I was standing in my bra and panties, reaching for the dark blue sundress that happened to be in my size and not so long that I'd be tripping on it as we walked when a voice sounded behind me.
"I will double it if that is what it will take," Christopher's smooth voice called. Even as my body jolted at the invasion, my nerves hummed in response to the way his body made a shiver move over my—now bare—skin, somehow heating and chilling me at once. Goosebumps prickled even as my stomach swam with something that I could only describe as interest.
"I'm not dressed, Mr. Adamos," I informed him, turning to face him.
His gaze had been on my ass, only half-hidden by cheeky pink lace panties, and was slowly moving back up to my face.
"I see that."
Ignoring the anticipation in my belly, I forced my chin to lift; pushed all the desire out of my voice.
"Then you can also likely see that I wouldn't dream of working for someone who doesn't respect my right to privacy. No matter the sum they are offering me."
"All your delicate parts are covered," he said, gaze dipping down to my chest where my bra was just barely doing its job. "Well, mostly."
"Funny," I said, though there wasn't a damn thing funny in that moment, "that doesn't sound at all like an apology to me."
"You'll find I don't often apologize."
"I'm shocked," I drawled. "What could possibly be worth eight million dollars, Mr. Adamos?" I asked, deciding that the only move would be to refuse to cover myself, or demand he leave again.
"My brother."
"Your brother," I repeated, feeling my brows furrow. "What about your brother?"
"It seems I have made a lot of enemies in my particular line of work."
"I would imagine so."
"And not all men have honor codes," he added, hedging at an uncomfortable truth.
"Someone took your brother," I concluded.
"Yes."
"And I'm assuming it isn't just money they want in exchange for him?"
"If it was money, they would have it already," he snapped, frustration just barely contained.
"Mr. Adamos, how old is your brother?" I asked, sensing something, some underlying panic that a man such as him so rarely possessed.
"He's fifteen."
"Oh," my breath whooshed out of me, with my finally understanding why he would pay anything, why he was willing to go to lengths like being part of a kidnapping, to get what he needed.
To find someone who could get his brother back for him.
And, admittedly, I was his best odds for a positive outcome.
I once negotiated for three weeks with a zealot terrorist who had wanted to burn down an entire goddamn city.
If there was anyone in this world who could get his brother back, it was me.
I also understood something else, something that made the desire slide away, replaced instead with a cold resignation.
Bellamy likely couldn't have known.
Fenway definitely wouldn't have.
But I did.
It didn't matter if I turned down the money.
There would be no backing out of this arrangement.
Desperate men—even honorable ones—did desperate things when loved ones were on the line.
When only one person stood between them and what they wanted, they would do anything that was necessary to get those desired results.
Bellamy had technically kidnapped me.
But from the moment I was put on this yacht with this man, there was no way I would ever get away.
Christopher Adamos, Greece's biggest organized crime leader, had just become my kidnapper.
And the only way he would ever let me free again was if I brought his brother back.
Alive.
THREE
Christopher
I didn't know what to expect.
Fenway had recommended Bellamy, who had recommended Miller.
He said that he could bypass the formalities of having to deal with her boss first. I had no idea that he meant to do that by drugging the woman and kidnapping her.
Not that being privy to that knowledge would have changed anything, of course.
This had nothing to do with my usual feelings, my ingrained—albeit unusual—moral code.
This had to do with saving my little brother before something terrible happened to him.
I never would have been able to live with myself if that came to pass.
So I was willing to do whatever it took, pay whatever sum, go to any lengths necessary to bring my brother home safely.
Which meant that even if she should turn down the money, I would have gone ahead and done the kidnapping myself.
I hadn't seen the woman when I got on the yacht. She'd been sleeping a floor below.
The time alone—after Fenway and Bellamy had retreated to their rooms—had allowed me to wonder what kind of woman went into negotiation as a profession.
My mind flashed back and forth between an older, lawyerly looking woman in a suit with brassy blonde hair and a pinched face to some woman who looked like she'd jumped off the screen of a post-apocalyptic world where every moment was life-or-death—short-haired, gaunt-faced, sinewy armed, utilitarian and masculine in dress.
I hadn't imagined anything close to the reality.
A stern lawyer or dystopian warrior princess, she was not.
Gorgeous was the first word that came to mind. Followed by young. Or, at least, younger than I had figured. With the reputation she had when I had asked around about her, it seemed unlikely that she would be younger than forty. But, in reality, I figured she was maybe just barely in her thirties.
She had a short, compact frame with gentle, but generous curves, long, gleaming dark brown hair, almond-shaped brown eyes, and a delicate face.
She looked a little rough, pain clear in her eyes, makeup smeared, steps a little stiff and uncertain.
The effects of the drugs still having a grip on her system.
But still... beautiful.
Her voice—even when threatening homicide—was soft and soothing, and I figured that was something that worked in her favor in a negotiation, being able to calm both parties, soothe over frazzled nerves and raw feelings.
