prick leading my fiancée off, apparently with her consent. I

thought I could trust you, Bethany.”

“I didn’t consent! I was waiting for you to come flatten him. And for

the last time, I’m not your fucking fiancée!”

“Next time, you call out. You fucking scream my name and I’ll

come and get you.” Damir slides his other hand up the nape of my neck and

into my hair, gripping it mercilessly. “I warned you what would happen if

you were disobedient. Get on your fucking knees.”

My eyes widen. “I’m not getting on my knees for—”

He pushes me to the floor. I look up at him, mouth parted in

indignation and shock. My eyes are on a level with his groin and I can see
the thick outline of his erection through his pants.

Okay then. Angry and horny.

 I look up at Damir from beneath my lashes. “He was handsome,

don’t you think? I bet he wouldn’t have wasted any time introducing me to

his fat French dick. I probably would have sucked him off in his car if you

hadn’t come along.”

“Shut your mouth.” He pulls back his hand and slaps me across the

face. My cheek stings and my head snaps to one side. Heat plunges through

my core and I lick my lips.

“His boring, rich-guy dick in his cliché car,” I go on. “I wouldn’t

even have got wet doing it, but I would have enjoyed it, knowing how much

you would want to kill me for it. I might even have sent you a selfie with
his cock in my mouth.”

“I know how to fill your slutty little mouth,” Damir says, tugging
down his flies. He pulls his cock out, and just as I’m opening my mouth to

tell him how I would have swallowed down all that moron’s come, he
shoves it into my mouth.

The heat of him fills me, and my mouth waters as I run my tongue
against him. My eyes water too as he forces himself deeper. The unfamiliar

smoothness and ridges of his cock tempt me to explore him.

Damir hisses in desire as I run my lips up his length, and then down
again. “That’s it, princesa. How pretty you look with a mouth full of my

dick.”
 I work him slowly, learning the feel of him, what makes him take
sharp breaths. With my hand I massage the base of his shaft, and then dip

down to cup his balls. They’re soft and heavy in my hand. As I pleasure
him, my hips arch forward of their own accord, because heat is filling me

up, too.
Damir is breathing roughly and I think he’s about to come, so I’m

surprised when he pulls his cock from my lips, hauls me up under my arms
and throws me facedown on the bed. My layers of skirt are pulled up and
my thong is yanked off along with my shoes. He plants a heavy hand on my

back so I can’t get up, and works a knee between my thighs, opening me up.
I think that he’s going to fuck me, but instead he takes his cock in

his other hand and works it furiously, poised over my ass. A moment later
he comes, and I feel the hot, liquid spurt of his seed over me.

His finger rubs through his slippery come on my asshole, and then
he worms it deeper, inside my ass, pushing through the tight ring of muscle.

My head rears up with a gasp.

“You feel that, princesa?” His finger pulses in and out of me, short,

quick movements that have my pussy clenching at the strange intrusion. “I

own this pretty little ass. You’re going to spend the rest of this party with

my come inside you to remind you who you belong to.”

 He pushes even deeper for a second, and then pulls his finger out
and brings his hand down on my ass in a hard spank.

Damir does his pants up. “Clean yourself up and meet me

downstairs. And that includes washing out your filthy fucking mouth.”

With that, he slams out of the room.

I lay there, a hot, gasping mess of roiling emotions.

A few minutes later I push myself up off the bed, and look around.
I’m alone, and my back end is covered in come. I hold up my skirts and

wander woozily into the ensuite to clean myself up.

I pull my underwear back on and put on my shoes, clean the lipstick

smudges off my chin and apply some more, and then head out. Damir is
downstairs, drinking a glass of what looks like whisky. As I head over, he

excuses himself from the two men he’s chatting to and wraps an arm around
my waist, drawing me to him.

“Bethany.” He plants a kiss on my throat, all sweetness and smiles

now. “How beautiful you look.”
A waiter passes by with a tray of champagne, and Damir takes a

glass for me. I swallow a sip, feeling a combination of wired and horny.
Within the shelter of his strong arm, I press myself against him and pretend

that everyone else has disappeared.

 “If only that idiot had tried to drag you off in front of everyone,” he

murmurs in my ear. “What a performance we would have given them.”

“But is that part of the plan?” I manage, remembering where we are.

“Around you, I seem to forget the best laid plans.” Damir sinks his
teeth lovingly into my earlobe. “If you’re a very good girl for the rest of the

evening, I’ll make you come when we get back to the yacht. I saw how wet
and needy your little pussy is.”
I shift from my left foot to my right, feeling how slick I am between

my legs. “What are we doing here, anyway?”

“Oh, this and that.” He runs a thoughtful finger over my diamond

necklace and takes another sip of whisky. “You’re a puzzle, princesa.”

“Hmm?”

“Yes. These diamonds didn’t buy me a shred of loyalty. There are

mirrors everywhere and I haven’t seen you admire yourself all evening.”

“Maybe I’m just not vain like you.” I look past him, studying an oil
painting of a naked nymph.

“I don’t think you have it in you to be a gold-digger or the trophy

wife of some rich man. You want something more.”

“Why does that matter to you? You don’t care what I want.”
“Au contraire. Come along, my princesa. Indulge me. Tell me what

you really want.”

 “So you can use it against me? I’m not going to hand my kidnapper

my deepest, darkest desires on a silver platter.”

“You’ve already handed me everything else on a silver platter.”

“Fuck you.”
Damir makes an amused tutting noise. He speaks softly into my ear.

“I think what you really want is someone to love you so hard that your heart
never aches for anything ever again. And that’s got fuck all to do with

diamonds.”
I grip the stem of my wine glass, panic firing my nerves. How the

hell does he do that?

“Where’s everyone who loves you, Bethany? Your foster parents.

Your friends. Your lovers. How is it that such a pretty, clever girl ends up
with no one?”

I force a shaky laugh and glance around the room, as if we’re

talking of nothing more serious than the pristine weather. “You like that,
don’t you? That I have no one. I bet a predator like you could smell it on

me.”
He shakes his head, his blue-gray eyes clear and guileless for a

change. “No, actually. My instincts were very wrong. I thought Mikhail had
his claws into you. That I’d have to do battle with a dozens of men, parents,

scores of friends and the police to keep you as my own.”

 “And you’re disappointed, because here I am, and you’ve barely
needed to fight.”

Damir puts his finger beneath my chin and lifts my face to his.
“You’re determined to think the worst at every turn.”
“Habit. It’s less disappointing that way.”

“I’ve never disappointed you, have I, princesa?”

I stare at him, hypnotized by his jewel-like gaze. With him, I feel

protected to the point of being smothered, and yet I can’t get enough of it.
That’s got fuck all to do with his money.

“That’s not fair,” I whisper. He’s offering me exactly what I crave

the most because I was stupid enough to reveal what it is, and not even with

words. He can read me like a book.

“What? Me being a man of my word? Of honor?”

I pull out of his grip and take half a step away. I’m starting to get
warped ideas about Damir Ravnikar. “Strange ideas a kidnapper has about

honor.”
He comes toward me, closing the gap, his eyes sparking like a tiger

giving chase. “Maybe you shouldn’t think of it as a kidnapping. Maybe you

should think of it as an emergency rescue, because how happy were you,

really, before you met me?”

 If you could bottle the possessive need in his eyes right now so that
anyone could be bathed in its glow, you’d be an overnight billionaire.

“Shut up.”
“I’m the most loyal man you’ve ever met, Bethany. Of course, I’m

not perfect. I get jealous.” He reaches out for me and plants a kiss behind
my ear. “Selfish.” A kiss behind my other ear. “Demanding.” A kiss on my

mouth. “And bloodthirsty. But if you crave someone who will love you to
the point of obsession…” His lips brush softly over my own. “Then I’m

your man.”
I look into his eyes, and the whole room falls away. The whole

world. It’s just us, as the very center of the universe. “Damir, I—”
“Damir. So pleased you could make it, and your beautiful fiancée.”

I jump at the interruption. Damir’s jaw clenches, and he swings

around to look at Lucan Navarro. He’s holding a glass of champagne in one
hand and there’s an indulgent smile on his face.
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Damir says, a shade of

chilliness in his voice. “Would we, princesa?”

“Oh, I didn’t have any choice,” I say, forcing a breezy smile.
Needing to cover up the massive black hole that’s opened up inside me with
something. Anything. “Not when he’s kidnapped me and is keeping me

prisoner on his yacht.”

 We all laugh, as if it’s a joke.
“This man,” Lucan says, patting Damir’s cheek as if he’s a naughty

child. “He’s like a son to me. And your fiancée reminds me of Nataša in
certain lights. Don’t you think?”
By my side, I feel Damir tense.
Navarro continues, studying me. “She has the Ravnikar dark hair,
and that proud look about her eyes. Her lips are like yours. Her nose, too.

Very beautiful.”
I glance at Damir’s lips, but his wide mouth is a very different shape
to my cupid’s bow, and our profiles are unalike, too. Unless I’m not seeing
things right?

Anger flickers in Damir’s gaze, and I realize Navarro is making

things up in order to screw with him. From the brutal way Damir’s hand
closes around mine, it’s working.
“I think she’s very beautiful, too. Excuse us, Navarro. A lovely

evening.” Damir steers me to the door.

“Damir, what are we doing?”
“We’re leaving.”
I have dozens of questions, but I doubt Damir is going to answer

any of them. Whatever he’s planning, I’m starting to doubt the wisdom of it
if Navarro can trigger Damir’s anger with just a few words.
 As we sit in the back of the boat as Boris speeds us back to the
yacht, I turn our conversation over in our mind. Damir’s figured out what

makes me tick, and he’ll use it against me to get exactly what he wants. But
he’s shown me his hand, too. What Damir craves the most in the world is
loyalty. So all I have to do to make him hate me, is betray him.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Eighteen

OceanofPDF.com
 Damir

Bethany seems pensive as I help her out of the speedboat and back onto the
yacht. The night breeze is ruffling her hair, and the diamonds around her

throat sparkle in the moonlight. As I catch her gaze and stroke a forefinger
down her breastbone, her lower lip softens with the need to be kissed.

She looks exactly as my woman should. Spoiled and horny.

I lean close and murmur, “You were such a good girl tonight.”
Suddenly she’s as needy as an alley cat, and all she can do is bite her

lip and nod, desperation filling her gaze. I want her again so badly that my
balls are aching. As soon as we’re alone in my cabin she fastens her arms

around my neck and tries to pull me toward the bed.

I resist her. “Beds are for girls who know how to behave at parties.”

“But you said I was a good girl.”

“In front of Navarro. But are you forgetting that you nearly let

someone lead you off by the hand? Because I haven’t. Go and lean over that

desk and pull your dress up.” She does as she’s told. “Pull down your

underwear and spread your legs. I want to see what’s mine.”

She slides her thong down her thighs and steps out of it, leaving her

heels on. What a fucking picture she makes. Her sex is the prettiest shade of

pink.
 I palm her bare flesh appreciatively, and dip down to slide my

fingers between her pussy lips. Her burning hot flesh is dripping for me.

“Goddamn, princesa. You’re soaking wet.”

She moans and pushes back against my hand, her eyes almost closed

as she turns around to look at me. I unzip, and take my length in my hand,
hot and heavy with need for her. As I penetrate her tight little core, she runs

her tongue over her top lip, and I know she’s been craving me all evening.

“Is this what you want?” I ask, thrusting hard and deep. She grabs

hold of the sides of the desk as I force her forward. “Is this what you were

hoping for when you let that kretin nearly lead you away? You’re playing a
dangerous game, Bethany.”

I pound her mercilessly, and I can feel her pussy tightening around

me. She clamps down on me so hard that I have to lean my whole weight on

her to go on fucking her as she comes. I grab a fistful of her hair, because

she’s not going to relax until I’ve had my fill of her.

“I do love to play,” she gasps, pressing her hands against the wall

and leaning back against me. I fucking lose it at that, coming deep inside
her, my thighs pressed tight against her peachy ass.

Woozily, still breathing hard, we strip off our clothes and fall into

bed. Bethany’s fingers run all over my torso, as if she can’t get enough of

touching me. I kiss her fiercely, unable to get enough of her, either.
 “What are we doing with Navarro? You have some plan in mind.

Tell me what it is.”

I look at her through lazily narrowed eyes. She wants to know, but

that doesn’t mean I owe an explanation. “Go to sleep.”

“Tell me about Nataša.”

“She was my sister.”

“Yes, you said.” I feel Bethany sit up on her elbow. “What happened

to her?”

I stroke Bethany’s beautiful dark hair back from her face. Her green

eyes gleam in the dim light. Perhaps I’ll tell her part of the truth. A little

bedtime story for my princesa. “She was older than me, younger than

Mikhail. We were close.”

The day our mother died, she held out her hand for Mikhail, calling

him to her side. Her Misha. Nataša was lying on the bed beside the wreck of

the woman that had been our mother. It was just me left standing at the

bottom of the bed, alone. Nataša was the one who got up and came to me. It
was Nataša who held me. Mikhail didn’t even notice.

“She was promised by my father to Georgios Navarro when she was

fifteen years old. They decided between them that it was good for our

families. Navarro promised her the Navarro family jewels as a wedding gift.

Gold, rubies and diamonds. A necklace. A tiara. Bracelets. Earrings and

rings. Very old, and very beautiful. My poor little sister only got to wear

them once, at the engagement dinner.”

I remember her pale face that day, exhaustion ringing her eyes,
jewels glistening among her black hair.

“The wedding was planned for her sixteenth birthday, but she never

made it.”

Maybe Navarro was right, and Bethany is a little like Nataša.

Another dark-haired beauty should wear them. Another proud Ravnikar

decked out in jewels on her wedding day.

“She was going to marry Georgios at sixteen? But what happened to

her?”

“Lucan Navarro happened to her. My father happened to her.” The

old rage fills me at the thought of those gristly old bastards and the misery

they sowed. Now I have to count my own brother among those who have

betrayed what’s left of our family. “Father waited till their engagement was

announced and then publicly disinherited her, just to see what Navarro

would do. He thought it was funny.”

“And what did Navarro do?”

“He made Georgios break it off, because no son of his was marrying

a pauper. Georgios did as he was told, the weak bastard. She was too young
and bewildered to cope with the humiliation. She threw herself from the

cliffs near our country house.”

Bethany inhales sharply.

“We found out Nataša was pregnant from the coroner. Georgios

claims he didn’t know,” I say bitterly. “That’s what gave me the Beachy

Head idea. Georgios killed himself the same way, because he was eaten up

with guilt.”

“Damir, I’m so sorry. Maybe…” Bethany says hesitantly. “Maybe

Georgios didn’t know?”

“Would that make any of this better?”

She presses her lips together. “No. No, it wouldn’t.”

I roll onto my side and regard her. “I shall adorn you with those

jewels as Navarro’s blood pools at our feet. Do you like the sound of that,

my princesa?”

“I want…” Bethany lies back and looks up at the ceiling. Then she

mutters, almost too quietly for me to catch. “I shouldn’t want the things that

I want.”

I grin in the darkness, and pull her sweet, supple body close to mine.

Soon, I’ll have everything I want. The jewels. Revenge. And Bethany. All

mine, with nothing to distract me from all the things I’m going to do to my

lovely little pet.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Nineteen

OceanofPDF.com
 Bethany

The sun is shining, the water is foaming behind the yacht, the drinks are
cold and fizzy with gently clinking ice cubes. It’s paradise on earth

onboard, and yet I’m a nervous wreck. Between worrying about Mikhail
and Ciara and the rapidly blackening state of my soul, I can barely think.

And Damir? Currently he’s taking apart and cleaning two revolvers

and bantering cheerfully with his men like they’re a bunch of Tarantino
gangsters. He’s having the time of his life.

I suppose this makes me a gangster’s moll. I wonder what my

parents would think if they could see me now. They’re no more than two

blank faces in my mind, and though it makes no sense I’ve often found
myself obsessing over what they might think of this decision I’ve made, or

the path I’ve gone down. I take a long sip of my mineral water. Doubtlessly
they’d be disappointed in whatever of my choices brought me here.

But what does it matter what they wanted or who they are? They

dumped me. They can go to hell.

I push my sunglasses up my nose and turn a page of my glossy

magazine. My nails are painted scarlet and I’m developing quite the

summer tan, lying about on this sunbed every day by the pool. While Damir

and his men make plans, I have everything I’ve ever wanted and the
promise of more. Beautiful jewels are to be poured into my lap by a man

who fulfills my every desire.

Eventually Damir will call on me to play my part in his little

revenge fantasy, and I’ll…what? Will I be the one to lure Navarro or

Mikhail and Ciara to their deaths? I put down my cold drink, feeling
sickened. I think of all those final girls who survived until the end. They

didn’t sit on their behinds in five hundred pound bikinis while the bad guy

planned more murders.

I flip another page of my magazine angrily. There’s nothing I can do

about that right now. I’m never given the chance to escape. Damir keeps me
on a tight leash at all times.

At sunset, I wrap a lace kimono over my swimsuit and pad toward

the bedroom for a shower. A hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me into

an alcove. I expect it’s Damir about to steal a kiss and sink his teeth into my

lower lip, but it’s not Damir.

It’s Boris.

His eyes bore into mine with intensity. “You think that everyone has
forsaken you, don’t you?”

He’s been acting funny the last few days. I’ve caught him scowling

at Damir when Damir isn’t looking, and he’s been particularly attentive to

me, asking if there’s anything I need from shore and if I’m all right. He says
that with heavy significance. Is Damir hurting me? Is Damir forcing me?

Am I all right? And the answers to those three questions are yes but I like

it, no, and I have no goddamn idea.

“There is no one to forsake me.”

He casts a furtive look around us, but we’re hidden from view. “But

you want your freedom?”

“I…” The right answer is yes. The real answer is…complicated. I

give Boris the most non-committal nod in the world, because I feel it’s what

I should do. Who is offered freedom and replies, No, captivity and peril suit

me better, thanks.

Boris leans closer and whispers, “Mr. Ravnikar has ordered me to go

ashore to watch Navarro’s villa at midnight tonight. I can smuggle you off

the yacht with me. Be by the speedboat a few minutes before twelve in dark

clothes. I’ll make sure the lights on that part of the deck are out. Hide in the

shadows and wait for me.”

Then he’s gone, walking away from me quickly as if his life

depends on it. Which it does. He’s putting his life on the line for me. If the

plan works, by the early hours of the morning I’ll be safely at the British

embassy. Tomorrow I’ll probably be on a plane back to London.

An uneasy feeling settles in my belly as I head through to the

bedroom for my intended shower. My eyes land on one of Damir’s shirts

and my heart does a somersault inside my chest.

I look at my reflection above the bathroom vanity. It’s time I gave

myself a stern talking to.

Listen up, idiot. He might give you orgasms and jewelry and hold

you close against that banging body of his all night, but he’s a murderer

who will turn on you one day as sure as he’s turned on his own brother and

father. You’re drinking dumb bitch juice if you think otherwise. Get on that

speedboat at midnight, and get back to London ASAP.

No, wait—London would be a terrible idea. Damir will only find me

and take me prisoner again. I’ll tell Interpol everything they need to know

about Damir Ravnikar and then I’ll disappear to Switzerland or Australia or

wherever on that money Mikhail put in my account.

I spend the rest of the evening trying to concentrate first on my

dinner, then on a book. Neither give me any pleasure or distraction, and I

turn in early, saying I have a headache.

