Deal with the Devil

by March, Meghan

  I set her on her feet and wrap an arm around her shoulders. She’s pale and trembling and looks like she’s been through hell and back. I don’t know what the fuck happened before I arrived, but she looks like she’s about to pass out.

  “Don’t you dare—” de Vere’s threat gets lost in the crowd as the valet rushes forward with the keys to my black-and-silver Bugatti.

  “Fuck off, de Vere. She’s not yours to worry about anymore.”

  The valet opens the passenger door for India, and I help her inside as the LED lights illuminate the black-and-white leather interior.

  Once I’m inside, the Chiron roars to life with all of its 1500 horsepower, and I check the mirrors before peeling out from the front of the casino and down the drive. One glance at the rearview shows de Vere staring at us as we speed away.

  I always win, de Vere. You should know that by now.

  In the passenger seat, India fumbles along the door panel, searching for something, and I hope it’s not the door handle so she can jump out.

  “What do you need?”

  “Air. I can’t . . . I can’t breathe.”

  Fuck. “Do you need a hospital? Did he hurt you?”

  Her chin snaps toward me. “Hurt me? No. I just . . .” Her chest rises and falls faster and faster, and a thought occurs to me.

  “Are you having a panic attack?”

  She presses both hands to her face, and her entire body shakes.

  “Calm down, Indy. Just calm down.”

  She drops her hands. “I can’t calm down! I’m running out of time!”

  I take the turn toward the harbor, grateful that Monte Carlo isn’t large or crushed with traffic tonight, and a few moments later, I turn down the quay. The rear hydraulic door of the yacht is open, waiting for me to drive aboard.

  Koba rushes toward the stern, gun drawn, likely from the roar of the Chiron’s engine and the speed at which I approach. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to make a quick getaway from somewhere. But tonight, I have completely different reasons, and they all have to do with India Baptiste.

  As soon as she realizes we’re driving off the quay and onto a ship, her eyes dart from window to window. “What the hell are you doing?”

  I shut off the engine as the door lifts behind us and turn to her.

  “Kidnapping you.”

  22

  India

  Kidnapping me?

  He can’t be serious. At least, if he were anyone else, he wouldn’t be serious. But with Jericho Forge . . . I have no idea what to expect.

  He exits the car—one that looks like it’s straight out of a futuristic movie—and rounds the long hood.

  My head buzzes as the passenger door swings open.

  Why did I ask him to take me away from the casino? My brain isn’t functioning right, because I can’t even answer my own question.

  I trip as I try to climb out, and he catches me around the waist with both hands. Before I can speak, my feet leave the ground as he lifts me into his arms.

  “Put me—”

  “Shut up, Indy.”

  A woozy feeling washes over me, and I comply, but only because I’d prefer not to puke on a tux that no doubt cost more than my rent.

  As he carries me through the bowels of the boat, my body relaxes against him almost against my will. As much as I hate to admit it, having his solid arms holding my weight gives me a sense of safety I haven’t felt since I got the call from the men who have Summer.

  But it shouldn’t. He’s just as dangerous. Maybe even more so, because I still can’t figure out what he wants from me.

  “Why did you follow me?”

  He glances down at me with those unreadable gray eyes. “We had a deal, and you broke your word. That’s a cardinal sin.”

  He’s right. I did. I knew I was going to the moment his henchman with the dreads delivered me back to the pier from his island.

  “I had no choice.”

  “You always have a choice, Indy.”

  It’s the second time he’s said my nickname, and it sounds strangely good coming from his lips. Because I’m losing my goddamned mind.

  My hands shake as he carries me to a glass cylinder that parts as we approach. As soon as we step inside, the doors close. When we begin to rise, I grip his shoulders tighter, like I’m afraid I’ll fall.

  “It’s an elevator. Calm down,” Forge says as we soar up to a silver-and-white hallway, broken up by modern art. The doors slide open, and he steps out.

  This is ridiculous.

  Another set of double glass doors slide open, and he steps inside what looks like a main salon. Planks of reclaimed wood line the floors beneath the white leather furniture and navy and gray accents. A white granite sideboard, shot with threads of silver, holds a plethora of matched decanters. Strips of LED lights give off a warm glow, inviting someone to sit down rather than run away, because it appears too fancy for the average human.

  I don’t know why I’m surprised we just drove onto a superyacht, but I am. Forge is a billionaire who throws around checks for a million dollars like they’re pennies, so why wouldn’t he own one.

  When he sits me down on a surprisingly cushy sofa, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to concentrate on something other than how screwed I am right now—and not just because my brain is reminding me how much I like the smell of his skin.

  Pull it together, Indy.

  I open my eyes to the sound of ice clinking in a glass, and Forge watching me out of the corner of his eye as he pours amber-colored liquid over the ice at the sideboard.

  “I don’t need—”

  “You don’t know what you need right now.”

  My mouth drops open at such a high-handed comment. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re acting like a gambling addict desperate for a game, so clearly you’re not making good decisions. You took my million and then walked right to de Vere. Only someone stupid or desperate goes against my orders.”

  “I did what I had to do,” I say as I push up off the sofa.