And she very, very clearly did not want to be there. Against her will. Facing me.
And, that was fair enough. I did have a reputation that preceded me at times. If she knew anything about crime in Greece, she would know I usually had my hand in it. And a reputation for being swift and ruthless when someone crossed me.
Then again, I'd been told about some of the deals she'd negotiated, and the men were the filth of the Earth.
But maybe because she'd done it in an official capacity with backup.
Or maybe she was just pissed about not being asked directly.
Both made sense.
Neither mattered to me.
She was going to do this job.
"She'll be in a better mood once she gets some coffee," Fenway said when she went below deck to change. "I did warn you she could be a little feisty."
"A kitten is feisty," Bellamy corrected. "Miller can be more like a panther or mountain lion."
I imagined a woman who worked in her profession, who was surrounded by men in her office, had to be tough to get by.
Tough was good.
Tough was what I would need her to be.
Because the man who had my brother? He was someone who could give even me nightmares.
"Excuse me," I said, moving to stand, deciding I wanted to try one more time. To genuinely get her interested. If all it took was money, that was fine. I had more than enough. I could always make more.
But by getting her on-board willingly, motivated by something she really wanted, she would work harder.
Even knowing she was gorgeous didn't prepare me for the gut-punch of desire when I opened the door to the room to find her standing there in just a bra and panties that left half of her round ass showing.
It was imm
ediate, overpowering, making visions of grabbing her and rolling around on the bed with her flash in front of my eyes. That would be one good way to do away with some of the stress that had been choking me for the last five days.
Five days.
I had no idea what he was going through, what was being done to him.
For five fucking days.
"How long has he been hostage?" Miller asked, chin lifted, refusing to cover up. Which I respected, but was finding it damn near impossible to focus.
"Five days today."
"And who has him?"
"Atanas Chernev."
The way her lips parted at the name, and head fell back a little, told me that she knew exactly who I was dealing with. And how bad this was.
"The heroin drug lord of Bulgaria, Atanas Chernev?" she asked for clarification.
"Yes."
"You're sure he has your brother?"
"I got a video. Yes, I'm sure."
"How did he get your brother?"
"He goes to school in Athens. He was supposed to be safe there. I had men there. No one should have been able to get him. But he did."
"What does he want from you?" she asked, gaze direct.
"He wants to be able to operate in my country."
"Your country."
"Yes, mine. No one operates in Greece without me knowing. From the dealers down to the neighborhood bookies. I have the final say on who does—and who does not—work in my country."
"Why don't you want him to operate in Greece?"
"Because he can't be trusted. Because I can't trust him. Because that shit is doing enough damage already, I don't need someone ruthless like him pushing more of it into hands, ruining lives, families."
"Now, to get your brother back, are you willing to give on that issue a bit?"
"Not as much as he wants me to."
"This is the part where I should tell you that the smartest thing to do is to let my boss and his team come in. I am only part of the package deal you can get there with Quin. Negotiations are important. But I don't think I need to tell you that if they don't go well, you need a backup plan. You need to be able to extract your brother safely."
"If it comes to that, I will handle it. I don't need your team for that. I need you to make sure it doesn't come to that."
"I don't come with any assurances, Mr. Adamos," she told me, shaking her head a bit.
"I don't need assurances. I need you to do your job."
"I would feel more comfortable if you brought in, at least, Smith from my team."
Smith, I knew from Fenway and Bellamy's stories. He was the team's General. He handled things like extractions.
"I have my own men."
"Not as good as Quin's men."
"Maybe not as experienced, but a lot less moral," I told her, watching as understanding crossed her face.
I would burn down all of fucking Bulgaria if it meant getting my brother back. I didn't give a fuck about what that said about me as a man.
"How long do you have before action is expected from you?"
"Chernev expects to hear back from me tomorrow evening."
"Not a lot of time to prepare."
"But it can be done." It wasn't a question. But she answered anyway.
"It can be done," she agreed. "Fenway is right. I'm going to need that coffee."
"We will be docked in less than five minutes," I told her, moving toward the door.
"Mr. Adamos," she called, making me turn back.
"Yes?"
"Eight," she reminded me.
"I am a man of my word, Miller. You get me my brother back, you will get your money."
"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way, Mr. Adamos. Whether or not I am successful, I get paid. Nobody works for free."
That was fair enough.
"If you aren't successful, you will get the rate your employer pays you. Not a cent more."
She didn't like that, judging by the tightness in her jaw, the way her eyes went small. But she didn't object either.
"Mr. Adamos," she called again when I had just moved out into the hall.
"Yes?"
"Your brother..."
"What about him?"
"What's his name?"
"Alexander," I told her, feeling pain slice through my stomach.
"I will do everything I can to get Alexander safe," she told me as I closed the door.