Damir is in a very good mood when he comes to bed at eleven. I can

hear him whistling as he walks along the deck. I’m in bed, pretending to be

asleep. My stomach is a mass of knots because if he’s still awake at

midnight, what then?

“Princesa?” He runs his hand along my body as if hoping for a

response. I let my breathing deepen. “Ah, sleeping beauty.” His tone is
amused and indulgent, and he gets into bed and turns out the light.

I listen to his breathing slow and then deepen. After about twenty

minutes, he gives a light snore. Carefully, I sit up.

“Damir?” I whisper. No response. I ease myself out of bed,

purposefully not looking at him. If I look at him then I might do something

life-threatening. Like cry.

I have a plan if he catches me creeping about on deck: I wanted to

play our stalker-in-the-night sex game again. Hopefully if he catches me

he’ll be too horny to become suspicious. I daren’t risk putting a lot of

clothing on but I do grab a black hoodie I left over the back of a chair and
put in on over my short nightgown, and then creep out of the cabin.

Boris kept his word. The deck is in darkness. There’s nowhere to

hide on this overdesigned superyacht, so I just hunker beneath the railings

and wrap my arms around my body, my hearth thumping wildly. I don’t

have a watch or a phone, so I have no idea what time it is when I hear

footsteps coming toward me. I hold my breath, wondering if I’m going to

have to bust out my oh-big-boy-you-found-me routine for Damir, and what

might happen to me if he doesn’t believe me.

There’s a whisper in the darkness. “Miss Voight?”

I sag with relief. It’s Boris. “Here,” I squeak, and fumble my way to

my feet.
 He helps me down the rope ladder into the speedboat without a

word. I try to catch a glimpse of his face in the dark. He seems tense, as if

his life is on the line. I don’t doubt that it is. In the boat, I lay down in the

seat and Boris covers me with a blanket, and then we’re speeding away, the

engines roaring. I wait a few minutes, until I’m sure that we’re out of sight

in the darkness, and then sit up.

“Why are you doing this for me?” I ask over the roar of the engine.

Boris just shakes his head in a don’t ask manner. Maybe he doesn’t

know why he’s doing this. Maybe his conscience has been getting to him.

At the marina we get out and Boris takes me around to a carpark. I

don’t feel safe until we get into the car and the locks snip closed around us.

Then, I allow myself a tiny sigh of relief.

“I don’t know how I can thank you, Boris,” I gasp, as he starts the

engine and we slip out onto the street. “Where’s the British embassy? Do

you need to look it up?”

But Boris doesn’t answer. He keeps driving and turns down a side

street.

All the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. “Boris?”

When he speaks his voice is flat and he doesn’t look at me.

“Navarro will protect you from Damir. He’s the only one who can.”
 I stare at him in shock. “What? But I need to go to the embassy.”

Why didn’t it occur to me to iron out how my rescue was going to go? I

assumed that Boris would take me where I wanted to go. It’s my goddamn

rescue. “I don’t want anything to do with Damir’s crazy enemies. I’m not

getting mixed up in the old squabbles. Take me to the British embassy.”

Boris just ignores me, his face stony. I try the doors, but of course

they’re locked. “This is insane! Why would Navarro protect me? He hates

Damir.”
“Navarro will protect you,” Boris repeats.

I do some quick thinking. Everything about Lucan Navarro gives me

the goddamn creeps. If that’s where I’m being taken, I’m safer with Damir

on the yacht than in the villa of a man who has a big fat grudge against my
so-called fiancé, even if Damir punishes me.

“I’ve changed my mind. Take me back to the yacht. Or let me out

here. I’ll go back down to the marina, dunk myself in the water, and you

can pretend I swam for it and you captured me in the speedboat. Damir will
be so grateful to you that he’ll probably give you a big bonus. You’ll be a

hero. I’ll take all the heat, I swear.”

“Miss Voight, I’m doing the best thing for you.”
I thump the dash and scream in frustration. “How about you do what

I want seeing as it’s my rescue?”

 I consider grabbing the steering wheel and ploughing us into a
building, but he’s driving fast up the winding streets to the villa. There’s a

cliff on one side and a sheer drop on the other. I’d rather not go home in a
body bag.

At the gates to the villa, Boris opens his window and presses the
intercom. He announces who he is and who he works for. There’s a crackle,

and the line goes dead.

“Oh, good,” I say with satisfaction. “They’re not going to let us in.
You can just—”

There’s a whirring sound, and then the gates open inwardly.

Two security guards walk down the driveway and eye us coldly as

Boris accelerates slowly up to the house. The lights are on in the villa.
From one dangerous man to another. How did my life end up like

this? How? That’s what I’d like to know. Fuming, I say nothing as the
guards open my door and impel me out with a strong grip.

“Fucking Ravnikars. Fucking Damir. Fucking fuck fuck,” I mutter

as I’m dragged up the stairs, along a hallway and into a living room. “Curse

them all to hell.”

“Curse who, my dear?”

Lucan Navarro is waiting on a sofa, one leg crossed over the other.
He’s dressed more casually than I’ve seem him before, in pants and an
open-necked shirt. He’s also looking very pleased with himself, and his
covetous eyes take in my disheveled appearance. It’s not a sexual look. It’s

more like he’s appraising a useful bargaining chip that’s dropped

unexpectedly into his lap.

Boris is wrong. Navarro isn’t going to protect me. He’s going to use
me to get back at his enemy. His enemy who murdered his son.

I’m so screwed.
I wrench my arm out of the guard’s grip. “Damir Ravnikar and his

idiot of a brother, that’s who! None of this has got anything to do with me.
Just because you all have axes to grind against each other’s faces doesn’t

mean you need to grind me down in the process.”

Navarro gives me what I suppose he thinks is an indulgent smile,

but he looks more like the Cheshire Cat right before a meal. “There’s
nothing to be upset about, my dear. Be a good girl, and you’ll have nothing

to worry about.”
Behind me, Boris clears his throat. “I can tell you a great deal about
Damir Ravnikar’s operations. I’ll hand you everything you need in order to

kill him.”
My stomach is suddenly vacuumed out of my abdomen. Et tu,

Boris?
“In return for my protection and a job here?” Navarro asks.
 Boris nods curtly.

“Filthy turncoat,” I hiss, and Boris looks away. So this is what he’s
really after. A better master. He never wanted to help me. Just use me.

I’m about to spit more insults on him when a bag is dragged over
my head. Someone puts something around my neck and wrists. Not

manacles or rope, but something lighter.

I’m breathing fast beneath the bag, not feeling like I’m getting
enough air. People are talking around me, but I can’t follow the

conversations as they’re mostly in French. Someone is gripping my upper

arm so tightly that my hand is tingling.

I wait for something to happen, to be dragged off to a locked room,

but we seem to be waiting for something. Then I realize what.

Damir.
But it’s night and he’s asleep, unless they’ve radioed the yacht or

something. I can imagine Boris doing that, maybe pretending that he’s seen
something at Navarro’s mansion and Damir has to come quick. Maybe he’ll

even pretend I escaped and came here myself, the filthy bastard. My blood
boils at the thought, and my own stupidity.

Maybe Damir will realize it’s a trap, and won’t—

Gunshots, down in the courtyard. A volley of them from different

guns. I start to breathe faster, my throat closing up with despair. Navarro is

going to kill Damir as soon as he steps foot in this room, and it’s all my

fault. My head darts around, trying to see something, anything, through the
dark mesh of the bag. There are a few blobs that might be lightbulbs which

wink in and out as people walk past them. There’s more gunfire and
shouting, coming closer now.

Suddenly, the bag is ripped from my head. I blink in the bright light,
trying to see what’s happening. Two guards are holding a large, struggling

figure. Another draws his fist back and sinks it into the man’s face. His
head snaps to one side, and he spits blood. The attacker draws his fist back

again, and my eyes finally clear and see that the captive is my lover.
“No!” I lunge toward Damir, but I’m held back by the man with a

grip on my arm. It’s Boris. I scream into his face. “You bastard. You
betraying fucking bastard! How could you let this happen?”

I struggle like a wild thing, biting and scratching at him while he

holds onto me.
A calm, clear voice cuts through my panic. “Princesa.”

Damir is looking at me, breathing hard, blood running down his

face. We exchange a long look. He doesn’t need to speak. Those gray eyes

say it all.
Stop struggling. Listen. Think.
 Slowly, I get a hold of myself. I hate that Boris is touching me, but I
try to relax in his grip.

Damir’s eyes travel down over my throat to my wrists and back up

again. “They do suit you,” he says hoarsely. “I knew they would.”
Confused, I look down at myself. There’s a heavy gold necklace

glinting on my chest, and diamond and ruby bracelets around my wrists.

Navarro steps forward with a tiara in his hands and places it carefully atop

my head. Then he steps back, admiring me like I’m a piece of artwork he’s
crafted. The jewels that should have been Nataša’s. The jewels that she

wore at her engagement feast, secretly pregnant and feeling so young and
alone.

“There,” Navarro murmurs and turns to Damir. “Doesn’t she look a

picture?”

Damir’s left eyebrow and lower lip are split. Blood has dripped
down his face onto his white shirt. “She looks perfect, as I knew she

would.”
That indulgent smile is back on Navarro’s face. “It’s only right that

she wears them once before she dies. As your sister did.”
Hatred blazes in Damir’s eyes. Then his gaze travels over to Boris.

“I treated you like a brother.”

 I jab my elbow into Boris’ guts, and he grunts in pain before taking
a firmer grip on me. He doesn’t say anything, but his face is pale beneath

his tan. I don’t think he revels in blood and violence like Damir does. To
him, they’re more a means to an end, and he’s shut down so he can get

through tonight.
“And you, Bethany.” Damir is looking into my eyes. “You betrayed

me, too.”
I take a shuddering breath. I’m clearly paying for my poor choices.

“But it’s cute when I do it.”

Damir stares at me, and then breaks into his toothy shark-grin. “I

have to admit, yes, it is, princesa. How have they been treating you?”
My heart twists in my chest. His laugh. His smile. I wonder which

of us is going to be killed first. Will I have to watch him die, or will he

watch me die?
Damir seems to know where my mind has gone, and says softly,
“Don’t lose heart. You’re not going to die tonight, and neither am I.”

Which is optimistic under the circumstances.

Navarro steps toward him. “You killed my son. Now I’m going to
kill your fiancée, and then you. I will find your brother after you’re dead,
and I’ll finish him as well. I wish you had a son so I could have the pleasure
of taking his life, but I can live without that. Soon the Ravnikar clan will be
dead and gone, forever.”

“You’re not going to kill Mikhail,” Damir snarls, and for a moment I
think he’s going to speak out for his brother. “I’m the one who’s going to
kill him. Georgios was just the appetizer.”
Navarro gives a growl of pain and rage. “How dare you! Your
family is cursed. Every Ravnikar destroys themselves and everyone around

them. Your mother rotted from the inside out. Your sister broke her own
body to pieces. Your father disappeared into thin air. Your brother will die.
Does this girl—” Navarro flings an arm at my while looking at Damir “—
know she’s looking at death himself when she looks at you?”

Damir pulls toward Navarro, and the two men holding him struggle
to maintain their grip. His face full of power and anger like the Archangel
Gabriel. “All Georgios had to do was never marry, never father a child, and
I would have left him in peace. I should have come after you when I was

eighteen. I should have killed you and your son, but I hadn’t tasted death
then. I didn’t know what pleasure it could bring until I killed my own
father.”
“You should have stayed in hiding, you fool,” Navarro sneers. “Your

lust for revenge is what is getting you and her killed.”

 “I decide what revenge I seek, not you,” Damir says, his voice a
snarl. “I decide when you have suffered enough, begged for mercy enough,

bled enough.”
Navarro lets out a snort of derisive laughter. He glances at Boris,
and then passes him the knife. “Would you like to do the honors on the
girl?”

Boris adjusts his grip so that one arm is wrapped around my

shoulders, and accepts the knife in his hands. He regards it for a moment, as
if trying to make up his mind. Then he holds it up to my throat. The blade
catches on the necklace around my throat. A dead woman’s jewels.

“Oh, good plan, Boris,” I say waspishly, chin straining away from
the blade. “You’ll be safe with Navarro, Bethany. Navarro will protect you,
Bethany. What happened to that?” I meet Damir’s eyes, the blade
glimmering in my vision. “Still think I’m not going to die?”
“You’re not going to die,” he says firmly.

I wish I believed him. He held a knife to my throat the first day we

met. “Look at the way it started between us. I was always going to end up
with my throat slit.”
Navarro’s right. I do see death when I look at Damir, and his mantle

weighs heavy on all of us. I wonder if Boris knows that he won’t live to see
the dawn.
 Navarro nods at Boris. “Kill her.”

I whimper, my eyes locked on Damir. There’s nothing he can do. I

should have stayed on the yacht. The final girl wouldn’t have gone with
Boris. She would have understood that betrayal wasn’t the way out.
I’m sorry, I mouth at Damir, because my throat is too tight to speak.
“Fuck sorry,” Damir spits. “Do you need me, princesa? Do you

want me, dark as I am, cruel as I am, twisted as I am?”

I nod shakily, tears slipping down my face. There’s no one else for
me in this world or the next. At least I won’t be going alone.
Damir leans toward me, as much as he can, his eyes luminous as he

speaks two soft words. “Then live.”

The knife caresses my throat in a sharp, hot slice of pain. I wait for
the brutal slash that will end my life. For the cascade of blood. The knife
lifts, and I anticipate the stab between my shoulder blades instead.

But it doesn’t come.

Boris releases me, and turns and plunges the knife into Navarro’s
chest. The older man gives a wheezing sort of shout and his eyes go
comically wide, the whites showing all around. I stare in shock as he

crumples to one knee, grasping the hilt of the knife.

What the hell?
 I look at Damir, who’s smirking back at me, the two men holding

him too shocked to react. Told you so, princesa, his eyes say. We’re not
dying tonight.
Boris has drawn a gun and fires two precise shots into the skulls of
the guards holding his boss. As soon as they slump to the ground, Damir

lunges at a third man, and takes vicious delight in pounding him into a
pulpy mess. The rest of Damir’s men burst into the room and take stock of
who’s lying on the floor, dead.
Damir straightens, and wipes his bloodied knuckles on the curtains,

grinning malevolently. “Hello, boys. Another beautiful evening in Monte

Carlo.”
I look down at the jewels around my wrists, and feel the tiara slip a
little on my head. These are what he wanted all along.
Boris looks quickly around. “Fuck. Where’s Navarro gone?”

The grin slips from Damir’s face. “Andreja, Domen, Alenko. Go

and find him. Now.”
They run off, guns in their hands and eyes lit with determination.
Boris follows them.

Damir and I are alone, and the room is filled with the sound of harsh
breathing. My harsh breathing. Damir comes forward and takes my hand. I
stare at his lips, red with blood. He lifts my wrist up to the light, admiring
the gold and ruby bracelet like a barbarian soldier who has just sacked the

treasures of Rome. The jewels sit heavily around my throat.

“Now that,” Damir says, smiling his cold smile, “was a jewel heist.”
The world turns red.
“You bastard,” I scream, shoving at his chest. “You planned this all

along, for Boris to lie to me and Navarro to scare the living daylights out of
me. And all for some jewels?”
Damir wraps himself around my body and forces my arms against
my sides, trying to stop me from thrashing about. It doesn’t work. “Shh,

shh,” he murmurs. “Not for some jewels. For revenge, princesa. Revenge.
The world has been set a little more right tonight.”
“You and revenge. I fucking hate you!” Tonight’s shattered me and
put me back together and then shattered me again, and now the pieces are

spinning out of my control.

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich in my ear. “You little liar.”
He tenderly kisses my throat, but I’m not fooled. Revenge is his lover, and
I’m just a pawn in his game.

“You’ve used me enough. I’m not getting back on that yacht.”

“Yes, you are.” Damir pulls back and looks at me, the darkening
blood on his face making him look monstrous. “I bring out the best in you,
Bethany.”
 “You bring out my worst,” I spit. My twisted lust, which is even
now making my body melt against his in indecent ways. “I mean it. I hate
you.”
Now that I know I’m going to live, I want to take back what I

admitted earlier.
He takes my face between his two hands, his eyes looming so large
in my vision it’s like I’m being hypnotized. “Look at all we’ve done. We’re
living Bethany. This is living. I’ve never known anyone like you,” he tells

me, his mouth whispering over mine. “My extraordinary girl.”

“I always thought I was pretty normal,” I say in a shaky voice.
“What does it mean when a madman finds you extraordinary?”
“It means he’s met his match.” Damir’s mouth descends on mine,
engulfing me in a searing kiss.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Twenty

OceanofPDF.com
 Damir

I kiss Bethany like a starving man. Is this what’s meant by falling in love?
True love that people say has the power to redeem. It’s not redemption that

is surging through my body as my tongue plunges into her mouth. It’s not
redemption that I want, either. It’s something far sweeter.

Bethany accepts my kiss, opening for me, her lips moving against

mine in a breathless kiss. She more than accepts me. She drinks in my soul
like she’s drowning and it’s the oxygen that will save her.

I’m unstoppable.
“You were perfect, my beautiful girl,” I say against her lips,

ignoring the pain in my own. The taste of blood spices our reunion, and
desire races through me. The jewels are around her neck, her wrists, sitting

atop her hair. I’ve taken these stones and gold, and I’ve taken Bethany’s
ruby red heart along with them.

A voice speaks over my shoulder. Boris has returned with the others.

“We couldn’t find Navarro. We could go on searching, but it might be wiser

if we got out of here.”

I pull back from Bethany’s lips and gaze into her eyes as I answer.

“He doesn’t matter any longer. Let him flee and die in a ditch from his

wounds somewhere.”
 I have other pressing matters to see to. Namely Bethany. My hands

curl around her wrists and close like manacles. I have unfinished business

with my little princesa. I haven’t forgotten that she betrayed me tonight.

I help Bethany out of the jewelry and put the pieces into black

velvet boxes that are scattered on a nearby table. Then we get the hell out of
the villa. Boris is the least blooded of us, and he heads down through town.

The four of us wait in the shadows by a deserted stone jetty below the villa,

and then clamber into the speedboat when Boris brings it around.

“Bye-bye, Monte Carlo,” I say, as the lights recede across the

waves. Bethany turns and looks back with me, the wind whipping over her
face. I watch her in the moonlight, her chin held high, her eyes clear. She

could have gone to pieces tonight. She looked death in the face, dripping in

jewels like the princess she is. A little shock now and then, that will just

keep her on her toes.

Once we’re back on board, I keep hold of Bethany’s hand and the

bag of jewel boxes, and give my orders to the men, telling Boris to steer us

southeast, away from Monte Carlo, and the men to keep watch. Then the
engines come to life a few minutes later, and the bright lights of the city

begin to recede.

Beside me, Bethany is pale and silent. I tuck her hair behind her ear

and plant a kiss on her forehead. “You look worn out, my love. You’ve had
quite the night of it.”

She nods, and I lead her to the bedroom. I put the jewels in the

bedroom safe, take something out, and then lock it up. Behind me, I can

hear her undressing.

“I can’t believe you let me think you were going to let them murder

me,” she mutters. “Can we agree that I’ve had enough near-death
experiences for a lifetime now?”

My shoulders are tight, hands curled into fists and my right hand is

wrapped around the little object I’m holding.

“Damir? What’s wrong?”

“You tried to escape me.”

I turn around, and her mouth drops open. “What? You mean, with

Boris?” She watches me uncertainly. “Of course I did. It was what you

wanted.”

“You didn’t know that. You know I can’t handle betrayal, Bethany.”