  “Sit the fuck down. You’re not going anywhere.”

  I whip the check he gave me out of my purse and tear it to shreds, letting them fall to the wood floor like confetti. “There you go. I didn’t cash your check, so you don’t have a goddamned thing to say about what I do. I’m walking off this fucking boat and going to find someone who’ll stake me, and then I’m going to play.”

  My voice trembles as I speak. I have no idea where I’m going to find the resources to make my bold words into truth . . . especially now that my best shot at having a stake is now scattered on the floor.

  Shit. Why did I do that? Why don’t I think before I act when he’s around?

  Forge crosses the room, carrying the glass, and grabs my fisted hand before I can take a single step. He peels my fingers open and wraps them around the tumbler.

  “You aren’t getting off this boat without my permission. Drink your fucking whiskey while I decide what the hell to do with you.”

  “You can’t keep me here. I’m not a fucking prisoner.”

  His roughly carved features shift, breaking into a roguish smile. “Did you think I was joking about the kidnapping? Because I wasn’t.”

  He’s fucking impossible.

  “You want me to drink? Fine.” I drain the contents and shove the glass back at him. “Done. Now I’m leaving.”

  His grin fades. “Sit. The. Fuck. Down. If I have to tell you again, you’ll be facedown over my knee, with my handprint burning on your ass.”

  The dark edge to his threat gives me pause, and I plop down. He’s the only person who has ever threatened to spank me in my life, and just like the last time, a flare of heat ignites between my legs. This should not turn me on.

  It has to be the alcohol. Another lie.

  Forge’s fingertips brush over my hand as he takes the glass from me, sending shivers of pleasure up my arms that shoot straight to my nipples. They pebble into hard points, pressing against the thin
fabric of my red dress. Forge misses nothing. His stormy gray eyes dip before meeting my gaze again, as if daring me to disobey and give him a reason to follow through on his threat.

  My breathing catches as he stares at me like he’s once again trying to read my mind.

  If he knew what I was thinking, would he sit down beside me and flip me over his lap, pull my dress up, and find out just how wet I am before he spanked me?

  Banked fire smolders as he takes a step away from me. Then another. And another. He doesn’t break eye contact until he reaches the sideboard and pours another measure into my glass, and more into a second one.

  When he turns around, his expression is blank once more.

  I swear, this man has a split personality for how well he can control his emotions. A talent I wish I had right now.

  He takes a sip of his drink, and my pulse kicks up as he continues to stare. Finally, he speaks. “Why do you need money so badly?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  He reverses his path from before, taking one measured step toward me at a time before pressing my glass into my hand. “You’re not leaving this boat until you tell me.”

  I curl my fingers around the drink and lift it to my lips without breaking his stare. I drain it and embrace the warm punch of the liquor rushing through my system. For a moment, the crushing anxiety that gripped me outside the casino seems to subside. I stand again on semi-steady legs and silently turn in a circle to survey the decadent wood, granite, and leather interior of the ship, because it’s definitely nothing so pedestrian as a boat.

  For a single moment, I let myself pretend that I could escape from all my problems here. Even if it was just for a day.

  “Maybe I’d be okay with that.” I stop my circling to meet Forge’s stare. The smolder is back, and I immediately regret my words.

  He moves toward me as he speaks. “Women are only on this boat for two reasons—to fuck or to serve. Which role are you taking?”

  His vulgar statement reminds me of how he turned me down Saturday night in my room at the casino hotel.

  “You don’t want to fuck me, so I guess that leaves only one option.”

  “Who says I don’t want to fuck you?” His dark gaze travels over my body, leaving tendrils of fire everywhere it touches.

  “You did.”

  With his glass dangling from his fingers, he takes another step toward me. “I didn’t want a martyr laid out like a cold fish. When I fuck you, you’ll be a full and willing participant.”

  “When?” I laugh, trying to take another sip from my already empty glass. “You’re arrogant as hell.” For some reason, when I say the words, my gaze drops to his crotch, and through the thin material of his tux pants, there’s no mistaking the bulge.

  “Call me whatever you want, but first, you have a story to tell me.” Forge spins around to snag the decanter and crosses the room to refill my glass again.

  I know I shouldn’t drink it, but right now, my capacity for good decision making is shot. For one night, I want to forget that my sister is being held—

  No. Stop.

  I take another sip of the liquor and let it lie on my tongue, appreciating the flavor. Forge’s mouth would taste the same way.

  Nope. Not thinking about that either.

  “I need money. End of story.”

  “Quit lying, Indy, and maybe you’ll find that I’m a good ally. Because whatever you need, I have.” His full lips tempt me not only to tell him what he wants to know, but also to lean up and taste them.

  No. I tear my gaze away from his mouth, trying to break the spell. It doesn’t work, so I go with the only thing that I know will—some of the truth.

  “If I tell you, I’m risking someone’s life, and I can’t take that chance.”

  Forge moves closer, and I want to soak up the heat radiating off him. “Whose life?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  His fingers lift my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “This yacht has the latest technology available. No one will hear a goddamned thing you say while you’re on board. It’s routinely swept for bugs. You might as well be trapped in a snow cave in Siberia.”