I didn't know her well enough to say with certainty, but I had a feeling it was more than the money. Maybe because Alexander was so young, because children should never be involved in wars between grown men.
A tender heart was bad for business.
But in this case, it would work in my favor.
"She explicitly told you not to get her a pig," Bellamy was telling Fenway as I moved back onto the deck, seeing Fenway scrolling through something on his phone.
"She didn't mean it, though," Fenway insisted.
"She can't have a pig right now," I said, helping Bellamy—and likely Miller—out. "She is going to be in Greece for a while," I added.
"Right. Well, taking a note for her birthday then," Fenway said, tucking the phone away.
I doubted he even knew her birthday, let alone would remember it. That was not something you could expect of Fenway, the kind of man whose life was full of women and parties, avoiding anything serious, never making deep connections.
That was just how he was.
The only thing that made him come to a stop was when some big—or small—man was threatening his life because Fenway took up with his wife, sister, daughter, or mother. All of the above. And he only paused then because the crew that Miller and Bellamy worked for forced him to.
I actually met Fenway when one of my men saved him from a back-alley ass-kicking over a woman he'd hit on right in front of her man.
He'd proved a distant yet entertaining friend, someone easy to go out with, someone who was always hosting a great party on the rare occasion occur that I was in the mood for one.
Five minutes after we debarked, he would run off, chasing some beautiful woman in a flowing skirt. I likely would not see him again for months. Or years.
Bellamy, I figured would hang around long enough to make sure Miller was comfortably on the job. Then he would take off to who knew where.
I imagined Miller had figured this out as well, which likely explained a lot of her initial hesitance.
"You told her about the kid," Bellamy said, jerking his chin behind me.
I turned to see all five-and-a-half feet of Miller making her way toward us, her gait quick and determined. "Alright. Let's do this."
Ten minutes later, Fenway supposedly went off to ask around about some wine he wanted to stock back up on for his yacht.
We were just at the front of the coffee shop when Bellamy's phone rang.
He reached for it, a brow raising, something that immediately made Miller lunge at him. "That's Quin isn't it?" she asked as he danced back a step. "Give that to me. Bells!" she shouted when he moved further back still. "Bellamy," she growled as he jogged up the steps.
She tried to run after him, making my arm shoot out, fingers curling around her upper arm, to yank her backward.
"Let me go," she demanded, the order gritting out of her. Defiant even though she knew she didn't stand a chance.
"We agreed this job didn't involve your boss," I reminded her as she tried to jerk back, neck turning, likely trying to figure out if someone was nearby who would save her if she threw a fit.
Normally, yes, they would.
But not when the person she needed saving from was me.
No one would make a move against me. There was something in the way her shoulders slumped that said she was beginning to understand that, to see my reach.
"Through here," I told her, easing my grip, but keeping a hand on her, leading her through a bright blue door and into a small coffee shop.
"I need the balcony cleared," I told the proprietor who immediately stepped out f
rom behind his counter, going outside to make that happen. "And two frappes," I added, to the man's wife, who quickly gathered the instant coffee grounds and milk.
"You can let go of me," Miller said, voice rough even as she shot me a fake smile. If I didn't know she was pissed, I would have believed it.
"So you can chase after Bellamy to speak to your boss? No."
"I thought we had a business arrangement."
"We do," I agreed, nodding to the owner as I led Miller onto the balcony, seating her near the railing as I took the spot near the door. No exit.
"Then why are you treating me like a prisoner?"
The owner's wife stepped out on the balcony, set down our drinks along with a menu, then quietly disappeared again, closing the door as she went.
"Frappe, food... yes, you are being horribly mistreated."
"I just wanted my team to know where I am. That's all. And I know Bellamy is going to lie to them. You have loved ones, Mr. Adamos. You know how it is to worry when one of them is suddenly missing."
"I'm sure Bellamy has fed them a story that will buy you enough time to save Alexander."
To that, she let out a long sigh, reaching for a frappe, leaning back in her seat.
"Okay. I am going to need more details."
"About what, exactly?"
"Your brother. Atanas. The hierarchy of crime in your country. The kind of allies Atanas has. And you. What you are—and are not—willing to negotiate on. Everything."
She fell silent then, taking a tentative sip of her frappe, letting out a moan that I could feel in my fucking cock, then taking a longer sip.
"That is a long story," I told her, finger sliding across the sweat on my glass.
"I'm on your dime now," she said with a casual shrug.
"My father started the family business. He rose up the ranks from loanshark to, as you like to put it, crime lord. He passed five years after Alexander was born. His mother moved onto another rich man, leaving me to raise Alexander. Which I did. Last year, he insisted on going to school in Athens. He felt stifled here, I guess."
"Armed guards preventing him from being a kid?" she asked.
"Something like that, yes. He should have been safe. No one crosses me here."
"What, exactly, is your business, Mr. Adamos?"
"I believe they would call it 'racketeering' in the States."
The Negotiator Page 3