I step slowly toward her, and she moves away, panic flitting through her
eyes.

“He coerced me. He was an agent provocateur. That’s not allowed

in court or by the police or whatever. You can’t blame someone when

they’ve been provoked, and you’ve done nothing but provoke me.”
 Her pleas and excuses fall on deaf ears. “Things are very simple for

me. You commit a crime, you have to be punished. Sometimes it’s with

your life, like Georgios. Sometimes it’s with your possessions, like Navarro.
And sometimes it’s with your body. Like you, Bethany.”

“That’s not fair, you asshole,” she whispers fiercely, tears springing

into her eyes. “You’ve locked me up and used me for your own ends. What

else was I supposed to do but clutch at whatever chance at freedom came

my way?”

“Fair?” I say, stroking the word like a cat. “Whatever gave you the

impression that any of this was fair?” I hold up the object in my hand and

show it to her. It’s a little dark glass bottle.

Her fearful eyes flicker to it and back again. “What’s that?”

“Amyl nitrate.”

“Is it going to make me pass out?”

I laugh softly and shake my head. “Not at all. What would be the

fun in punishing you if you’re unconscious?”

Her eyes dart to the left and right, searching for an escape route.

There’s nowhere for her to go. I’ll hunt her down all over the yacht. I’ve got

all the time in the world.

“What are you going to do to me?”

 I say the words with relish. “I’m going to fuck you in your pretty

little ass, and teach you what happens to those who betray me.”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Twenty-One

OceanofPDF.com
 Bethany

There’s a gleam in Damir’s gunmetal eyes. He’s not angry. In fact, he’s
delighted that I tried to escape with Boris, because now he gets to punish

me. I should stop fighting him, and deny him the pleasure of overpowering
me.

But I can’t.

I back away from him, terrified and stupidly turned on by his words.
If he fucks my ass he’s going to hurt me. That’s how it works, doesn’t it?

“No, you’re not.”

As if I have a say in the matter when it comes to Damir.

He closes in on me until I’m backed into a corner. Then he grabs my

wrists and ties them behind my back with one of his neck ties. I scream and

struggle, but it’s useless. No one’s coming to save me. I can’t even save
myself, not when his strength out-matches mine. I swear and wrench myself

around in his arms, like I tried to do with Boris earlier tonight in the villa. It

didn’t work then, and it doesn’t now.

I should never have got back on this yacht with him, and now I’m
going to pay the price.

Damir holds the tiny bottle in front of my face, and my panicky eyes

are unable to focus on the label. What did he call it? Amyl nitrate. I’ve
never even heard of it. Maybe it’s going to paralyze me or something.

“I don’t want to be drugged,” I whimper. Being helpless or

unconscious would be worse than being awake. I don’t want to descend into

a fog and be unable to fight back; unable to remember every cruel thing

he’s going to do to me that will kill my need for him.

Because this has to kill my need for him. Please let it kill my need

for him.

Damir clamps a hand over my mouth and holds the bottle up to my

nose. I hum like an angry bee and try to turn my face away. Any second I’m

going to feel the same cold burn in my nostrils that I felt the day he took
me.

I hold my breath for as long as I can, but my lungs burn, and I

involuntarily take a breath. Something vaporous and sharp invades my

nostrils, but also wholly unfamiliar. A solvent-like odor, but not one that

makes me black out. I frown, not understanding what the point of it is.

Until suddenly, I feel euphoric.

My body goes limp in Damir’s arms like I’m a puppet and

someone’s cut my strings. I feel languorous and high as a kite, and my face

floods with pleasant heat. Damir’s arranging my body and moving my

clothes, but I’m in a floating pink bubble and I can’t focus on anything

that’s happening to me apart from the pleasure and relaxation I feel.

 The euphoria passes off, and I realize I’m bent face first over the

bed, my cheek pressed against the cool sheet. I’m naked from the waist

down and there’s a fierce pounding in my pussy. Blood has rushed to my

nether regions as well as my face, and I feel an ache so sweet that I moan

softly, arching my back. Damir strokes his fingers over my sensitive parts,

and I realize I’m so wet that I’m practically dripping.

I can’t push myself up because my arms are tied, and so I peer

around for my lover. “What…?” I start to say.

Damir leans over me and his hand clamps over my mouth once

more and the bottle is held under my nose. I don’t even remember to try and

hold my breath this time. I breathe in deeply, and Damir takes his hand

away.

“What the hell is…that?” I end with a slur, the euphoria overtaking

me again.

I barely hear his voice through the rapture I’m feeling. “Amyl

nitrate dilates your blood vessels and relaxes your muscles. Feels good,
doesn’t it?” His finger, slippery from touching my pussy, circles up to my

asshole, and then slowly pushes inside. I groan at the intrusion, which is all

pleasure and no pain. “To relax you for me, princesa. Aren’t I good to

you?”
 I don’t know, and right now I don’t care. As his finger pulses into

me I feel like a cat on heat. I moan, spreading my feet and arching my back

for him. I need more. I need deeper.

He rubs his cock through my slippery folds, and then reaches

forward to untie my hands. “Hold your ass open for me.”

I reach back and cup myself with both hands. Just a moment ago I

was fighting him with everything I have, but suddenly I don’t care and I’m

not afraid. If there’s any pain I’ll welcome that, too. There’s a squirt of

something cool and slippery. Then the blunt, silky texture of his flesh

pressing firmly against my asshole.

“Pridna punčka,” he murmurs, keeping up the pressure but not

moving further. “You need this, don’t you? Punishment means I care, and I

do so care for you, my Bethany.”

“Yes, please,” I moan.

“Then just relax.” He presses forward and I open around him, the

tight ring of my ass clenching against him in ecstasy. Even the pain feels

divine. He’s huge inside me, and I barely have time to catch my breath

before he’s pulling out, and then pushing into me again. It feels like he’s

claiming my soul as well as my body, making me relinquish the last final

piece of my resistance to him.

 He screws me with a deep but leisurely pace. I feel myself sinking

down, down, into the mattress, pinned by his body and his cock.

Completely vulnerable to him as I never have been before and wanting

nothing but this.

“Harder, please,” I moan, and he obliges.

“You like your punishment, princesa. I’m going to have to do this to

you often.”

If this is punishment, then I’ll take it again and again. I’ll surrender

everything to the man, the only man, whom I need. Whom I crave, above

all other things.

Lost in the sensations racing through me, I don’t even notice that the

glow inside me is burning brighter and harder. My climax storms through

me out of nowhere. I didn’t expect that I could even come like this, but I

feel pressure on my clit even though he’s not touching it, and nor am I. I

blaze so brightly that all my senses black out, and when I come back into

myself Damir is growling and fucking me hard, in the throes of his own

climax.

“Bethany. My Bethany,” he gasps. “We were made for each other.”

Two, three final hard strokes, and he stills. Damir withdraws gently and

rubs a loving hand down my spine. He pulls me up and into his arms.
 “Was it the drugs,” I whisper, too exhausted to do anything but cling

to him. “That made me feel that way?”

“It wasn’t the drugs, Bethany. They just made you relax. The rest

was what you need. You’ll know it the next time I fuck you in the ass

without the amyl.”

He leads me through to the shower and I slump against his chest as

he soaps me lovingly. Then he tilts my mouth up to his. “You needed me to

terrorize you. Overwhelm you. Consume you. So you can be free. I heard

you asking for this that first moment I touched you.”

“Did you? How?”

“Not with your words. With your heart, your eyes, and I heard every

word. I’ll always give you everything you need, princesa.”

I gaze up at him as the hot water pounds on his broad shoulders. He

looks like a wicked prince. “Are you happy with what happened at the

villa? Even though Navarro got away?”

He smiles slowly. Then he turns the water off and reaches for

towels. He muses on my question for a moment, rubbing the towel in slow

circles on his chest. “Yes, I am. Navarro might have got away from me, but
it matters very little. He took Nataša, so I’ve taken what mattered most to

him. He had to be punished.”

 “You mean you loved her. Why is that so hard for you to say? Why

must you always express your feelings through punishment and

vengeance?”

Damir frowns deeply at me, his movements stilling. Then he tosses

his towel aside and approaches me slowly. “Because this is what my love

feels like, Bethany. It may be dark, and it may be selfish. It may terrify you.

But it’s mine. And it’s all for you. Only. You.”

I suck in a startled breath. “If you love me, then say, I love you.”
He takes my towel from me and throws it over the bathroom door. “I

just did,” he says heavily, and moves into the darkened bedroom.
I watch him go, shivering slightly as my damp skin cools. Liar. And

his love isn’t only for me. No matter how much he claims to love me, he
loves revenge more.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Twenty-Two

OceanofPDF.com
 Damir

I go to the safe, punch in the combination and take the jewels out again. I
don’t need to say I love you. I’ll show her what I want with something far

more precious than words.

Bethany sits on the bed, wrapped in blankets, and I pour the jewels

into her lap. Then start to adorn her with them. “Marry me,” I murmur,

slipping a ruby droplet earring through her earlobe. “Wear these on your
wedding day, and look like this on our wedding night. Naked and decked

out with jewels.”

I fasten the necklace and bracelets around her neck and wrists, and

place the tiara atop her head. She turns her wrists slowly, looking at the
jewels, their reflections sparkling in her eyes. How well they suit her. I will

dress her in them again when we find Mikhail. I want to see the look in his
eyes when he sees Bethany wearing them. I’ll make him remember our

sister whether he likes it or not.

“They’re so beautiful,” she murmurs, admiring the rubies and

diamonds. “I wonder what they thought, the first person to find a precious
stone. Who cut it so it caught the light? They’re like pieces of the stars and

sea. Things that you can’t hold in your hands, or shouldn’t.”

 I smile to myself, watching her. My girl has a taste for fine things,

but more than that, she has a fine mind. I put my arm around her and tuck

her safely against my body. “There’s one less wrong in the world tonight,

my love. For the first time in twenty-one years, I shall sleep well.” I kiss her

forehead. “Until tomorrow, when the hunt begins afresh.”

Bethany’s chest rises and falls in an almost imperceptible sigh.

When I look down at her, her eyes are closed, so perhaps I imagined it.

She falls asleep in my arms like a glistening butterfly. Once she’s

deeply asleep, I remove the jewels one by one and place them back into the

safe. Everything I love needs to be locked up, where no one can take it from
me, and it can’t ever get away from me.

When I wake in the morning, Bethany is still deeply asleep. I stretch

luxuriously—

And groan.

My body is covered in bruises, and despite the hours in bed, I feel

lethargic. Normally I awaken and jump out of bed as if a fire has been lit

under me, but today all I want is to lay here and gaze at Bethany. After a
while I let my eyes drift closed again, and fall back asleep.

We spend the following days in drowsy happiness, recovering from

the drama of our time in Monte Carlo and drifting through the warm
Mediterranean waters. The days turn into weeks. There are things I could be

doing to search for Mikhail, but I let Boris take care of them.

Instead, I smile more than I think I ever have, at Bethany. Always at

Bethany. She softens in my arms, falling asleep against me on long, hot

afternoons and padding about in my clothes, this time by choice rather than

necessity. She’s got plenty of her own things now. We make long silly lists
of our favorite things while our legs dangle in the pool. Desert island songs

and books. Favorite ice-cream flavors. Childhood television programs. Is

this what it’s like to have a partner? A bride-to-be? Someone who loves

you? How very strange, and how pleasant it is. I wonder if people know.

One afternoon, she turns to me and asks, “Damir, we’re happy here,

aren’t we?”

I smile at her, brushing her beautiful black hair away from her face.

“Blissful, princesa.”

“What if we stayed like this, always? What if I said I love you, and

you said it back? What if we even got married?”

“My darling,” I breathe, sitting up. “It’s all I want.”

Her eyes brighten. “It is? Oh, Damir!” She throws her arms around

my neck. “It’s all I want, too. Let’s just sail away and forget about

everything that came before.”

 I reach up and draw her arms away from my neck. “What do you

mean, everything that came before?”

“Mikhail and Ciara. I’ve barely thought about them these past few
weeks, and I don’t think you have, either. We’ve set things right with your

sister, and ever since then I’ve felt a change in you. Like that was the

revenge you really wanted, and now everything’s all right.”

I consider her words. I’m less tightly wound than I was. I sleep

soundly. I feel contentment just by holding her in my arms. But that doesn’t

mean that anything’s changed. “I’m the same as I always was, princesa.

And I want the same things.”

“You’re not the same. I don’t think it was Mikhail and Ciara you

were angry with. I think you were still grieving over your sister, and now

—”

“That’s enough!” I roar, getting to my feet. “Who the fuck do you

think you are to sit there like some cheap shrink? Nothing’s changed.

Mikhail betrayed me with a little whore, and that’s unforgiveable. He won’t

get away with what he’s done to me.”

Tearfully, Bethany stands up to face me. Her face is crumpled with

disappointment, and when she speaks her voice trembles. “They’re in love

like we’re in love. It would be a terrible thing to destroy that.”

 “If I set out to do something then I do it,” I say through clenched

teeth.

“All right, then,” she says, swiping at her nose. “Confront him.

Figure out what happened between the two of you to make you drift apart,

and then move on. No one needs to die.”

“Is that what he told you? That we drifted apart?”

“Mikhail didn’t tell me anything. We weren’t close, but I saw how

things were between you with my own eyes. You must have been close

once, but did you never think to reach out to him and be a brother to him?”

She tries to put her arms around me, as if showing me how it’s done. How
to be a human being.

I shrug her off. “He never reached out to me!”

She rakes her hands through her hair and gives a moan of

frustration. “Someone needs to reach out to someone before one of you

ends up dead. Don’t you think that if you just talk to Mikhail—”

“That’s enough, Bethany!”

She glares at me for a long time, breathing hard. The bliss of the

past weeks has broken. Happiness, peace, they never last. What will last are

the jewels that are in my safe. My enemies being dead. Those things can

never be taken away from me.

 “You Ravnikars are stubborn sons-of-bitches,” she mutters.

“Mikhail did nothing wrong except protect the woman he loves. People

shouldn’t be punished for falling in love.”

“Who says I’m punishing Mikhail for falling in love?”

She grabs her towel from the sunbed and wraps it around herself.

“Maybe I was talking about me. I’m being punished for caring about you,

that’s for certain. Think hard about what you really want. Even I can only

take so much punishment.”

I call out to her, but she walks quickly away. “How am I punishing

you, Bethany? Answer me!”

But she doesn’t turn around, and she must sleep somewhere else on

the yacht, because she doesn’t come to our bed that night.

In the morning, Boris greets me with some excellent news.

“You asked me to track the flight paths of jets in Africa that belong

to any of Mikhail Ravnikar’s known associates.” He’s brisk and energetic,

and I can tell he’s discovered something important.

“And?” I ask.
“A few hours after Mr. Ravnikar landed, a private jet owned by the

Simmonet Organization took off from another airport in Cape Town and

flew direct to Sharjah.”

 The Simmonet Organization are run by a businessman who’d be

better described as a crime lord. We’ve done real estate deals with him in

the past. Mikhail always detested him, though not enough to not ask him for

help, it seems.

Got you, asshole.

“And then where did the jet go?”

“Back to London.”

They won’t have been on it. They must have stayed in Sharjah, and
then gone on elsewhere. “Were there any other jets in the vicinity?”

Boris sighs. “Lots, unfortunately. It’s not as big as Dubai, but

Sharjah is a hub for North Africa, the Middle East and Europe. But there

were no jets that belonged to anyone connected with Ravnikar Enterprises,

from what I could see.”

I stare at the map pinned to the wall, considering each of the

surrounding countries in turn. From Dubai, they could have boarded a

commercial flight to anywhere in the world. I want to swear and punch a

wall. For a moment I was hopeful, but this is another dead end.

I scrub my hands over my face and try and think like my brother.
Wherever Mikhail has gone, it will be somewhere he can protect his little
treasure. Somewhere remote, probably, where people won’t see her locked

in some tower or fortress.

 Fortress. Guards.
“Private security,” I say slowly.

“Boss?” Boris asks, looking up from his laptop.

I drum my fingers on the tabletop, staring at the sea beyond the

window and thinking out loud. “Mikhail is protective of his little Ciara.
He’ll want to know he’s got muscle on hand to keep her safe.” He’s also

very predictable. Always drinks the same vodka. Always buys the same
suits. “What’s the name of the security firm we used at Enterprises?”
Boris answers promptly. “Titanium Security.”

“Do they have offices outside London?”

He does a quick Google search. “Dubai. New York. Singapore.”

I take the satellite phone from the charger and look at the list of
phone numbers over Boris’ shoulder. I start at the top with Dubai.

A cool, businesslike male voice answers the office phone. “Good

morning, Titanium Security, this is Butrus.”

“This is Mikhail Ravnikar,” I say, in a voice laced with barely

controlled irritation. “I’m calling about this month’s bill. I need these

numbers broken down for me because I don’t understand how you’re

charging me so fucking much.”

“Of course, Mr. Ravnikar.” The phone operator taps out a few things
on his keyboard. “First I’ll need to confirm your account number. Do you
have it on hand? It will be on the top right-hand corner of your invoice.”
“My company email server is down.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Ravnikar. In that case, I’ll have to
confirm a few personal details.”

“Yes. Just get on with it.” I catch Boris’ eye and he’s grinning as he
listens to the one-sided conversation.

Butrus asks for Mikhail’s full name and date of birth, which I give
him, along with our mother’s maiden name and town of birth.

“Address?”
“It’s not fixed at this time. You’ve probably got my old London

address.” I recite Mikhail’s home address.

“Ah, yes. I see a note on the file. Finally, I need your password.”

“Ciara,” I say, taking a gamble.

“Thank you, Mr. Ravnikar. Let me put you through to billing and

they will be able to take you through the charges you’re querying.”
So goddamn predictable. “Thank you.”
I listen to the hold music, my blood pounding through my body.

This is it. I can feel it. The breakthrough I’ve been hoping for. A moment
later, a woman’s voice comes on the line, asking how she can help me.

“I need you to tell me why this bill is so damn high. Your company
is screwing me right in the ass and I’m not having it.”
 “I’ll do my best to explain the charges, Mr. Ravnikar. Let me just

pull up…Yes. I can explain these charges. There are costs associated with
the location of the job and it’s distance from Dubai headquarters.”

“It’s not fucking Siberia.” Maybe it is Siberia.

“No, sir. But the Seychelles are remote, and our guards require

charter flights and transfers. Food, accommodation and other expenses in

remote locations can also add up.”
I close my eyes. I remember now. He went to the Seychelle’s once a

few years after we set up Ravnikar Enterprises. Why didn’t I think of that?
“Of course. I’ll pay in full. Goodbye.”

I put the phone down and turn to Boris, who’s looking at me, his
eyebrows raised in excited anticipation.

I smile widely, baring all my teeth. “Got him.”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Twenty-Three

OceanofPDF.com
 Bethany

My hand travels sleepily to the other side of the mattress, but I find that it’s
empty. My lover will be hard at work on something. Even after his triumph

over Navarro, he won’t rest. He’ll be looking for Mikhail and Ciara, and
using every means at his disposal to find them.

But what if he never does?

My eyes open to the morning light and fasten on the ceiling. Maybe
it’s even likely that he’ll never find them. Damir and I might sail from port

to beautiful port, following the sun around the world. The desire for
revenge will ebb from him a little more each day, until he turns to me and

says, I give up, princesa, and what’s more, I wish them well. We’ll change
our identities and start fresh somewhere exotic.

I get up and pad through to the bathroom. Never going to happen.