  With every word out of his mouth, he’s seducing me into trusting him, but I know I shouldn’t.

  His thumb sweeps along my cheek. “India Baptiste, you are an extraordinary woman with immense talent . . .”

  The compliment and his touch do something to me. My body moves toward his instinctively.

  “But you’re also extraordinarily stupid not to tell me right now.”

  I jerk away from him. “And you’re a fucking dick.”

  His gaze drops to his crotch, and mine follows again.

  Did the bulge get bigger?

  “I might be a dick, but I’m a rich dick, and there isn’t a problem you have that I can’t throw money at to fix. Tell me what I want to know now, or I’m going to get you drunk, seduce you, and then you’ll tell me every secret you’ve ever kept.”

  I choke out a laugh at his overconfident statement. “You can’t expect me to fall in line with your plan when you tell me in advance.”

  “I always get what I want.”

  I press my lips together before taking another sip. Lack of food since breakfast makes the liquor go to my head faster than it normally would, so I retake my seat on the sofa. I rarely have more than one drink because I need my wits about me at the poker table.

  But something in my gut tells me to lay it all out and let Forge help me solve the problem I’m facing. Of all the people I’ve met in my life, he may be the one man who actually could.

  I know I can’t do this alone. I’ve already tried and failed, and the days are ticking away. No doubt I’ll get another call from the unknown number telling me how disappointed they are in my failing to sit a game in Monaco, and threaten Summer’s life again.

  What if they lose their patience? What if they won’t wait the entire five days I have left for the money? Am I really willing to gamble my sister’s life on their word? Am I willing to gamble it on Jericho Forge’s?

  Bastien said something to me Saturday night that echoes through my head now. At least I’m the devil you know.

  In this moment, Forge is that devil, because Bastien can’t help me anymore.

  I take another sip and close my eyes, unable to believe what I’m about to say. “You can’t tell anyone. I can’t go to the police or Interpol. It is literally a matter of life and death.”

  “You have my word.”

  With a deep breath, I let it all spill out. “I need $10 million in five days or my sister is going to be auctioned off to the highest bidder by sex slavers.”

  Forge’s dark gaze turns flinty. “Who has her?”

  “I don’t know. They call from an unknown number.”

  “When and how did they take her?”

  “Five days ago. She was . . .” I pause, not wanting to share the humiliating part of the story.

  The sofa dips beside me from Forge’s weight as he sits. “If you don’t tell me everything, I can’t help you.”

  I tell him as I stare into the remains of my whiskey. “She was playing in an underground poker game. She was losing, so she cheated. They caught her. It was a $5 million pot, and they want double to get her back. They said if I told anyone . . . they’d kill her. And me. And Alanna.”

  I flick my gaze to the side to get a read on his reaction. Neither his posture nor his expression change. I decide to take that as a good sign.

  “Do you have a recent picture of her? Or a video? Something?”

  I nod. “Yes. Both.”

  “Give them to me.” He holds out his hand.

  “They’re on my phone. Give me a minute.” I sit my glass on the floor and flip my clutch open, trying to hold back the relief bursting to life in my chest. “You’re really going to help me get her back?” I ask as I tap the code to unlock my phone.

  He doesn’t answer until I meet his gaze. “I’m going to investigate the situat
ion.”

  Okay, that’s not a yes, but also not a no . . .

  “But I don’t do anything for anyone without getting something in return.”

  I should have expected him to say that. My heart hammers harder as I study the austere lines of his face, softened only by the stubble that seems to permanently color his jaw.

  “What do you want?”

  One eyebrow rises. “From you? For $10 million? You should already know the answer to that.” The corners of his mouth lift until his expression is the picture of sheer triumph. “Every-fucking-thing.”

  23

  India

  Every-fucking-thing. The word vibrates through my body, hardening my nipples further and intensifying the thrumming pulse between my legs.

  “At the risk of repeating what happened at La Reina, I’m keeping my clothes on,” I tell him, my voice sounding husky, even to my ears.

  “Good, because when I want them off, I’ll strip you myself.”

  A shiver rolls down my spine. How can words affect me so much? But it’s not just the words. It’s the man.

  Forge turns on the sofa and reaches toward me. I flinch when his thumb strokes the pulse point fluttering in my neck. He pauses, his dark gaze penetrating mine.

  “You’re afraid of me.”

  My lips press together as I think of a way to answer without sounding stupid. I decide to go with the truth. “I’m not used to being touched. Not . . . not like this.”

  His gaze intensifies as he caresses my skin and curls his other fingers around the side of my throat. “You can’t say things like that to a man like me.”

  Slickness gathers between my legs, and I’m moments away from climbing him. It’s the alcohol. Right?

  Whatever the reason, I’ve never been drawn to a man as powerfully as I am to Jericho Forge. He’s like a black hole, and I’m helpless to resist the gravity sucking me in. Because I’m an idiot.

  Even that knowledge doesn’t dim the effect of the warmth radiating off him or the delicious salty fresh scent of man that surrounds me. Every brush of his fingertips across my throat is intoxicating.