Not Damir Ravnikar. He’s not the type to give up, on a plan, or on his hate.

As I lean against the vanity brushing my teeth and stare out at the

undulating waves, shame floods by belly. And this is the man I love. If I

was a stronger person I’d be long gone. My parents would be so

disappointed with my life choices.

I spit in the basin and glare at my reflection. What about their life

choices? They dumped me on the street. Damir decks me out in jewels,

calls me his princess and treats me like his tender little victim. Is it any

wonder I want him, and only him?

I find him on the main deck, working on his laptop and drinking a

cup of coffee. When he sees me, his steely eyes brighten. I can’t stay angry

at him for long. I press my lips gently against his warm, firm mouth. His
strong hands slide around me and he pulls me onto his lap. I settle there

comfortably, in the lap of luxury. For how luxurious it is to be loved by him.

“Morning, baby,” I whisper against his lips, and then trail kisses

along his sharp cheekbone and lick the curve of his ear.

He chuckles darkly. “Good morning, princesa. You slept late.”

I settle my arms comfortably around his neck and take a deep, happy

breath of sea air. There’s not a soul on the sea or a scrap of land visible on

the horizon. “Where to, now?”

There’s a decisive, hungry gleam in his eye that makes my stomach

swoop in alarm. “Out through the Suez Canal to the Indian Ocean.”

“Oh? Why?”

“I know where they are.”

Panic leaps in my throat. All my stupid daydreams come crashing

down around me. I squeeze my eyes shut. Mikhail, you idiot. Why didn’t

you hide her better?

 “Just let them be,” I beg him. “You and me, that’s what matters. We

can go anywhere, do anything.” Within the limits of his Interpol alert. But

with new identities, what’s stopping us from making a life together

somewhere else?

As I look into his gem-like eyes, I already know the answer. He’s

what stopping us. Him and his insane need for revenge.
I scramble off his lap, my fists clenched. “I’m not going to help you

kill them. I draw the goddamn line there. And you’re not going to trick me

again!”

Damir stands up and closes his laptop. “You’ll do as you’re told.”

The happiness I felt so briefly in his arms has already faded away.

“I’ll do what I think is right.”

He collects his things and strides away. I wonder how much more

poison my love for him can take.

I need a new plan. I need to get the hell out of here, once and for all.

I’ve been on this yacht for weeks and—

Mikhail, Ciara and Damir are pushed out of my mind as a horrified,

feminine thought overtakes me. When did I last get my period?

I hurry back to our room and swipe the packet of contraception bills

from my bedside table and study it. I haven’t had my period on this yacht. It

was back in London, two weeks before Damir abducted me. Ice floods my
veins as I realize I’m late. Very late, and I’m never late. I took the sugar

pills over a week ago, but I didn’t bleed. What with the happiness and relief

after Damir finished things with Navarro, I didn’t even notice.

Maybe it’s stress. I’m sure I’ve read that stress can disrupt your

cycle. I won’t panic. I’ll just come off the pill now and my period will start

in a day or two.

I put the packet down and make myself take a deep breath, but it’s

as if there’s a giant rubber band restricting my chest. I can’t be pregnant. We

had unprotected sex a few times, yes, but I took the morning after pill, for

crying out loud, and then straight onto the contraceptive pill. With all those

artificial hormones circling through my body I shouldn’t have been in any

state to conceive.

And yet, where’s my goddamn period?

I start breathing too hard and fast. I can’t get enough oxygen. I’m

carrying a murderer’s baby and he’s about to kill his brother. He’s already

killed his father. What if he kills his child, too?

I clutch the edge of the vanity, trying to get a grip on myself. I’m not

going to die and I’m not pregnant. I’m just hyperventilating and freaking

out. How tempting it is to lose control right now and sink down into

oblivion on the floor.

“Bethany?”
 A large hand reaches out and clamps onto my shoulder. I know its

weight. I know its danger, and it splinters the last of my self-control.

“Get off me!” I lash out at Damir, shoving him away from me, and

run out of the bedroom and as far from him as I can. Which isn’t anywhere

near far enough.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Twenty-Four

OceanofPDF.com
 Damir

That evening, I find that Bethany has barricaded herself in the bedroom
with the furniture and doesn’t emerge for dinner. I end up sleeping in one of

the guest cabins. In the morning, I sit at breakfast for several hours, reading
the news and drinking coffee, one ear listening out for footsteps.

Finally, she emerges, her arms wrapped tightly around her body and

squinting in the late morning light.

I stand up quickly and go to her. “My love, you’re pale.”

“Where are we?” she asks in a croaky voice, staring around.

“Between Crete and the Libya–Egypt border. We’ll be passing

through the Suez Canal tonight.”

Her eyes widen. “Already? I thought… How long will it take to

reach Mikhail and Ciara? Where are they?”

“In the Seychelles. If we don’t get held up at the canal we’ll be there

in three days.”

“Three days,” she whispers, her eyes wide with horror. She passes a

shaking hand across her face, and even her lips become bloodless. “When
did the world get so small?”

Her glassy eyes stare into the middle distance. She doesn’t just look

worried, she looks unwell.

 I take her hand and put my other arm around her waist, supporting

her body. “Come and eat. You’ll make yourself ill.”

“I’m not hungry,” she protests, but seems too weak to put up any

resistance.

“Yes, you are.” I place her firmly in a seat at the table.

She looks around at the food. There’s a sheen of sweat on her brow,

though the morning is cool. “I think I feel queasy. I don’t know. Maybe it’s

all in my mind.”

“What’s all in your mind?”

She bites down on her lip and looks away. If I didn’t know better I’d
say she was seasick, but the yacht has never affected her before now. It

must be the thought of Mikhail that’s making her ill.

“He left you behind,” I snarl, my stomach churning. I suddenly feel

like I’m going to be sick as well. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. The

thought of revenge is usually soothing. At the mention of his name,

Bethany flinches like I’ve hit her.

I’m so fucking over this. I stand up and stride along the deck to our
cabin, grab my workout gear and head into the gym. I need a hard, long

workout and a good sweat to keep my temper from boiling over.

After fifty minutes of weights and half an hour on the treadmill, I’ve

managed to burn through most of my anger. Most of it. I’ll feel better when
Mikhail and that grasping little bitch of his are dead.

The sight of Bethany huddled in her seat, pale and shaking, returns

to me, but I push it away. She’ll feel better when this is all over, too. Maybe

she’s squeamish right now, but she’ll take it in her stride.

She’ll have to. She has no choice.

I check on the cabin after I’ve rinsed off in the gym shower. Bethany
has gone back to bed, without attempting to barricade the door this time. I

want to go in and shake her awake, because there’ll be no sulking about this

now or after they’re dead. Why doesn’t she understand that you have to

cleanse disloyalty from your life like cutting off a gangrenous limb?

I stand up on deck at sunset as the yacht enters the Suez Canal. It’s a

flat, sandy landscape. There’s an enormous container ship in front of us, and

one behind us as well. On the other side of the canal is the Red Sea, and

beyond that, it opens into the Indian Ocean.

Once we pass through the canal, there’s nothing to do but watch the

horizon, and wait.

Bethany doesn’t speak a word to me. Once or twice a day she

emerges from the cabin to force herself to eat something. Her cheeks are

still pale, and are growing thinner. My chest aches with the need to wrap

my arms around her, but every time I try to touch her, she flinches away

from me.
 On the evening of the fourth day, at the time we’re scheduled to

arrive in the Seychelles, I head to the bridge. Boris stands up eagerly when

he sees me and turns his laptop screen around.

“Our agent has sent in his report,” he tells me. The moment we

discovered where Mikhail was hiding, I got in contact with a private

investigator I’ve used in the past. One who doesn’t let scruples stand in the

way of getting a job done.

“He bribed some immigration officials at the main Seychelles

airport to show him the security guards’ landing cards. Mikhail’s address is

here, by the beach.” Boris points to a satellite image on Google maps. A

house stands just back from the shore.

“I brought the yacht in close,” Boris goes on. “We’re just three miles

offshore.”

My eyes snap to the horizon, and as I’m opening my mouth to ask

whether Mikhail might see the lights of our vessel, I hear a faint scuffing

sound outside. When I go to the door and peer up and down the deck,

there’s nothing there.

“Don’t worry,” Boris says behind me. “He won’t be able to see us at

this distance. Shall we act tonight?”

I stare out into the darkness. I’m a mere three miles from my
brother, and so close to my goal. So near to ending this. “No. Not tonight. I
need to plan. Thank you, Boris.”

“Of course, boss.”

I go back and check the main cabin. Bethany is sound asleep, in the

same position I left her in an hour ago. She’s been going to bed earlier and

earlier lately.

I lay down in the dark next to her, but it’s as if I’m laying on a bed

of nails. My whole body is strung so tight I feel like I’m about to snap in

two. Tomorrow I’ll be free from the past once and for all, and I’ll have

everything I ever wanted.

A small voice speaks in the dark. “Don’t do this, please.”

I take a deep breath as anger threatens to overwhelm me. “Why

shouldn’t I?”

“If I have to tell you why you shouldn’t take revenge, then you’re

not the man I thought you were becoming. And I don’t love you.”

“I’m the man I always was and always will be. You’re a little fool if

you thought I was ever going to change.”

I wait for her to argue with me, to rise up and rake me with her nails

or try to slap me, so I can take hold of her and pin her down. But she

doesn’t reply or move, and her silence is a vast, lonely chasm.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Twenty-Five

OceanofPDF.com
 Bethany

I’ve wondered idly in the past which is more important to spies: nerves or
brains. Turns out it’s neither. What you actually need is complete and utter

despair. That way you don’t have time for terror or doubt. You just act.
I don’t even feel any morning sickness as I force my breathing to be

slow and regular as Damir turns over in bed beside me. I’ve been nauseated

non-stop for days, ever since I discovered I might be pregnant. Hope that
I’m not is shrinking fast. I’ve been off the pill for four days. Still no period.

Beside me, Damir’s breathing evens out.

The final girl survives. I overheard earlier that we’re three miles

from Mikhail and Ciara, and land is just over the horizon. Maybe surviving
means keeping my head down and letting Damir do whatever bat-shit things

he think he needs to do, but somehow I don’t think so. Ripley goes back for
the cat before the refinery explodes. Laurie saves the children from Michael

Myers. Sidney kills the bad guys herself rather than running screaming into

the night. Surviving means doing everything you can to thwart the killer,

otherwise you’re not the final girl. You just dead. Worse than dead. You’re
nothing.

I glance over and see that Damir’s fast asleep. There’s a knife in his

bedside table drawer. I push the blanket back and creep noiselessly around
to his side. The drawer squeaks slightly, and I wince as I take the knife out.

If he catches me now, he’ll kill me.

I stand over him, holding the weapon in my fist. The soft moonlight

glows on his cheekbone and softens his lower lip. Sleep has given him the

vulnerability of a child. It’s hard to believe, looking at him now, that he’s
capable of all the things he’s done. The easiest way to do it would be to slip

the knife up under his ribs and straight into his heart. He probably wouldn’t

cry out. He might not even wake up.

But I can’t do what he would do. I can’t kill what I love.

I put the knife back, pull on a hooded sweatshirt and tiptoe out of
the bedroom. We’re too far offshore for me to swim for it, so I’m going to

need a boat. I slip through the darkness to where the speedboat is bobbing

alongside. It’s tempting to take it, but the engine will wake people up. Also,

I have no idea how to start or steer the damn thing. Though I have an idea

about how to disable it.

I creep back to where Damir and I usually have breakfast and find

what I’m looking for. The sugar bowl standing on a side table. The one
we’ve been using every morning as we drink our coffee together. I swipe it

up, pushing away everything except the job right in front of me, otherwise

I’m not going to make it through tonight.

 With the sugar bowl in the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt, I

clamber down the rope ladder and into the speedboat. I unscrew the lid to

the fuel tank and tip in the sugar cubes. I have no idea if this is going to

work or not, but I’ve heard sugar in the fuel tank ruins an engine.

All right. Now the life rafts.

I climb back up to the main deck, and as I’m lifting a leg over the
railing, the metal sugar bowl tumbles out of my pocket and clatters over the

deck.

I gasp in horror. I should have thrown it into the ocean. I freeze, half

over the railing, straining to hear the sound of approaching footsteps.

There’s only the breaking of waves against the side of the yacht. All the

same, terror slices through me and I dive for where the life raft capsules are

stacked and start heaving them overboard. Just before I throw the last one, it

occurs to me that I should probably read the instructions while I still have

light enough to see.

I heft one in my arms and start to read. Tie it to the deck, yank the
cord, blah blah… It would be a hell of a lot easier with two people, but I

just have to do it by myself.

I buckle on a life vest and go to the railing. The water below is

almost pitch black. I climb down the ladder, and then let go.
 I plunge into cold water and I’m submerged up over my head. As I

break the surface, gasping, I see a shape bobbing in the water and swim

over to it. Turning the capsule in the water, I find the rope, hold it firmly
with both hands, and pull with all my might. There’s a popping sound, and

the raft inflates noisily and so rapidly that it smacks me in the face and

pushes me under again.

As I break the surface, I swallow some seawater and cough. At this

rate I’m going wake the whole damn yacht. Without a second thought, I

grab the side of the life raft and haul myself into it. I scrabble around for the

oars, pull them from their Velcro fastenings, screw them together, and

plunge them into the water.

I used a rowing machine at the gym once. This has got to be

something like that, right? I lean forward, angling the oars back, and then

move them down and pull. My arms burn, and the raft doesn’t seem to

move. Panic surges through me. I’m a sitting duck. As I struggle to get the

movements right, I keep my eyes fastened on the yacht, searching for lights

going on or figures on the deck. I don’t think I move the raft an inch.

Leaning forward, I try again, dragging the oars through the water.

Beside my little craft, the floating life raft canisters clunk together. I

can’t leave them there. They might not float away by morning, and Damir
and the others will have a way of getting ashore. Suppressing a groan, I get

back into the water and tie them to the life raft.

Back in the bobbing boat, I drag again and again on the oars,

hysteria rising because I’m trying to escape this yacht and I’m going

nowhere. It’s like a bad dream.

When I next look up I wonder, has the yacht receded just a little?

And now a little more? I’m two lengths of a man’s body away from the side

of the ship. Now three. Now five. I give a groan of relief and keep rowing,

searching the black windows and deck lights for signs of movement. I need

to row straight back from the yacht. That’s where land lies, I think. I now
realize that I was such a hurry to get away that I have no compass, no water,

no food. If the sun comes up and I’m floating in the middle of the ocean

with no land in sight, I’m probably dead.

I can’t go back. There’s nothing I can do but keep rowing, and hope.

Boris said it was just three miles. I can walk that in London in just over an

hour. A boat is surely faster. Every now and then I turn around to peer over

my shoulder, searching for telltale lights that mean I’m heading in the right

direction.

Nothing.

Still nothing.
 And then, what feels like hours later—yes! I nearly drop the oars in

excitement. A few twinkling lights on the horizon. They seem worryingly

far away, but they anchor me in the darkness.

Arms aching, I row and row, setting a steady rhythm in time with

my hard breathing. I turn around and peer over my shoulder. The lights are

getting closer for sure. Also, I can hear waves, as if they’re breaking on a

beach. Excited, I strain against the plunging waves. I feel like a current is

dragging me sideways and I fight against it with everything I have,

determined not to slip around what’s probably an island by mistake.

As I draw closer to land the waves suddenly get choppier. I’m

fighting with every ounce of energy in my muscles not only to stay on

course, but to keep the little raft upright. On the open water the swell didn’t

matter so much, but now that the waves have a reef or rocks to break

against I’m being tossed about like crazy. Water slaps into me, soaking and

blinding me.

A huge wave hits me from the side, and I’m thrown out of the boat.

It capsizes on top of me and the oars are wrenched out of my hands.

Panicking, I struggle to work out which way is up in the darkness, my lungs

straining and feet kicking. There’s no up, no down, no bottom, no surface.

Despite my life vest I can’t break the surface. Then another swell hits me. I

slam into a rock, and everything goes black.

“Bethany. Bethany, wake up.”

Someone is leaning over me. Hands are holding my wrists. A large,

strong someone with a familiar deep voice. I whimper, crying without tears,

too exhausted for anything but my shuddering breaths. “Please don’t hurt

me. I had to get away. I had to…”

Up until now he’s been playing with me, but he’s really going to

punish me now. I’ll be locked up below deck for the rest of my life. I won’t
say sorry. I had to do what’s right.

“Bethany.” A growl of frustration, and then he speaks over his

shoulder. “Get her some water. Here, Bethany, drink this.”

I push the bottle away. “No, I don’t want it. If you’re going to
punish me, then just let me die.” Loving him hurts too damn much.

“For heaven’s sake! Do as you’re told, Bethany. Ljubica, help me

with her.”

Ljubica? My eyes flutter open and I see the blurry outline of a man
with dark, curly hair and cheeks roughened by short bristles. As the world

swims into focus, I see the heavy shoulders and gray eyes of the man I once
called my boss. He looks so different from his former tailored and
impeccably groomed self, and it dressed in a rumpled open-necked linen

shirt and has haphazardly clippered beard.

 “Mikhail!” I throw my arms around his neck and he grunts in
surprise. There’s someone over his shoulder. A blonde someone with big,

worried eyes and sun-kissed freckles across her nose. She’s got one hand on
Mikhail’s shoulder.

Ciara and Mikhail.

Alive.

They unbuckle my life vest and pull seaweed from my hair as I grin
stupidly at them. With a few swallows of water, my brain starts working
again. They’re alive, and so am I.

Then panic floods through me as I realize that the sun is over the
horizon, and hours and hours must have past since I fled the yacht. Damir

could be anywhere. He might even be watching us right now.

I gasp and grab fistfuls of Mikhail’s shirt. “You and Ciara have to

get out of here. He’s coming, and he’s going to kill us all.”
He turns and exchanges a grim look with Ciara. They don’t need to

ask who I mean by him. They were expecting this. Hoping it wouldn’t
happen, but preparing for the worst.

But they’re not doing anything. I scramble to my feet in a flurry of

sand. Ciara’s eyes are wide with fear. I grab her arm and start to run blindly,

dragging her along, knowing that Mikhail will follow wherever she goes. I
don’t make it two strides, however, before strong arms wrap around me
from behind and hold me back.

Mikhail bites out orders in a crisp voice. “We’re not going

anywhere. Calm down.”

I struggle against him. “You don’t understand. Damir could be here

any second! We’re in horrible danger.”

“You think I don’t know my own brother and what he’s capable of?”
“Which means you know we have to get out of here!”

“Think, Bethany,” he growls in my ear. “I know you’re scared, but

we can’t just run. We have to have a plan, otherwise Damir will pick us

off.”
I struggle for a moment longer, and then the fight goes out of me

and I flop like a limp noodle in his arms. A limp, exhausted noodle with a
thumping head and a churning stomach.

Mikhail releases me slowly. “Good. The first thing we’re going to

do is get inside. Come on, quickly. I have guards up at the house.”
For the first time I notice the pretty white weatherboard house set

among tropical flower bushes, three hundred yards along the beach. There
are two men who look like security guards watching us. I notice that Ciara’s

in Lycra running gear.

“Did you find me?” I ask her as we walk up the beach.
 She nods. “I was out for my morning run and saw you lying on the

shore. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it was you.” She bites her lip.
“Damir isn’t far away, is he?”

“No. Just over the horizon in a yacht. I stole a life raft.”

All three of us turn and search the horizon. There’s nothing but

unbroken ocean. Damir must have realized hours ago that I’ve escaped. By
now, I’ll be another name on his murder list. A foe to vanquish. An enemy
to destroy. There’s no room in his black heart for anything else.

Tears crowd into my eyes, but I blink them away quickly.

Mikhail takes me inside and sits me on the sofa in the living room.

Ciara brings me a cold glass of water and a wet flannel to wipe my salt-
encrusted face, and within a few minutes I start to feel more human. I didn’t

cut my head open, but I have a tender bruise on my forehead. Ciara gives
me some painkillers for my headache. I can hear Mikhail giving

instructions to the guards to be on high alert.

He comes back into the living room and sits down in front of me, his

fingers laced together and his blue-gray eyes deadly serious. “Tell us
everything.”

I tell them about missing his phone calls and going to the office.
About Damir capturing me and taking me prisoner on board his yacht.
About Monte Carlo, Lucan Navarro, Nataša and the jewels. If Mikhail feels

any grief at the mention of his dead sister’s name, he doesn’t show it.
“Who?” Ciara asks, glancing at Mikhail.

“I had a sister,” he says flatly. “Go on, Bethany.”

I remember what Damir said, that Mikhail never mourned his sister

and that Damir was the only one in the family who cared she was dead. A
shard of ice slips down my spine. And I thought Damir was the callous one.

I tell them about taking a life raft in the dead of night and getting
into trouble on the rocks. I tell them everything, in fact, except for Damir

becoming my lover. They won’t understand if I try to tell them that we’re in
love, that we’re made for each other, but there’s so much bitterness in his

heart that everything else has been eclipsed.

“And here I am, alive, just about. I’d kind of like to stay that way.”

Ciara has been mostly silent throughout my speech, but now she
asks, “He means to kill us? Misha and me? He said that?”
There’s no way to soften the truth, so I just nod.

“I get that he hates me, but his own brother?” She reaches out and
takes Mikhail’s hand. While she looks frightened, Mikhail just looks angry

and severe. I think he’s been preparing for this day ever since he and Ciara
fled London.

“How many men does Damir have on the yacht?” he asks.

 “Four, including himself. They’re all armed. I may have slowed
them down a bit. I destroyed all the life rafts and poured sugar in the

speedboat’s tank.”
“That was good thinking.” Mikhail pulls out his phone. “We’re
going to get off the island. I’ll call the airport and ready a plane. It will be

traceable, but we’ll plan a new way to disappear while we’re in the air. For
the moment, lock the doors and windows and close all the curtains. This is

the safest place we can be for now.”

Mikhail heads into the kitchen to make the call and Ciara and I

hurry around the house, upstairs and downstairs, seeing that everything’s
locked down and no one can see in. Then we meet back in the lounge, and

stand looking at each other in silence.

“I’m so happy you’re together,” I say finally.

Ciara grimaces and sits down, pulling a cushion into her lap and
hugging it to her body. I can see she’s thinking, Yes, but for how long?

To keep her mind off what’s happening out there, I ask her what she
and Mikhail have been through since they left London.

She fiddles with the seam of the cushion. “It was really hard, at first.
I had a lot of trouble understanding why Misha kidnapped me, and why we

had to hide. He nearly went back to London to draw Damir out so I could
be safe. But I couldn’t let him go.”
 There’s no need to ask why. I can see it in her face as she glances
toward the kitchen. She loves him. Pure, gentle love that’s always been so

alien to me. It still does. There’s nothing pure or gentle about the way I feel
about Damir.

“What has he been doing to you?” Ciara whispers.

I look up sharply into her worried eyes. Doing to me. How has he

been hurting me, she means. Has it been beatings, or something worse.
Mikhail is standing in the doorway, his face pale and hard. As he

realizes what Ciara is asking, he turns to leave the room. “I’ll let the two of
you talk in private. I’m here, though, Bethany. You’re safe from him now.”

I hurry to correct him. “No—wait. It’s not like that.” Not exactly.
Not in the way Mikhail and Ciara are thinking. “He didn’t—he’s not—I

didn’t run away from Damir to save myself. He treated me quite well,
actually.” I feel my cheeks start to glow red. “I ran away to save the both of
you.”
If he hadn’t been so hell-bent on revenge then I would have stayed

with Damir. I would have been happy, because with Damir, I was alive and
free, and so was he. I saw it in his eyes whenever he looked at me, before
they clouded over again with his need for revenge. How would he have
looked, I wonder, if I told him about the baby? Would his arms have slipped
around me and cradled my belly as he whispered his wonder and love into
my ear?

Tears slip down my cheeks and I have to cover my mouth to prevent

myself from sobbing. “I’m sorry,” I manage between gulps for air. “It’s just
been a difficult time.”
“That monster,” Ciara mutters. She and Mikhail both fuss over me,
handing me tissues and water and saying comforting words. They think my

tears are because I’m deathly afraid of Damir. There’s no way to tell them
that his brutality and tyranny only made me love him.
Mikhail’s phone rings, and he answers it. Ciara and I both watch
him in tense silence. A moment later, he hangs up and turns back to us.

“There’s a plane refueling. We’re going to drive to the airport and fly to the
mainland. Mombasa or Nairobi are our best options.”
Ciara jumps up and hurries to the bedroom. She comes back with
two passports and hands one to Mikhail. “What about Bethany? She doesn’t

have a passport.”
“I’ll think of something. Let’s just get to the airport. If she’s
deported to the UK then at least she’ll be away from Damir.”
The security guards are waiting out front with two SUVs, their faces

tense behind their dark glasses. Two of them escort Ciara and I out, flanking
us on either side. There are two more behind us. Mikhail has a revolver in
his hand and brings up the rear.

There’s a phttt sound. Blood blooms in a cloud, and the guard to my

right crumples to the ground.
Phttt.
Phttt.

Phttt.
All four guards sink to the ground around us as if they’re
marionettes and someone has cut their strings. Ciara and I stare at the
corpses at our feet in horror. My eyes snap to the sand dunes around us.

He’s here.
“Get in the car!” Mikhail roars, stepping over the dead bodies and
yanking the driver’s side door open. Ciara and I run for the back door.
Before I jump in, I swipe a pair of binoculars that have fallen out of a dead
guard’s hand.

Mikhail guns the engine. As we speed along the drive toward the
road, I peer through the back window with the binoculars. There’s
movement up in the dunes. I focus on the dark shape, and see a man. I
recognize his healing face. The last time I saw him, Damir was beating him

to a pulp.
 Ciara’s breathing is rough and frightened. “He found us already. I

can’t believe he found us already.”

“It’s not Damir,” I tell them hoarsely. “It’s Lucan Navarro.” He
survived, and he’s followed Damir right to Mikhail. We’ve got not one but
two revenge-obsessed maniacs out for our blood. I should enjoy the
sunshine while I can, because this is the last day I’ll ever see.

Mikhail thumps the steering wheel and curses out his brother. The
sniper raises his gun again, and aims right at us. I gasp and drop the
binoculars.
“Get down!” I dive for Ciara and flatten her across the back seat,

just before a gunshot explodes in our ears.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Twenty-Six

OceanofPDF.com
 Damir

There’s gunfire on the beach.

Boris has brought the yacht as close to shore as possible and I watch

through binoculars as Mikhail, Ciara and Bethany jump out of the SUV,
crouch low and run back into the house. A sniper up in the dunes has blown

their tires out. The belting I gave him several weeks ago is still evident on

his face.
I want to kill Mikhail and Ciara with my own hands, and now Lucan

Navarro is going to get there first.

“Get me a sniper rifle,” I call over to my shoulder to Boris, and he

sprints off down the deck. I peer through the binoculars once more, my
hands sweaty.

Cold dread formed in my belly the moment I woke up this morning

and saw that Bethany wasn’t in bed beside me. She might have just been

out by the pool or sitting at the breakfast table, but somehow I knew she

was gone. She was squeamish about Mikhail and Ciara. I knew it, and I

should have locked her in, for her own protection. If she’d died getting to
Mikhail…

I take a deep breath, pushing away the terrible thought. She’s still

alive, and I’m going to get her back.

 Boris puts a sniper rifle into my hands, and I load it and look

through the scope. Motherfucker. The sniper in the dunes has disappeared,

probably ducking down behind the cresting sand. I pan slowly to the left,

across the house with all its curtains pulled closed, and to the dunes on the

other side. There’s movement there. A sniper who hasn’t concealed himself.
He’s right in my crosshairs. I breathe out slowly, and depress the trigger.

The gunshot cracks loudly over the water. The sniper goes rigid, and

disappears from view.

One down. Now, where the fuck is Navarro?

As I pan over the house, I see that there’s one window where the
curtains haven’t been pulled quite tight. My finger leaps for the trigger, but

I realize I can’t fire into the house because I might hit Bethany. I’ll have to

get closer. I switch out the sniper for a more durable AK-47 and strap it to

my back. I’m going to have to swim for it.

“I’ll come with you,” Boris says.

“No,” I growl, tossing him the sniper. “You and the men stay on the

yacht, and cover me. There’s still at least one sniper up in the dunes.”
I take off my shoes and socks, swing my legs over the side, and

jump. The water is warm and clear, and I break the surface. It’s several

hundred yards to the beach and I set off with a strong freestyle stroke,

heading a little to the west so that I approach via the dunes with the dead
sniper. There’s a scrubby hillock, and I hurry toward it, and then creep low

through the bushes toward the house.

A magnolia tree is growing close to the house, and I climb the

branches and pull myself quietly up onto the roof. From here I can reach the

bedroom windows. Bethany is inside. Once I go in, will she come to me, or

will she cower behind Mikhail for protection? Will she try to protect Ciara,
and beg for their lives?

I pull the AK-47 rifle off my back, smash the window in and climb

quickly inside. I’m in the master bedroom by the looks of it, and I crouch

behind the bed for a moment, wondering if the breaking glass has alerted

them. There are no shouts or footsteps, so I creep toward the stairs. I can

hear Bethany and Mikhail talking downstairs.

“…the hell are Navarro’s men doing here?” Mikhail asks angrily.

“They must have followed us out through the Suez Canal. I told you

Damir robbed his villa for those jewels. This has been his grand tour of

revenge, and it started with killing Georgios for jilting Nataša.”

Another female voice asks, “Did someone kill Nataša? And why

didn’t you ever tell me you had a sister?”

I feel like I’ve been punched in the guts. It’s like he’s wanted to

erase our entire family from his memory. If none of this had happened, I
wonder how long it would have been before he erased me from his life, too.

I can’t wait any longer to come face-to-face with my dear, beloved brother.

Keeping low, I edge out of the bedroom and along the short hall,
walk slowly down half a dozen steps and sit on the staircase. None of them

notice me. Bethany’s standing on the far side of the room, looking sickly

and afraid, her black curly hair wild with salt. There are scrapes on her

forehead and cheeks. Mikhail and Ciara have their backs to me.

Mikhail utters a growl of rage. “It all happened so long ago. My

fucking brother just had to pull off that scab.”

I speak lazily from the stairs. “Your fucking brother just wants

people who’ve wronged him to pay.”

Bethany starts and lets out a squeak. Mikhail whirls around,

handgun raised, and sees me with the rifle propped up on my knee. Ciara

goes white beneath her tan, and her mouth falls open in fear.

I reach up and squeeze seawater out of my short, wet hair. “You’re

right, Misha. The Seychelles are beautiful this time of year.”

Mikhail moves slowly to the right so that he’s blocking Ciara with

his own body. “Don’t call me that.”

My eyes travel over to Bethany, and she visibly swallows. “You

little fool. What were you thinking jumping off the yacht like that. You
could have died.”
 She musters up a nonchalant shrug. “Doesn’t matter when you’re

only going to kill me anyway.”

Weeks of hunting, and now everyone’s finally together. I should feel

exultant, but there’s unease churning in my belly instead. Navarro’s out

there somewhere, with God knows how many guns and men surrounding

us. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with you yet.”

Mikhail jerks his head toward the front door. “Looks like you’ll

have to get in line if you want your revenge.”

“Hello to you, too,” I say coldly. “Did you enjoy destroying

everything we built together and selling your own brother out to the
authorities?”

“Yes,” he says coldly. “Only they’ve been a thorough

disappointment, because here you are. They couldn’t take you out, and

neither could Navarro. But I promise you, I’ll kill you myself if you don’t

leave now.”

I laugh lazily, but I can see the truth in his eyes. He’ll kill me to

protect Ciara if he has to. She’s all that matters to him now. I glance at

Bethany, and an ache goes through my limbs. I want to crush her to me and

suddenly be far, far away from here. I wish…

I take a better grip on the rifle and turn back to Mikhail. “Your name

came up while I was chatting with Navarro.”

 “It did?” asks Mikhail.

“Yes. He wants to kill you. And probably her for good measure.” I

nod at Ciara. She’s gazing back at me with her usual steely poise. I can’t

seem to ruffle one little hair on her blonde head unless I slit someone’s

throat.

Mikhail’s eyes spark with hot, angry antipathy. “Lucan Navarro

wasn’t interested in either Ciara or me until you wound him up. Maybe if I

give him what he really wants, which is you, he’ll leave the rest of us alone.

Ciara, Bethany, go into the bathroom and lock yourselves in. Keep your

heads down. There might be bullets flying all over the place in a minute.”

Ciara immediately starts to back away, until I level my rifle at her.

“Stay where you are.”

She stops. Bethany hasn’t even moved. She watching me with

something like reproach in her eyes. Reproach, and disappointment.

If I have to tell you why you shouldn’t take revenge, then you’re not

the man I thought you were becoming. And I don’t love you.

I turn to Mikhail. “You never loved Nataša. You never even told her

you had a sister.”

Mikhail just stares stonily back at Damir. I glance between the

brothers, wondering what silent communication is passing between them,

but it’s impossible to read their expressions.

 Mikhail’s opening his mouth to speak when we hear an explosion,

one that echoes up and down the beach. I look at Bethany and indicate the

front window, the one that looks out onto the water. “Open it. Just a few

inches.”

She hurries over and pulls the curtain to one side. Over Bethany’s

shoulder, flaming debris tumbles through the air and burns atop the waves.

The yacht has been utterly destroyed. All my men with it.

“Boris and the others were on the yacht, weren’t they?” Bethany
asks. When I don’t answer she turns to look at me, anguish creasing her

brow. “Damir?”
I stare at the flames. I can’t even feel anything as I watch them burn.

Nothing is unfolding today as it should be, and I can’t understand why.

So I don’t try to.

I turn back to Mikhail like nothing’s happened. “Tell me, Misha.

Why did you do it?”

Mikhail is staring out the window, but he hasn’t lowered his

handgun. Bethany draws the curtain closed and takes a step toward me, but

I stop her with a look. She fidgets on the spot, her eyes huge and sad. Boris
and the others knew what they were getting into. Now they’re one more
reason Navarro has to die.

“Mikhail!” I snap.
 He turns back to me. “Why did I destroy the company and flee with
Ciara? Because you told me to.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I never told you any such
thing.”

“Don’t you remember what you said to me the day you killed our
father? You told me that if someone tries to take away what’s mine, I should

come at them with everything I have. I don’t have endless rage and a thirst
for blood. That was always your thing, so I chose to put the law on your tail
and then go into hiding.”

I do remember. It was the night we started Ravnikar Enterprises. I

made him swear it over our father’s corpse while his blood was still pooling

at our feet. “I killed our father for you. It was always meant to be just the
two of us.”

Mikhail jerks his chin at Bethany. “And her? What about her?”
“What about her?” I bite out.

“She’s here. She’s alive and unhurt, apart from the injuries she got
fleeing you. She even defended you a short time ago. I can see how you’re

looking at her now. I caught a glimpse of how you looked at her back in
London. I thought I was imagining things, but you want her, don’t you?

Badly. And she wants you.”

“Just shut up about Bethany.”
 “No, I won’t, because it’s the only way to make you understand. The
feelings you have for Bethany? I have them for Ciara. You made me

choose, and I chose her. I will always choose her.”

I aim the rifle at him. “Then you and she are going to die.”

“That’s enough!” Bethany’s eyes are blazing up at me. Her beautiful

green eyes, filled with emotion. “You can have me. I’ll stay. But let them

go, or I promise that you’ll lose me forever.”

“Don’t threaten me, Bethany.”

“It’s not a threat, it’s a warning.” She takes a deep breath. “You can
have your revenge on them, or you can have me and your child.”

There’s a ringing in my ears. “My what?”

She splays a hand on her belly and looks at me imploringly, and I

feel the ground drop away from beneath my feet.

“You child, Damir. I’m pregnant.”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Twenty-Seven

OceanofPDF.com
 Bethany

Damir’s face goes slack with shock. The room is utterly still and silent.
“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” I reply.

His voice is husky and there’s a strange expression in his eyes. “But

I gave you the morning after pill like you wanted. You’ve been taking

contraceptives.”
I spread my hands and let them fall to my side. “Didn’t work. We

weren’t exactly being careful. There were a few times you didn’t pull out,
and it only takes once.”

This has to work. This is my only card to play, and I can’t believe I
have to play it, and use our child as a way to bargain for Mikhail and

Ciara’s lives. I can see love and hope creep into Damir’s expression as he
slowly realizes what I’m saying. He wanted us to have a child all along.

Damir, despite all his rage and bitterness, is a family man at heart.

“We can start fresh,” I whisper to him. “You and me and our child.”

Mikhail shifts on his feet and he glances at me out of the corner of

his eye. I swear to god if he judges me for willingly—more or less—

sleeping with his brother I will punch him in the throat.

 I glance at Ciara, ready to stare down her judgement, but to my

surprise, all I see is sympathy. And something else. She’s gnawing on her

lip as if she’s mentally debating something. I don’t need anything from her.

If she and Mikhail keep their mouths shut maybe I can talk Damir out of

killing them.
Damir goes on staring at me for a full minute. Then his expression

closes and he turns back to Mikhail.

It’s not enough for him. His love for me, his child that I’m carrying.

I’m not enough for him to put down his weapon. He’s turned away from me

as coldly as he did the deaths of his men.

“I warn you,” I say, though my voice is shaky with despair now.

“You’ll never see me or your child again if you do this.”

But Damir’s not listening to me. He opens his mouth to speak to

Mikhail, but he’s interrupted.

“I’m pregnant, too.”

I whip around. Ciara’s face is bright red, and she casts a fearful look

at Mikhail. One look at his stunned expression is enough to tell me that he

had no idea.

“You’re—you’re—how long…when did you…?” Mikhail passes a

hand over his face, trying to come to terms with what he’s just learned

while still keeping his handgun trained on Damir.

 Ciara takes a shaky breath. “I’ve suspected it for a month.”

“A month?” Mikhail exclaims.

“I didn’t want it to be true, not while we’re in hiding. I’ve been in

denial, I guess. I didn’t want to deal with it, but it looks like now I have no

choice.”

“Congratulations,” I tell her weakly.

She gives me a wan smile. “You, too.”

Then she steps forward and takes my hand, and turns to face the

brothers. “This changes everything, you realize. Either you two work

together against this Navarro, or Bethany and I are not going to make it.

Your children aren’t going to make it. We’re carrying your blood. Both of

you. Both of us.”

Mikhail starts toward her, but she draws away, taking me with her.

“No. Don’t come to me. He’s the one you need to talk to,” she says,

nodding at Damir.

“You’re the one I’m here to protect,” Mikhail says defiantly. “I’ve
got nothing to say to him.”

“I’m sick of hiding!” she exclaims. “This isn’t a life, Mikhail, and

I’m not bringing a child into this world only for it to be hunted down. You

two need to figure out a way for all of us to coexist in this world.”

“We won’t have to if I kill him,” he growls.

 “I don’t want to have a baby with a killer, either. Especially not one

who’s killed his own brother.”

“Neither do I,” I say, drawing closer to Ciara. I glare between Damir

and Mikhail, who are both staring at us like we’re mad. Finally, Mikhail

takes a deep breath and turns to his brother.

“You’re going to be a father. I’m going to be a father. Ciara’s right.

This changes everything.”

“Does it?” Damir asks without inflection.

“You and I and are going to take out Navarro, and then we’re going

to go our separate ways once and for all. No hunting us down. No revenge.

We’ve got other responsibilities now.” Mikhail hesitates, and then slowly

lowers his gun.

Damir is still pointing his rifle at Mikhail, his finger on the trigger. I

wonder if he’s thinking about becoming a father, or calculating our chances

of survival if he takes on both Navarro and Mikhail at the same time. I want

to believe it’s the former, but there’s a cold glimmer to his eyes that tells me

it’s not.

He bares his teeth in his shark-like smile, and lowers his weapon.

“Sure, brata.”

Ciara’s hand, which I didn’t realize was gripping mine like a vice,
unclenches, and she lets out the breath she’s been holding.
 But I’m still looking at Damir’s toothy, malevolent smile. “Why

don’t I believe him?” I ask, but no one’s listening to me.

“We’ll split up,” Mikhail announces. “Damir will go to the east and

I’ll go to the west. We’ll circle around, taking out any of Navarro’s men we

come across, and meet up north of the house at the crossroads and each

report what we’ve found.”

He casts a questioning look at Damir, who nods once.

“Um, okay, Ciara and I will just stay here and do our nails?” I scoff.

“Just keep out of sight,” Damir tells me, standing up. “Go into the

bathroom like Mikhail said, and stay down.”

“No!” Ciara and I say at the same time.

“We’re coming, too,” Ciara says.

“Yeah,” I agree. “If you two idiots were happy to drag us into this

mess and get us pregnant, then we’re going to see it through to the end.”

Mikhail turns to Ciara. “I can’t focus if I take you with me.”

She folds her arms, mulish, just looking at him. I glance around the

room for a weapon, and pick up a heavy wooden statue and brandish it like

a club. I’d prefer a gun, but at least I’ll have something to protect myself

with out there.

Damir glares at me, and then addresses Mikhail. “Got any rope,

brata?”
 “You tie me up again and I will rip your dick off and make you eat

it,” I growl. “If you’re happy to use me as jewelry bait, then you don’t get

to go all caveman on me now.”

“He used you as bait?” Mikhail exclaims, but I’m not listening. I’ve

only got eyes for Damir.

“Fine!” he shouts. “You can come, but you’re keeping out of—”

Ciara steps in front of us. “No. I’m going with Damir. Bethany’s

going with Misha. We’re going to do this together.” She looks at Damir as

she says this. He glares back at her, loathing writ large on his face.

Mikhail shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

At the same time, Damir protests, “I’m not taking her! She falls

apart at the sight of blood.”

But Ciara just picks up the twin of the wooden statue that I’m

holding. I see what she’s doing. She’s banking on her being the one Damir

truly hates, and if he sees she’s not his enemy then he might let it go. She’s

trying to end the feud between the brothers, because it’s the only way she’ll

be certain that the father of her child will live.

Ciara shoots me a look, asking silently for my support. I don’t want

to give my support. I think her being alone with Damir is the stupidest idea

since The Pop-Up Book of Phobias but she’s glaring at me so hard I think

her eyes might melt me.

 If that’s what she wants, it’s her neck. I’ll be going with the sane

brother.

“Good idea,” I say, stepping toward my old boss and raising my

hand for a high five. “Hey, the dream team’s back together.”

Mikhail ignores me. He’s too busy protesting loudly that Ciara’s not

going anywhere with Damir, and Damir joins in.

Ciara shrugs. “Fine. Bethany and I will go out there together.

Pregnant and—” she drops her weapon on the table “—unarmed. Oh, dear.
Do you think we’ll survive?”

I drop my statue as well and we saunter toward the door. As soon as

my back is to the brothers, I grin to myself. I wish I’d known Ciara better

back at university. I think would have liked her a lot.

“All right, wait!”

Both the brothers charge in front of us and block the door, standing
shoulder to shoulder and glaring down at us. We stare stubbornly back at

them.
Damir turns to Mikhail. “If anything happens to her, I’ll fucking kill

you.”
“Same to you, brata,” Mikhail snarls back. His eyes linger on his
brother’s face, and then he reaches for Ciara and pulls her into his arms.

“Ljubica. Be careful. Stay behind Damir and keep your head down.
Don’t…” His hand seeks her belly and caresses her there, and his forehead
presses against hers. His face says it all.

Please don’t die. I need you.

“Ljubim te,” he whispers.

“Ljubim te,” she whispers back, and they kiss tenderly. I swear I
hear violins swell around them.

Damir yanks me toward him and clamps a hand around my throat.

His angry eyes blaze into mine, the AK-47 is still hefted in his grip. “If you
fucking die, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“God, stop it with the romance, would you? I’m going to be sick.”
He tries to kiss me, but I turn my face away. “While you’re out there

you need to do some hard thinking about what it is you truly want, or you’ll
never see me or your child again.”

“Ljubim te to you, too, princesa,” he growls.

“What’s that? I love you?” I pick up the two statues from the table

and throw one to Ciara, who catches it. “Save it. I’m not interested until you
get off this revenge train.”

Mikhail points at his brother. “One last thing, Damir. If Ciara gets so
much as a scratch on her out there, if you even think of using her as bait, I’ll

impale you ass-first on a kitchen knife.”

 Damir turns to look at the slender blonde woman, his voice soft, but
with menace rather than reassurance. “Don’t worry, Misha. Your precious

ones are safe with me.”

Over his shoulder, I see Ciara blanch.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Twenty-Eight

OceanofPDF.com
 Damir

“She didn’t let you kiss her, huh?” Ciara asks quietly as we lay on our
bellies in the dunes.

Through a pair of binoculars, I scan the grassy hillocks for any sign
of movement. All is silent. “Bethany will do what I tell her.”

Ciara sniffs. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. She’s having a baby,

and that changes a woman. She’s not going to be thinking about just you
anymore.”

My stomach lurches. Bethany’s having a baby. My baby. “Just shut

your mouth and keep out of my way. We’re going up this dune. Stay behind

me.”
Near the top, I pause, and signal for Ciara to do the same. I zoom in

on two figures creeping through the dunes on the other side of the beach,
one bearish, curly-haired man and a slender, black-haired woman. I watch

Mikhail and Bethany disappearing into the scrubby dunes.

“Are we going?” Ciara asks beside me.

I realize I’ve been staring at the spot where Mikhail and Bethany
disappeared for several minutes. I turn and look down at Ciara. At the

splash of freckles across her nose. Her chapped lips that seem like they’ve
been gnawed with worry. My brother’s child is inside this woman. Every

remaining Ravnikar could die today.

“You’re keen to get killed,” I mutter, moving off.

We make our cautious way through the dunes. Smoke drifts over us,

carrying the stench of burning engine oil and smoldering fiberglass, and the
regret and pain I’ve held back suddenly impale me. Boris was a bloody

good man, loyal and clever. I would have trusted no one else to take

Bethany into Navarro’s lair in Monte Carlo. Now he’s in pieces at the

bottom of the ocean. The thought should make me blaze with anger, but I

feel worn out. I just want all this to be over, and for Bethany to be in my
arms again.

We circle around to the north of the house until we hear voices.

They seem to be coming from up ahead. We make our way up and peer over

the edge. There are two men, standing out in the open, machine guns in

their hands and eyes alert to danger. I can hear one of them talking on a

two-way radio in French. Neither of them is Navarro.

As one, Ciara and I pull back out of earshot.

“They’re Navarro’s men. I’ll have to take them out.”

“What are you waiting for?” Ciara asks, shooting me an impatient

look. “Or is killing beneath you suddenly?”

 “No. I’m thinking. I’m carrying a pretty blonde dead weight, and if I

expose our position and they call for help, we’ll have every one of

Navarro’s men down on our heads. My brother has my woman, so I can’t let

anything happen to you.”

“Misha will never hurt Bethany. I’m the one taking all the risk.”

“Shut up. I’m thinking.”

Ciara moistens her lips. “Use me as bait.”

I stare at Ciara, and then have to suppress a burst of laughter.

“What? I’m serious,” she whispers.

“Misha said no using you as bait. I thought little miss goody two-

shoes would do anything her daddy says.”

“Stop saying his name like that. And what makes you think I’m a

goody two-shoes?”

I mimic her high-pitched voice. “Mr. Ravnikar, please, I don’t even

know my parents, the stolen money had nothing to do with me.”

“It didn’t,” she says tightly.

“Family money. Family responsibility.”

“Anyone tell you that for a narcissistic psychopath you’re weirdly

into family?”

I nod meaningfully at her belly. “Lucky for you I am.”

 She grabs hold of my shirt and gives me a little shake. “Come on!

We need to stop wasting time. Send me in there and I’ll distract them while

you take them out. I’ll limp over there crying or something. No, bleeding.
Punch me in the face.”

“What?”

“If I’m hurt they won’t think I’m a threat. They’ll wonder if I have

something useful to tell them.”

I grimace. “Let’s think of something else.”

“What the hell is wrong with you all of a sudden? You came all this

way to murder me, and now you can’t even punch me in the goddamn—”

I ball my hand into a fist and punch her in the mouth. Ciara gasps in

pain and claps her hands over her face. When she looks up at me, blood is

dripping down her chin from a split lip and tears slide down her cheeks. I

glance guiltily around for Mikhail, as if he’s about to materialize and

throttle me.

“You’re welcome,” I mutter. “When you reach them, pretend to

collapse, and don’t raise you head until I call out that it’s all clear.”

Ciara is still breathing sharply and trying to pull herself together. All

her whimpers are like knives on my nerves. I turn her around and give her a

push. “Stop wasting all your tears here. Go.”

 I creep the opposite way around the dune and watch from the far

side as Ciara limps toward the two men. They eye her warily, guns raised.

She shakily puts her hands up in surrender, and the effect is

wretched combined with her tears and bleeding mouth. When she’s within

ten feet of the men, she collapses, just like I told her to. Before they can

react, I pull the trigger of the rifle in two short bursts.

One man goes down. The other shots miss.

Miss.

I stare at the rifle in my hands, aghast. What the fuck is wrong with

me? Navarro’s man starts to swing around to face me, then decides he needs
to deal with the threat closest to him first. The girl on the ground. Ciara

isn’t even reaching for the dead man’s weapon. As soon as I fired she put

both her hands over head and she’s still lying like that. The other man’s rifle

is swinging around in her direction. It’ll take just a second for him to shoot

five or six bullets into her, ending her life.

“Fuck!” I leap to my feet and empty my magazine into the man’s

back as fast as I can. The weapon clicks futilely in my hand a dozen times

before I realize that the man has slumped to the ground. Dead.

I pass a shaking hand over my sweating face, my heart feeling like

it’s going to beat out of my chest. What the fuck has got into me today? I

run over to Ciara, feeling like the last five seconds has shaved fifty years off
my life. She’s still face-down in the sand, and I put a hand under her arm

and haul her to her feet, scolding her as I do.

“What’s wrong with you? You were just going to lay there and get

shot? Pull yourself together for fuck’s sake, or you’re going to get killed.”

To my astonishment, Ciara clutches my shirt and buries her face

against my chest, crying even harder. I can’t remember a woman ever

reaching for me to comfort her. I stare down at her, unsure what to do.

Bethany wouldn’t carry on like this.

“There, there,” I mutter, and pat her hair.

Ciara continues to hold onto me and sob, and I’m painfully aware

that we’re out in the open and I’ve just made one hell of a racket. I say her

name sharply, and she pulls herself together and looks up. The wound on

her lip is clotting.

“You’re fine. Now move, because we need to find Navarro.”

“Okay,” she whispers thickly, and wipes the tears and blood from

her face with the hem of her shirt. I catch a glimpse of her ever-so-slightly

protruding belly. Bethany’s going to look like that soon. Then she’ll get

bigger and bigger, warm and full in my hands. Wherever she is, let her be
safe. Let her not die today.

A voice adds, Because of me.

 The radio is lying on the ground, and I pick it up. “You don’t know

any French, do you?”

Ciara sniffles for a moment. “I do, actually.”

Of course she does. Posh girl. “How do you say, ‘Fuck. We’ve lost

them. Where are you?’”

“Merde. Nous les avons perdus. Où es-tu?”

I whisper the phrase a few times under my breath, and then press the

call button and bark it into the radio. The reply comes back a moment later,
and I wait for Ciara to translate.

“He says they’re north of the house. Can’t be far from here.”
The radio crackles again, and the man on the other end asks,

“Alexis? Ai-je entendu des coups de feu?” I don’t need a translator to

recognize the suspicion in his tone.

“They heard the gunshots. We should move,” she says.

I try and hand Ciara one of the machine guns, but she shakes her

head. “I’ll shoot myself. I don’t want it. I’m pregnant.”

“All the more reason,” I growl, but she’s already hurrying off into

the dunes. I take one of the guns myself and follow, swearing under my
breath. What was the point of her coming along if she isn’t going to do
anything?

We keep low and head north, both of us listening for voices.

 “You should have taken the gun,” I mutter.
“Carrying a gun makes you a target.” She glances at me hesitantly.

“Sorry for…crying all over you. I guess you reminded me of Mikhail for a
second back there.”

“What, a big, sulky teddy bear?”

She shoots me a dark look. “He can be a BAMF too, you know.”

“A what?”
“A bad-ass motherfucker. You should have seen the way he acted
getting us out of South Africa. He scared the living daylights out of me.”

“He did?” My estimation of my brother rises a few notches. Then I

clamp down on the sensation. “Just shut up and let me focus.”

As we head north, the dunes thin out. There’s nowhere for us to go

without coming out of cover.

Ciara peers over her shoulder. “There’s the house to the south. I
don’t see Navarro, or any other—”

There’s a heavy, ominous chunk-chunk behind us. The sound of a

pump-action shotgun being loaded.

A cold, familiar voice speaks. “Damir Ravnikar. Put your fucking

gun down.”

My eyes close briefly. I’ve gone soft. That’s my problem. I let go of

my dream of revenge for twenty minutes, and now I’m going to get my
head blown off.
I throw the machine gun to the ground, and then turn slowly, raising

my hands. Ciara does the same.

Navarro looks at us with burning hatred in his eyes. A bandage

shows beneath the collar of his shirt. He nods at Ciara. “Who’s she?
Another girlfriend?”

“Yes. I got tired of the other one, but this one’s getting on my nerves
as well. Keeps crying all over the place.” I think quickly for a way to draw

his attention back onto me. “You blew up your own jewels, you fucking
idiot. They were on the yacht.”

“Sacrifices must be made. I’m sorry about your men.” He smiles

nastily.

I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. It’s like being dressed down
by my father when I was twelve years old.

Beside me, Ciara takes a soft, shuddering breath. I’m not a boy of
twelve. I’m a man of thirty-nine and somewhere out there, Bethany is
carrying my child. “You’re too late for Mikhail. He’s already fled.”

Navarro chuckles softly, and waggles the radio in his other hand.
“Nice try, Damir. My men have spotted him in the dunes with your black-

haired girl. Are you two into wife-swapping now?” The muzzle of the
shotgun is pointed right at my face. “I hope you both enjoyed yourselves.

Night-night.”
Fuck.

Bethany’s face flashes before my eyes. So does Mikhail’s.

Then I hear my name in a feral, female scream and I act without

thinking, just as the shotgun blows up in my face.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Twenty-Nine

OceanofPDF.com
 Bethany

For about the fiftieth time, I turn and glance over my shoulder at the empty
dunes.

“Damir will be fine. It’s Ciara you’ve got to worry about,” Mikhail
mutters.

“Who says I’m not worried about her, too?” I hope she knows what

she’s doing. It’s an insane idea of hers, going off alone with Damir. I guess
she thinks she’s as good as dead anyway if Mikhail and Damir can’t call a

truce. She’s probably right.

We crawl to the top of a dune and peer out across the sand, looking

for any sign of Navarro and his men. Nothing. Just more sand and scruffy
grass.

“I’m sorry that I had to leave you behind and you got caught up in
this.”

I glance at Mikhail. “Don’t be. I’m in love with your insane brother.

Let’s focus, shall we, because if anything happens to me, your child is

going to grow up without a father. Damir means what he said. He’ll kill
you.”

“No kidding. I’ll do the same to him.”

 As I follow him back down the sand, I wonder if any one of us

going to be left alive after today. We make our way in a wide arc through

the dunes, circling to the north. Every step is made with caution as we listen

for voices.

Then, far across the dunes, I hear gunfire.

“Damir!” I gasp. Mikhail tenses to run, but I grab hold of his wrist.

“What do you think you’re doing? Running into gunfire?”

“We need to see what’s happening. I’m not just thinking about

Ciara. I’m thinking about you and the baby, as well.”

“I know you are. Come on, but carefully.”

We crouch low and make our way north, away from the house,

veering toward the gunshots.

The dunes thin and we have to crouch lower and lower. I keep

thinking that I hear heavy footsteps in the sand behind us, but it must be the

pounding of my blood in my ears.

Then, up ahead, I see them.

Navarro has Damir and Ciara. He’s raising the shotgun right at
Damir’s face. Without thinking, I shoot to my feet and scream his name.

The scene unfolds in slow motion. The shotgun goes off as Damir

dives for Ciara, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to the ground.

Blood explodes in a vapor around my lover.

 He’s dead he’s dead he’s—

Damir, his shirt soaked red with blood, rolls off Ciara and yanks

Navarro off his feet by wrapping both of his arms around his knees.

Beside me, Mikhail is firing his weapon. Not at Navarro. At

something behind us. His face is chalk white and sweat shines on his brow.

Over my shoulder I see a dead man in black fatigues lying on bloodied

sand, and another throwing his rifle to the ground and raising his hands.

“Bethany, go and get those guns.”

“But—” I start to say, gesturing over my shoulder where Damir is

bleeding and grappling with Navarro.

“Now.”

All he wants to do is go to Ciara, but he needs to know Navarro’s

men aren’t going to fire on us. I race forward, swipe the machine gun and a

revolver from the sand, and hurry back to Mikhail.

“Now get the fuck out of here and don’t come back,” Mikhail calls

to the man. He turns and runs without being told twice.

Mikhail makes a strangled noise and pelts across the sand to Damir

and Ciara, and I follow, slinging the rifle around my shoulder and stuffing

the revolver into my pocket

Damir has Navarro on the ground and is standing over him with the

shotgun muzzle right in front of his face. Blood drips down Damir’s arm.
His shoulder is a mess of pellet wounds and blood.

Ciara sees Mikhail just before he reaches her and sweeps her into

his arms. They cling to each other as if their separation has lasted a lifetime,
and a pang goes through me. All Damir’s attention is focused on the man

lying on the sand.

Navarro looks from one to the rest of us, hatred transforming his

face. “You’re filth. You and your slut of a sister and your brother, you

murdering bast—”

There’s a savage growl, and then someone lunges forward to kick

Navarro in the stomach. It’s not Damir. It’s Mikhail. “Don’t you fucking

talk about my sister that way,” he snarls, while Navarro gasps in pain.

Damir glances up at his brother, and says quietly, “You do

remember her.”

“Of course I do,” Mikhail whispers hoarsely. “Every day, but some

things are too painful to speak of. The day our mother died. The day Nataša

died. I never forgot her. Never.”

I wonder if he’s going to ask Damir to spare Navarro’s life, but he

doesn’t seem to give a damn about the man lying on the ground. All

Mikhail’s attention is focused on his brother. “I didn’t know you were still

in so much pain about Nataša. I’m sorry, brata. I should have realized years
ago, back when you killed our father. You did that for her as much as you

did it for me, didn’t you?”

Damir takes a ragged breath, and nods.

Hope swells in my chest. The two brothers are talking, as I don’t

think they have in years.

Damir turns back to Navarro. “She’d be alive if it wasn’t for you,

you piece of shit. So would my men. So would your son.”

On the ground, Navarro’s face turns a mottled red with rage. “That

little slut didn’t deserve my—”

“Look away!” Damir shouts over him.

It was a warning for the rest of us, but I’m too slow to heed it. A

second later he pulls the trigger. Navarro’s head explodes like a pumpkin

that’s been smashed with a pickaxe. Blood, shards of bone and brain scatter

everywhere in a three-feet radius. Damir’s pants are splattered with gore.

Mikhail and Ciara have turned away, but I’m staring at the spot

where a man’s head was a moment ago. Damir glances up at me, and

concern flashes through his eyes.

I smile weakly at him. “I’m all right. I’ll take exploding heads over

morning sickness.”

Damir grins back, a blood-flecked grin of pure relief. He throws the

shotgun aside, and then winces in pain. The shotgun blast must have just
caught him as he dove for Ciara.

Behind us, Ciara is retching onto the ground while Mikhail holds

her hair. Still bent double, she gasps, “I’ll take the morning sickness.”

She straightens up, and Mikhail puts an arm around her shoulders

and draws her away from us. I look from the corpse on the ground, to

Mikhail and Ciara’s fearful expressions, and then over at Damir. He’s

wiping spattered blood from his face and pulling me toward him with his

other hand.

For a while there the four of us were united. The final four, who all

stopped the villain so he can never come back to life.

I reach up and swipe my thumb over Damir’s cheekbone. “You

missed some.”

I keep gazing at Damir, the smell of blood sharp in my nostrils. He

tries to kiss me, but I shake my head and pull away. “Talk to your brother.”

He glances at Mikhail, his eyes wary. “Thank you for keeping her

safe.”

Mikhail looks up from examining Ciara’s split and swollen lip.

“What the fuck happened to Ciara?”

“That was my fault,” Ciara says quickly. “I tripped over.”

Damir opens his mouth, and then closes it again. Silence stretches as

the four of us watch each other carefully, all of us armed except for Ciara.
 “I guess we’ll be going,” Mikhail says cautiously. The two brothers

stare at each other for a long time. Then Mikhail turns to me, “Do you want

to come with us, Bethany?”

Beside Damir, I stay silent. He takes a tighter grip on my hand. “No,

she fucking doesn’t want to come with you.”

“I just thought she might have had enough of the blood and

violence. Of you.”

Damir shakes his head. “All my life, everyone has looked upon me
as you’re doing now. With fear. Hatred. Even when they’ve needed me. But

Bethany looks at me like I’ve been sent from heaven to drag her down to
hell, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Mikhail takes an angry step forward. “That’s not true. I never looked
at you that way. Not until you came here to kill me and Ciara.”

I punch Damir on the arm. “Tell him.”

“Ah!” he mutters, glaring at his wounds and then at me. “Tell him

what?”
“Tell him that you don’t hate Ciara. Tell him that it’s over, that

you’ve changed your mind about the revenge. That you don’t just want a
ceasefire, you want your brother back.”
He glares at me. “What are you talking about?”
 “You’ve changed, idiot,” I tell him. “The Damir Ravnikar who stole
me in London wouldn’t have shielded Ciara from so much as a mosquito,

let alone a bullet.”

“You did. You protected Ciara,” Mikhail says slowly.

Damir grimaces, as if it was some terrible personality flaw that

made him do it. I kick him in the shin.

“Ow! Bethany, will you quit it!” He looks at Navarro’s mangled

corpse on the ground. Flies have started buzzing over the shattered flesh.
“I’ll admit,” Damir says slowly, “that pursuing Navarro wasn’t the

tangent I thought it was. Since I reclaimed Nataša’s jewels I’ve felt…

Things have been different. Somewhere between Monte Carlo and here, I

seem to have lost my fucking anger.” He glares at me like I’ve done him
grave injustice. “You can probably blame her.”

I smile and shake my head. “No, you fool. It’s because you were
never really angry with Mikhail. It was this piece of shit—” I kick the

corpse “—and your father who destroyed your hope and your love for your
family. Are you going to leave another blood feud in your wake and force

your children to fight it out on a beach one day? Or are you two going to
hug it out?”

Damir glares at me, and there’s so much fury on his face that I think
he’s going to start shouting. Then he turns to Mikhail and holds out his
hand. “No more Ravnikar blood is to be spilled. Not by us, and not because
of us. Your child is my child. Your woman is my sister.”

Mikhail still doesn’t move. He glares at Damir’s hand, and then

looks at Ciara, pale and injured by his side.

“You want it all to be over,” Mikhail says slowly, “after everything

you’ve done? Just like that?”

Damir watches him in silence, and then throws back his head and
laughs. He grins boyishly at Mikhail. “Your face! You looked at me just like

that when I turned up on your doorstep twenty years ago. You have to
admit, brata, that for all the drama of the last few weeks, it hasn’t been

boring. All Ravnikars love drama. What was it you called him, Ciara?”
“A BAMF,” Ciara says, a smile tugging at the corner of her injured

mouth. When Mikhail looks at her blankly, she explains, “A bad-ass

motherfucker.”

Mikhail’s spine straightens a little, as if he can’t help the swell of

pride that his girlfriend thinks he’s a BAMF. With a casual shrug of his
shoulder, he says, “I just did what needed to be done.”

Damir places both his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Ravnikar

Enterprises is gone, but we could set up something just as good again.

Maybe even better.”

 Mikhail points a forefinger at him. “No. You’re not doing this

again.”
Damir spreads his arms, baring his teeth roguishly. “Doing what

again?”
“Upending my whole life and then charming me into some hair-

brained scheme of yours like you did twenty years ago.”

“Ravnikar Enterprises, a hair-brained scheme? It made you
ridiculously rich.”

“But at what cost?”

“Come on, Misha. You haven’t been bored the last twenty years,

have you?” For the first time, there’s nothing sarcastic in the way Damir
says Misha, and Mikhail doesn’t tell him not to.

“We’re going to be fathers,” Mikhail points out. “Now is the time

for boring.”

Damir sighs gustily and rubs his hand over the back of his neck.
“All right. I suppose boring wouldn’t be too hard to bear, under the

circumstances.” His eyes flicker to Ciara. “What do you say? Will you let
me work with Misha? Can I be an uncle to that little one?”

Ciara gnaws her lip, thinking. “Damir, it’s not up to me. You’re the
one who has the power to hold us together or drive us apart. I don’t have
any other family now, and neither does Misha. You need to decide whether

this is what you want. And not just for a few weeks. Forever.”
Damir gazes at her for a full minute without speaking. Then he turns

and thrusts his hand at Mikhail once more. “It’s what I want.”
Slowly, with as much hope sparking in his eyes as caution, Mikhail

takes his brother’s hand. As they shake, a smile blooms over his face. A
smile like I’ve never seen from him before. The same one is on Damir’s

face.
They unclasp, and Damir glances at Ciara. He clears his throat, and

says quickly, “I suppose you want an apology.”

She looks at him coolly. “I don’t need an apology. I just want you to

do better for all of us from now on.”

He nods his head, and then he turns and looks at me, that charming,

boyish smile on his face. “I guess you got what you wanted, princesa.”
What I wanted.
Happiness has expanded through me as I’ve watched them talking,

but as he turns that rueful grin on me, something snaps. What I wanted? At
the end of all the terror, the blood, the captivity, he has the temerity to stand

there and act like this was all my idea?

He’s tortured me, body and soul. It’s time I returned the favor.
 Damir leans down to kiss me, but for the third time that day I turn
my face away. “I’m glad Mikhail and Ciara forgive you, Damir. I truly am.

But what makes you think that I forgive you?”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Thirty

OceanofPDF.com
 Damir

I grin at Bethany. “Not forgive me? There’s nothing to forgive. And don’t
forget I love you.”

“Do you?” she says icily.

My smile falters. I haven’t been able to get my hands all over her or

taste her since I found out she was going to have my baby, and I feel like

I’m going burst open if I don’t get to soon.

“Do you think,” she goes on, “that you can just say I love you and

that erases all the torment that I’ve suffered at your hands these past weeks?
Damir has had his revenge, so all is right with the world? I don’t think so.”

I glance at Mikhail and Ciara, inviting them to explain to me what

the hell is going on, but Mikhail is frowning at Bethany, and Ciara shoots

me a baffled look.
“Bethany,” I say, turning back to her, my hand on my heart. “We are

at the ends of the earth. I dragged you here, kicking and screaming, to show

you how much I love you.”

“And how much is that?”

I spread my arms, taking in the beach, the sea, the island in the

middle of nowhere in the Indian ocean. All of it. “To the ends of the earth.

Is it enough?”
 She considers this. “What about to the ends of the earth and back

again?”

I frown. “I don’t understand.”

“Love me to the ends of the earth and back again. Then I might

believe you. Take me back.”

“What, back to London?”

“Yeah. Where you stole me from. That should just about prove it.”

“But Bethany, the police are still—” Mikhail starts to say, but I wave

him into silence.

“Princesa, I can’t go back. Mikhail can’t undo what’s been done.

We’re going to need new identities and a place for the four of us to live,

otherwise the authorities will hunt me down and I’ll be sent to prison.”

Bethany just glowers at me.

“You…want me to go to prison?” I ask slowly. “That’s what it

would take for you to believe I love you?” My eyes dart from her to

Mikhail to Ciara, who are both looking at me like they don’t understand,

either.
All right, maybe I deserve Bethany’s coldness after everything I’ve

put her through, but I’ve changed. Things are going to be different now. I

reach out a hand to touch her belly.

 She draws away from me, and my gut wrenches. “Bethany, please. I

love you.”

Those are the words I wouldn’t say to her on the yacht because, I

don’t know, I’m a fucking asshole. I should have said them then because I

meant it then, and I mean it now, more than ever. But looking into her eyes,

I see it’s too late.

I take a deep breath and nod slowly, trying to work up to something.

“All right. If that’s what it takes to prove I love you, then I’ll do it. It might

not be so bad. I know they can get me on money laundering, but with a

good lawyer I can fight the murder charges. I’ll be looking at fifteen years

or so. Maybe ten if I’m lucky. I won’t miss…everything.” I swallow, and

cast another look at Bethany and her belly.

I guess it was too good to be true that I could undo the events of the

past weeks with a few smiles and a bit of charm. I thought Bethany would

understand, though. I was doing what I had to do.

“I’ll go into the town. Turn myself in. Misha, you’ll see that
Bethany gets somewhere safe? She and the…baby.”

I rub my hands over my face. I’ve fucked everything up. My child.

Who’s going to bring it up? Mikhail is going to be its father, not me.

Mikhail nods, his lips pinched tightly together. Even Ciara is

looking reproachfully at Bethany, but her chin is raised like royalty, and she
ignores them.

All right. The sooner this is done and I’ve served my time, the

sooner I can get back to Bethany and beg her forgiveness. I’ll spend fifteen
years in prison if it means I can earn her love again. Shoulders back, spine

straight, I turn and start heading down the beach with the air of a man who

doesn’t want anyone to try and stop him.

“Damir, wait!” Bethany calls after me.

I whirl around, hope surging through me.

“You’ve probably got a knife on you somewhere, don’t you? You

don’t want to be carrying a weapon when you turn yourself in.”

I lean down to my calf, pull the weapon out of its holster beneath

my pants and hurl it onto the sand, and then set off again.

“Oh, Damir?”

“Would you just let me do it, Bethany,” I snarl over my shoulder.

“No.”

“What?”

She laughs. “No, I’m not going to let you do it. What use are you to

me and the baby in prison?”

A taut silence stretches while I stare at the dune ahead. “Are you

trying to torture me?”

“Yes.”
 I push both hands through my hair. “You—you—” I growl in

frustration. “Why the fuck are you torturing me?”

“I thought it was about my turn.”

Her turn. Her turn for trickery and power and holding my goddamn

life in her hands. When I look back at her, her eyes are glimmering with

amusement. “Do you fucking love me?”

She balls both her fists and shouts as loud as she can, “Yes, I

fucking love you!”

“Are they mad?” Ciara whispers to Mikhail.

My brother passes a shaking hand over his face and looks like he’s
about to fall down from relief. “Yes. And they deserve each other for the

rest of their lives. Every infuriating minute of them.”

“Princesa,” I growl, striding across the sand toward Bethany. Her

eyes are getting blurry and her breath shudders with tears. “Are you

crying?”

“I am,” she says, her voice cracking. “I am crying, you insane

bastard. Never try to leave me again, or I’ll put a knife through your heart,

do you hear me?”

I press my lips against hers in a desperate kiss. “Never,” I murmur.

“Not even if you put a gun to my head.” My hand seeks her belly and I

splay my hand there, and the world finally clicks into place around me.
 Bethany kisses me back, fierce, desperate kisses. “Ciara’s right,” she

whispers. “You’re the only one who can take us back to the start.”

She looks past me to Mikhail and Ciara. My brother has a smile

softening the corner of his mouth. Ciara is holding his hand.

“Without you,” she says, “I’m just a lonely, screwed-up secretary.

Mikhail a closed-off soul. Ciara an estranged, loveless daughter. Maybe we

didn’t need to be put through so much blood and drama to get here. Or

maybe we did.” She strokes my hair back from my face, smiling up at me.

“You’re totally crazy sometimes, but maybe it’s the oddballs who need love

most of all.”

I kiss her, and then bite down on her lip. Hard. Hard enough to draw

blood. It tastes like love.

Our love.

“Come on, idiots,” Mikhail says, shaking his head. “Let’s get the

hell out of here before the authorities show up. We can’t explain all these

bodies.”

I lean down and fish through Navarro’s pockets, and pull out a set of

keys. “His boat must be moored somewhere nearby. If we change the tire on
the SUV, we can drive around the perimeter of the island and find it.”

We all start walking back toward the house, exhausted and blood-

spattered, but together. Ciara and Bethany are next to each other, and
Mikhail and I flanking them.

Ciara puts a thoughtful hand on her belly. “Back in London, I once

wished doom upon all the Ravnikars who ever were and ever would be.

Now I’m carrying one.”

Bethany’s hand slips down to her own belly. “Oh, me too. I cursed

them all to hell. With partners like ours, it just sort of rolls off the tongue,

doesn’t it, Ciara? Damn you and all your kind forever more.”

“Will they be all right, then? Our babies?” Ciara asks her.
“Oh, yes,” Bethany says confidently, casting sly looks at me and

Mikhail. “We only told them to go to hell, and I find that Ravnikars never
listen to anyone but themselves.”

Ciara laughs, tries to stop because it’s hurting her split lip, and then
snorts with uncontrollable mirth. I give Bethany a dark look, and Mikhail

grins as if despite himself.

Bethany takes a tight hold of my hand, a huge smile on her face and

her eyes on the sparkling sea. “These babies will be just fine.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Epilogue

OceanofPDF.com
 Bethany

“It’s not fair,” I moan, watching Mikhail place a glass of pale pink wine into
Ciara’s hand. I’m resting a tumbler of water on my fat belly. “Months and

months we’ve spent in Provence, and I haven’t eaten the cheese or drank
the wine. Pregnancy sucks.”

Ciara is sitting across from me in the dappled sunshine at the patio

table. She takes a sip of the wine and passes it back to Mikhail. “It’s not like
I can have much. Just a few sips after a feeding.” She gazes into the

bassinet beside her, where little Nataša is sleeping peacefully.

Mikhail and Ciara weren’t sure how Damir was going to react when

they told him they wanted to name their daughter Nataša. There have been
tense moments since we left the beach in the Seychelles together and started

a new life together in France, but I knew the feud was truly over when
Ciara placed the newborn baby into Damir’s arms. My lover smiled down at

her, and then met Ciara’s eyes as naturally as any brother-in-law would, his

face full of love for the child. I think Mikhail and I both let out sighs of

relief at the same time.

“At least you get some wine. Meanwhile, I sit here as fat as a house

and equally useless.” I clamp my hands on either side of my swollen belly,

but can’t help but smile and feel a spark of excitement. Any day now.
 Whoever you are, I think to my bump, don’t make me wait too long.

Your daddy and I can’t wait to meet you.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, princesa, and don’t you forget it.” Damir

leans past me to place a dish of pasta on the table, and then kisses my neck.

“I’ll feel gorgeous when I can get up without calling for a crane,” I
say over my shoulder as he disappears back into the kitchen.

“I don’t miss that feeling,” Ciara tells me.

“Well I think you’re both glowing,” Mikhail says, sitting down. He

has to move mine and Ciara’s textbooks and notebooks out of the way to

make space for our plates and cutlery. Since we got new identities, Ciara
and I have enrolled in distance education courses. In a year’s time, once

we’ve got the hang of this parenting thing, the plan is for us to enroll in a

university. For now, I’m too pregnant to think straight for longer than ten

minutes at a time and Ciara has to keep stopping to breastfeed, so courses

that we can do at our own pace are ideal.

Meanwhile, Damir and Mikhail have been working on the

investments that Mikhail and Ciara started in the Seychelles. So far it’s been
entirely legal. Damir pretends to complain once or twice a week that he’s

thoroughly bored, though with a huge smile on his face.

I watch Mikhail as he gazes down at his sleeping baby. Ciara smiles

contentedly at him. Damir whistles in the kitchen, getting the bread and
salad to go with our pasta.

“We have to protect this,” I say fiercely. “This happiness. We’re not

going to pass on the Ravnikar curse to our children.”

Mikhail looks up from the baby. Then he turns to call out to Damir.

“Did you hear what Bethany said, brata?”

Damir comes out of the kitchen carrying an enormous salad bowl

and sets it on the table. “What did my princesa say?”

“That we have to protect our children from what our parents did to

us,” I tell him. Not just the feuds, but the neglect, too. I still feel the pain

that I never knew my parents. When Ciara meets my eyes, I know she’s

thinking of her own strained relationship with her mother and father.

Damir strokes his little finger down the baby’s nose, smiling. “We

have an excellent guide of how not to raise these little ones. That’s a good

start.” Then he glances up at us, his eyes that were so often stormy in the

past, clear and bright in the spring sunshine. “And I have you all to keep me

on the straight and narrow.”

Mikhail snorts, but he’s smiling as he does. “Well, we’ll never be

bored with you around, that’s for sure.”

Damir preens as he sits down, straightening the rolled back cuffs of

his shirt. “I should think not. Maybe every few years we need a whole lot of
drama and danger to get through, to remind us what’s important in life.

Perhaps another worldwide scavenger hunt with Interpol on our tail.”

Ciara spears a piece of asparagus and munches it thoughtfully. “That

could be fun. What would be the prize?”

“Our freedom, of course,” says Damir with a grin. “Perhaps I’ll

frame myself as a counterfeiter and hide the evidence under Mikhail’s bed.

Then we’ll split up and meet in Marrakesh or Melbourne to plan our next

move.”

I laugh. “Damir, you’re terrible! I wouldn’t put it past you to

actually do this, either.”

Mikhail grins. “Terrible is the word. I’ll start stashing more fake

passports around the house, just in case.”

Damir dishes pasta into four bowls and hands them out. “An

excellent plan, Misha. You’ll need to keep one step ahead of the law.”

I eat thoughtfully. He means this in jest, but practically speaking we

do need to keep one step ahead of the law. We’ll never be able to go back to

the UK. Mikhail and Damir have both been seeing to security and covering

our tracks, but I know the lion’s share of the work of getting us safely into

France under assumed names was Damir’s. He’s the glue holding us

together, and I know that he’s strong enough to do it. He’s the reason that
today, we’re all smiling.
 After we eat, Damir helps me out of my chair, gathers me close to

him and leads me toward our bedroom in the villa. “Siesta,” he calls over

his shoulder to Mikhail and Ciara, and they laugh and wave. He’s been keen

to have as much private time as he can before the baby arrives.

As soon as we’re alone in the dimness of the bedroom, his hands

roam hungrily over me. My belly in particular. He loves feeling the way my

body’s changed as the baby’s grown. We get undressed and lay naked on

top the blankets, limbs tangled together.

Sleepily, I stroke his face, feeling very content. “I never knew I

could fall in love. I thought something inside me was broken. Turns out I
just needed someone who is as screwy as I am.”

“Who, me?” he asks between lazy kisses.

“You’re supposed to say, You’re not screwy, Bethany,” I reply, and

he laughs.

“You are though. And I love it.”

I wanted only to be the final girl, but defeating the monster means

being alone. Far better to fall in love with the monster and tame him. But

not too much. It’s more fun if he stays a little wild.

He rolls me over onto my side and I feel the thick rod of his cock

pressing against my slippery sex. Then he’s sliding into me, fast and deep,

his breath hot in my ear and his teeth finding my earlobe as he thrusts.
 He leans away from me for a moment and I hear the bedside drawer

open. Then he’s back and holding a purple vibe, very like the one he used

on me while we were on the yacht. He cranks it all the way up, lifts one of

my thighs in his arm and applies the vibe to my clit. I cry out as the soft

rubber sends vibrations through me and he continues to pound me with his

cock. A deep, delicious sensation coalesces and rises up, wracking my body

with pleasure. When it subsides, Damir takes the vibe away.

But just for a few seconds, and then it’s back. My second orgasm is

faster than the last, and more powerful, and I’m reaching for him and the

bedhead and holding on for dear life.

“Pridna punčka,” he says fiercely.

“No, no, no, enough, please,” I moan, as he again puts the vibe

back.

But he ignores me, ripping another orgasm from my body and

holding me tight as I come.

“Terrible, wicked man,” I gasp, reaching back to run my fingers

through his hair.

Damir gently turns my chin towards him. “Go on, tell me how
terrible I am. You know how I love to hear you say it.”

I kiss his smiling mouth. “You are the most incorrigible, wicked and

immoral man I’ve ever met. And I love you.”

 He laughs softly, taking a firmer grip on the vibe and moving it

toward my clit. “I love you too, princesa. Always.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Read on for an excerpt of THE PROTÉGÉ by
Brianna Hale
He’s always protected me since I was eight years old, the neglected girl he took off the street and
raised as his own. Laszlo can feel what music needs instinctively. He can tell what I need.

My world shattered the night of my eighteenth birthday and he still hasn’t forgiven me for what I
did. I’m not asking him to love me, touch me, take me to bed. What I want goes deeper than that
and I have to say this out loud because it’s one thing that music won’t be able to tell him.

I want what only Laszlo can give me. I want to be his protégé again. And this time, I’m going to
be so good for him.

Yes, maestro.

Yes, sir.

Yes, daddy.

Brianna Hale has yet again surpassed my expectation with THE PROTÉGÉ. Laszlo and
Isabeau's story stole my heart. This book has everything. Steam. Romance. Emotions. Sex. All
kinds of feels. If you love reading BDSM, especially DDLG...This one is for YOU. One of my top
reads of 2018! - Lylah James, author of THE MAFIA AND HIS OBSESSION

I love THE PROTÉGÉ beyond words can describe...It isn't all about steamy scenes, it's about
real life doubts and lessons. Laszlo will have your heart racing and will leave you panting for
more. - White Rose Stories

My heart is still wrapped in these two...perfection is hard to come to in a book, but this one
succeeded. - Anne Reads and Reviews

I always seem to like the age gap relationships portrayed by Brianna Hale. She just writes them

so beautifully while also addressing the issues that might and do crop up because of the said age
 gap. What I love the most is that she presents a warm, nurturing and above all, a healthy

relationship between two consenting individuals and I can totally get behind that. - Mango Tea

and Toska

An intense romance filled with raw passion that makes your dirty mind run around with lust and

addiction...My love for this romance novel is so immense! - CristiinaReads

A magnificent and complicated read...either you approve or you don't, but one thing you can't

mistake is Brianna Hale's writing is marvelous. - Saucy Books

I fell so hard in love with this book! Isabeau and Laszlo have stolen my heart. I was hooked on
them from the very beginning and my heart broke right along with them but they also put all the
pieces of my heart right back together. - Hanna's Book Obsession

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 Chapter One

Isabeau
Now

I came to say sorry, but it didn’t work out that way.

“A cellist?” says the woman with the clipboard, looking between
me and my instrument case as if we’ve ruined her day. “I’ve only got one
cellist on my list and his name is Roger Somers. Who are you? Is Mr.
Valmary expecting you?”
My heart bangs like a timpani drum against my ribs hearing his
name. Laszlo Valmary, conductor and musical director of the Royal
London Symphony Orchestra and my former guardian and mentor. I’ve
come straight from the train, luggage and all, to face the man I haven’t
spoken to in three years. Now that I’m in London again I feel him on
every street I walk down, in every strain of music I hear, in the very air I
breathe. But he’s not expecting me and I wasn’t expecting this, whatever
this is that’s happening today.
The woman cuts across what I was going to say. “Never mind. The
flautist hasn’t turned up so the schedule’s a mess anyway. Go through and
wait.” She gives her clipboard a pained look and marches away, and I’m
left in the alcove by the stalls as musicians file past me. I draw back into
the shadows letting my thick red hair fall forward, not wanting to be
recognized.
 The Mayhew Concert Hall in the West End is a huge, stately venue
of plush velvet and gold scrollwork. An enormous crystal chandelier
hangs overhead and the auditorium is lit by dozens of sconces lining the
balconies. The seating goes up and up to the dizzying nosebleed sections
where people crowd together for five pounds a head for a glimpse of the
orchestra on stage. For those paying upwards of three hundred pounds a
ticket for a stalls seat every string of the violins is visible, the notes on the
sheet music, the precise movements of Laszlo’s large, skilled hands as he
conducts. It’s a more intimate experience down in the stalls but up in the
gods the music is just the same. The music soars.
I breathe in the memory of remembered notes. I’ve missed this
place.
At this time of day on a Thursday I expected to find Laszlo in his
office but rehearsals seem to have gone on longer than usual. No, not
rehearsals. Auditions by the looks of things. If Laszlo’s lost orchestra
members then he’ll be impatient, distracted. This isn’t the time for me to
untangle my feelings for him or ask for his help. I should go, but curiosity
holds me in place. What has happened? Has a swathe of the ensemble
walked out again? He’s not the “callow youth” that he was accused of
being thirteen years ago when he took over the orchestra. He’s a man of
thirty-eight and the darling of the British classical music scene. The best
musicians in the country clamor to be part of his ensemble.
I listen to threads of conversations going on around me and try to
discover what has happened to the orchestra. Then I tell myself to focus
and plan what I’m going to say to Laszlo; how I’m going to have to tell
him that after all his training and effort I’ve ruined my musical career
before it’s even begun.
“Isabeau.”
 My hand convulsively grips my cello case. I turn and see him
standing by the rows of red velvet seats, the man who took me from my
home when I was eight years old. Who taught me almost everything I
know about music. About life. The man I’ve spent the last three years in
turmoil over. Missing him like crazy. Being angry with him. Wanting him.
I don’t need to get close to know that he’ll smell like sweet
peppercorns and smoky Arabian nights. He looks good, but then he
always looks good, tall and lean and smartly dressed in a dark shirt and
suit. A sultry mouth and hawkish nose, and not quite enough facial hair to
call it a beard but just enough to scratch your nails through and feel the
lovely rasping of the bristles. Hazel eyes that always seem to be moments
away from warm pleasure or flashing emotion, and fine, sandy brown hair
that’s too long as usual, growing down to his collar. I used to tease him
about that, telling him that he has conductor’s hair, the careless mane that
maestros grow so they can toss it about in passion to the music and look
romantic in journalists’ black and white photographs. I was the only one
who could tease him. One of the few who could make him smile.
Laszlo steps forward, and my heart leaps because I think he’s
going to fold me in his arms and hold me close like he used to do. But
when he reaches for me his hand closes around my upper arm, cold and
hard, and he leads me out of the auditorium and along a corridor without a
word. Hopeless tears prickle in my eyes. He’s still ashamed of me. I look
up at the ceiling and breathe in sharply, a trick that a makeup artist once
taught me before a solo student performance, the first one of my career
that Laszlo wouldn’t be watching. Suck those tears right back in, pet.
Don’t go ruining your face.
He takes us into to his office, closes the door behind us and then
just stands there with his back to me, one hand braced against the door. A
clock ticks on the wall and I count the seconds in three-four time, a
minuet clashing with the pounding of my heart.
I should speak first but I don’t know how to unravel the apology
that’s become snarled on my tongue. The last three years without him
have been hell and losing him was like cutting off a limb. No, worse, like
taking a sledgehammer to my cello. My world shattered the night of my
eighteenth birthday and I can see that he still hasn’t forgiven me for what I
did. I hid the broken pieces of my heart deep down where no one would
ever find them and I don’t know what he’ll do with them if I show them to
him now.
His hand slides down the wood and he turns to me. “Isabeau—”
The door opens and a man puts his head in. I recognize him.
Marcus Sabol, Laszlo’s first violin and concertmaster. “Laszlo, that
oboist… Oh. Hello.” Marcus comes to a halt when he sees me. He’s a
stringy man in his late fifties with a shock of white hair and the energy
and bubbliness of a much younger man. We never met as he joined the
orchestra after I went to university in Durham, but I’ve seen him play. He
and Laszlo are perfect together, working in tandem to get the most out of
the ensemble.
Marcus’ eyes travel from my face to my cello case and back again.
“You’re Isabeau Laurent. I saw you play in Cambridge last year.
Absolutely phenomenal. Are you coming with us?”
He sees my blank face and smiles. “Laszlo didn’t even tell you
why you’re here, did he, he just called his protégé back from university.
Former protégé? Anyway, we’re trying to put this last-minute fiasco
together with half a damn orchestra. Thank god you’re here.”
Laszlo’s expression doesn’t change but I see how his jaw clenches.
Marcus has just put him in a difficult position. The first violin is the most
important person in the orchestra after the conductor and he gets a say in
the principal players. I should correct Marcus and come back another
time. It’s not just the graceful thing to do, it’s the only thing to do if I want
to put our past behind us and ask for Laszlo’s help.
The atmosphere is as tight as a bow string and Marcus’ smile
dims. “You are here to audition, aren’t you?”
There are so many things I want to say to Laszlo. Most
importantly that I’m sorry, but also that the happiest time of my life was
when I was his protégé. That my musical career has stalled and I don’t
know what to do about it. That when I play the music doesn’t even sound
like me anymore.
That I need him in ways he doesn’t understand and I’m only just
beginning to.
I’ve never been good at saying what I feel but Laszlo always knew
how I felt when I played my cello. It’s not everything I want to say but it’s
a start, and if he’s leaving for a tour then I need to say it now.
I lift my chin and look Laszlo in the eye. “Yes. I’m here to
audition.”

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 Chapter Two

Laszlo
Now

She’s even more beautiful than I remember. Cheekbones finer, features

more delicate. The years apart haven’t changed how I feel about her, but
nothing could change that. Not my regret, my pain, my guilt. My anger.
Even when I’ve been mad as hell I’ve still wanted her, the one woman in
the world I can’t have.
I watch her smiling at Marcus as he takes her coat and suitcase so
she can unpack her cello, her curtain of red hair falling in front of her
face. She used to wear it up at home and while she was practicing, but she
always, always wore it down while she was performing, the thick tresses
spilling over her shoulders. I want to step forward and put a stop this but
the thought of seeing her like that again, sitting at her cello and playing
for me, holds me rooted to the spot. She and Marcus move past me out of
the office, deep in conversation about the best audition piece for her. I
listen to their voices as they fade away down the corridor.
What would I have said to her if Marcus hadn’t come in? I don’t
even know where to start with all the things I want to say to her. I’ve
never forgotten how things ended between us and I regret how I lost her.
She left a hole in my world and my heart that I’ve never been able to fill. I
don’t even know if she wants these truths from me. In three years she
never tried to contact me.
And now she’s here.
 The keening notes of her cello reach my ears. They’ve started
without me. What is she playing, Bach?
No. It’s our piece. She’s playing our piece.
I picture her sitting with her mother’s cello between her knees as
she draws the slender bow across the strings. The long column of her
neck bent just so, her eyes drifting closed as she plays. Before I know it
my feet are leading me out to the auditorium toward her. I need to see her
for myself.
She’s seated at the front of the empty stage. The sleeves of her
lightweight sweater are pushed back past her elbows and she’s wearing
calf-length boots with a green plaid skirt. She definitely didn’t come here
to audition. Isabeau would never dream of auditioning in anything but
black. She’s playing Vocalise by Rachmaninoff arranged for cello and
piano, though the piano to the right is standing silent and she’s playing
alone. There are dozens of pieces for those two instruments together but
this one was ours. The last year she lived with me we played it often, on
our quiet Monday nights or tired Sunday afternoons, after the work was
done, the practice finished and the rehearsals over. The steady and
questing piano phrases. The insistent, plaintive cello, asking and leading
before drawing back again. Not for an audience or applause. Something
just for the two of us.
And she’s playing it by herself.
She opens her eyes and fixes her gaze on mine. Unbidden, the
fingers of my right hand are tapping out the piano part against my leg and
before I can stop myself she sees, and her playing falters. Just for a split
second, but I hear it. I hear other things as well. The cello is like a human
voice and the music she’s making is filled with sorrow and regret, as clear
as if she’s speaking the words aloud to me.
 I’m sorry, Laszlo.
I don’t want her apologies. There’s nothing for her to be sorry for
because I’m the one who let her down. For ten years she looked to me for
protection and safety and when she needed me most I betrayed her.
Isabeau reaches the end of the piece and instead of tapering slowly
into silence she stops abruptly and leans back from her cello as if she
can’t bear it anymore. Her eyes are full of hurt. I know how much it hurts
because I feel it too.
Marcus turns to me with an appraising look. He’s smiling, waiting
for me to tell Isabeau that she’s perfect, that she’s hired. He doesn’t
understand what was said between us through the music. He only heard
one of the most proficient cellists in the country.
“Well, Laszlo?” he asks.
Well, nothing. The point wasn’t for her to audition, the point was
for her to show me how she feels. I wish Marcus and the Mayhew and
everything else would just disappear so I could tell Isabeau that she has
nothing to be sorry for.
I move forward and put my hand on the stage at her feet and look
up into her eyes. “Thank you, Miss Laurent.”
I’m not being cold, addressing her like that. It’s part of the
etiquette of the concert hall. Later when we’re alone I can call her
Isabeau, and we can talk. I still have her number and I’ll text her when I
get back to my office and ask her to wait and give me a chance to explain.
I turn to go but she calls out, stopping me. “Mr. Valmary.”
She’s standing, one hand wrapped around the neck of her cello.
There’s a new look in her eyes, something bright and determined.
“Do I get the place?”
 I stare at her, not understanding. Marcus is looking at me with an
expectant smile. I know what he’s thinking. I’d be crazy to refuse a cellist
like Isabeau, especially when we need her so badly.
Isabeau, part of my orchestra again. Turning toward the string
section and seeing her just a few feet away, looking back at me. Feeling
that exquisite happiness that only comes from knowing she’s close to me.
But Isabeau can’t come on tour with us. Spending every day and
night together for the next five weeks is out of the question with the way
things ended between us. This tour is meant to be an escape for me, a way
to get out of the funk and uncertainty that has invaded my life so I can
consider what I want next. Is the answer Europe? Is it New York?
Somewhere further afield? Where is up, what is onwards when you have
achieved your lofty goals by the age of thirty-eight? That’s the whole
reason I said yes to this “fiasco”, as Marcus called it, with parts of the
orchestra on leave. To stretch myself and help clarify things. But I won’t
be able to think straight with Isabeau close to me.
They’re both still looking at me, expectant, so I reach for the first
phrase to hand. “My assistant will call you.”
Marcus starts to say something but I go back to my office, close
the door behind me and rest my back against it. I picture the way
Isabeau’s hair fell across her shoulders as she played just now, thick and
soft and beautiful. I remember how it felt running through my fingers that
night. The memory comes back as clear as a single note from a
Stradivarius violin. How she felt in my arms at last. My perfect,
untouchable girl, finally mine.
A knock on my door startles me out of my reverie. Fuck. Isabeau.
But when I open my door I see, not Isabeau, but a smiling man in
his forties holding a cello case. He beams at me. “Sorry I’m late. Roger
Somers, here to audition.”
Somers. I remember now, he was suggested by our third violin as
a very good cellist. I saw him play in Oxford two years ago. The sensible
choice. The right choice for the tour.
But when I imagine standing at the front of the orchestra and
turning to the string section I don’t see this man looking back at me. I see
Isabeau.
I want Isabeau.
“The place has been filled. Thank you for coming.” I shut my
office door in Somers’ startled face, take out my phone and call my PA.
“In thirty minutes’ time call Isabeau Laurent. Tell her I want to see her
tomorrow. At my house. No, she has the address. I’ll forward you her
number.”
I end the call, send the contact information and close my eyes,
certain that I’ve just made a huge mistake. Isabeau in my orchestra.
Isabeau in my life again. Marcus’ confusion about what she is to me, my
protégé, my former protégé, something else entirely, is my confusion.
When she was a child it was so easy. I was her mentor, her
guardian, her safety and her home. But then she grew older and things
changed, so slowly that I didn’t even realize what was happening.
I look at my phone and watch the minutes tick by. Half an hour
later the email comes through from my assistant confirming my meeting
with Isabeau at the house tomorrow morning. It’s done. I’ll be alone with
her, just Isabeau, and all the things that have been left unsaid since the
night she turned eighteen. I rest my head against the door and close my
eyes, my mind turning back to that wintry day thirteen years ago. The first
time I ever saw her.
OceanofPDF.com
 Also by Brianna Hale

LITTLE DANCER

PRINCESS BRAT

SOFT LIMITS

MIDNIGHT HUNTER

THE PROTÉGÉ

THE NECROMANCER’S BRIDE

VOW OF OBEDIENCE

CONTROL FREAK

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 About the author

There’s nothing Brianna Hale likes more than a large, stern alpha male
with a super-protective and caring streak, and when she's not writing
about them she can usually be found with a book, a cocktail, planning her
next trip to a beautiful location or attending the theatre. She believes that
pink and empowerment aren’t mutually exclusive, and everyday
adventures are possible. Brianna lives in London.

Join Brianna’s reader group to keep in touch:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/BriannasBesties/

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