The Ruthless Knight

by Jeana E. Mann

  “When I saw you last night, I thought for sure I’d made a mistake. You don’t look at all like the girl who sucked me off at the masquerade.”

  “That’s because you’ve got the wrong person.” The heat in my blood cools. I’m equal parts aroused and terrified. “I’m nobody.”

  “It’s not who you are as much as what you are.” He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck, and peers up at me through his long, dark eyelashes. The sofa groans as he leans back. “To be honest, I don’t really care what you’ve done or why. I just know that I promised my friend to bring you back. And no one goes back on a promise to her. Not even me.”

  I swallow through the dryness in my throat. “Please. I don’t know this woman. I’ll do anything. Just let me go.”

  “Really? Anything?” Mischief flashes through his eyes. “I’m intrigued.” He rests an ankle on top of his opposite knee and spreads both arms across the back of the sofa. His casual, relaxed demeanor stirs my temper. He bobs his head. “Go on.”

  “I didn’t mean…” But I did. My voice trails into nothingness. Would I sacrifice my body for my freedom? Hell, yeah. It wouldn’t be the first time I slept with a guy to get out of an unfortunate predicament. A poor girl learns to work with what God gave her. And, lucky for me, God gave me big tits and a round ass.

  An electronic buzz breaks his unnerving stare. He withdraws a phone from the breast pocket of his jacket and frowns at the screen. “As much as I really like this game, I’m on a deadline.” After typing a return message, he pockets the phone and stands. He extends a hand, palm up. “Let’s go.”

  In the back of my head, a clock ticks down the last minutes of my life. I can’t leave with this man. I back up until I hit the table behind me. I feel blindly beneath the table for the gun taped to the underside. The holster is empty.

  He frowns, marring the perfect beauty of his face. “If you’re looking for your pistol, it’s right here.” He pats the waistband of his trousers. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.” His voice is smooth and melodious, almost soothing. He wiggles his fingers, gesturing for me to come closer.

  “I’ll take the hard way.” In a desperate burst of adrenalin, I grab the lamp and swing it at his head. He ducks. The lampshade misses his face by inches. Although the swing didn’t connect, it’s enough to throw him off balance. I leap over the back of the sofa, intending to sprint for the bedroom. He grabs my ankle, following me to the floor.

  We grapple in the middle of the room. Our grunts and heavy breathing rip through the quiet. If I can just get to my room, I can lock the door and go out the fire escape. He anticipates my next move, overpowering me with his size. I land on my ass in the middle of the hard floor. He straddles my hips, pinning my wrists to the floor above my head. He’s much stronger than he looks, and I’m helpless. The last of my strength ebbs away. Darkness descends, blotting out the ceiling and his angry expression.

  Five

  Calliope

  The only sound in the room is rhythmic breathing—mine. My eyelids are too heavy to open. A deep, dreamless sleep wraps clutching fingers around my consciousness. An overwhelming sense of urgency lurks beneath the fog in my brain. I need to wake up, but I don’t know why. Luxurious linens and a soft mattress cradle my body. In the far distance, I hear the crackle of a fireplace. The scent of cigar smoke hangs in the air.

  Danger. The word echoes through my head in a seductive whisper. Wake up. Now. I struggle to the surface, slogging upward through the thick soup in my brain. I groan, lift to a sitting position, and shake the fog away.

  “Welcome back.” The deep, male voice escalates my anxiety. I know that voice. “You’ve been out for quite a while.”

  “Where am I?” Nothing makes sense. Not the twinkling lights of skyscrapers outside the wall of windows. Not the unfamiliar modern furnishings of the bedroom. And definitely not the man sitting in the leather club chair at the foot of the bed.

  “Manhattan. In my penthouse.” That face—so brutal—so cold. I remember that face.

  “New York City?” Fragments of memories tug at the corners of my mind. I struggle to fit the snippets into a coherent picture. The handsome man, his footsteps on the sidewalk behind me, the ride up to my apartment in the elevator… “How long have I been asleep?”

  “It’s seven o’clock in the evening.” He pauses to draw from his cigar. “I’m sure you have questions. I’ll try to answer them if I can.” The smoke curls in tendrils around his head. “Why don’t you take a minute to collect yourself? Hop in the shower. There are clean clothes hanging on the back of the door. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of packing a few things for you.”

  “I don’t understand.” Every fiber in my body screams for me to run, but it’s all I can do to drag my legs over the edge of the bed. My bare feet dangle above the thick white carpet.

  “Easy. No need to rush.” In a slow, graceful motion, he rises from the chair to pour a glass of water from a crystal pitcher on the dresser. He hands it to me. “Here.”

  I cup the glass between my palms, staring at the cool water. “You drugged me.” It’s the only explanation for my memory loss, the sluggishness of my limbs, the lingering fog in my brain. “How?”

  “I slipped it into your shot glass at the bar when you turned your back. It’s a new thing. A gel that coats the glass, virtually tasteless and undetectable. And it’s time released, meant to hit you about the time you reached your apartment.”

  Stupid, stupid girl. I stare at the water.

  Amusement twists his lips. “Don’t worry. It’s just water. I promise.” To prove his point, he takes a sip from my glass before handing it back to me. “I overestimated the dosage and gave you a little too much. My apologies. The effects should wear off in a few hours. Aside from a little dizziness, you’ll be fine.”

  Sparks of fury ignite in my belly. The bastard. I drain the glass and hold it out for a refill. The only sound in the room is the glugging of liquid into the glass and the banging of my heart against my ribs. This is bad. So much worse than I could have imagined.

  “Are you going to rape me?” An icepick of fear stabs my chest. It wouldn’t be the first time a man abused me, but it’s not something I care to have repeated.

  He takes his time before answering. “As tempting as I find you, the answer is no.” His steel gaze crawls from my toes, up my bare legs, to my face. Making me aware that I’m only wearing a T-shirt and panties. “I consider myself a connoisseur of all things carnal and forbidden. Role play, bondage, dominance—those are just a few of my favorites. Rape, however, isn’t—and never has been—a part of my agenda.”

  “But drugging and kidnapping an innocent woman is okay? I’m glad you have boundaries.”

  “I’d hardly call you innocent. As for my boundaries, let’s call them flexible.” He shifts back in the chair, resting an ankle on the opposite knee, to continue his cold stare. “You can blame yourself for this situation. If my friend wants you, it’s because you’ve done something to deserve it.”

  The entitlement in his tone raises my defenses. “I haven’t done anything to anyone.” With a huge amount of effort, I force sweetness into my words. “Please. Just let me go. No one has to know. I’ll never say anything to anyone.”

  “We both know that’s not true.” He stands, smoothing a hand down his ridiculous necktie. Matching yellow diamond cufflinks sparkle in the glow of the overhead light. “Take a shower. Get dressed. Meet me in the dining room. I’m sure you’re hungry.” My stomach growls in agreement. “We can discuss what happens next.”

  The possibilities are too bleak for consideration. An icy shower washes away the last of the cobwebs in my brain. My aching muscles yearn for a soak in the adjacent jetted tub, but this is no time for indulgence. I need all my faculties if I’m going to escape this maniac’s clutches.

  Once I’m dressed, I make a quick search of the room. He took the water pitcher with him. The furnishings are simple, mode
rn, composed of warm woods and sleek metals. The dresser drawers are empty. Not even a clothes hanger in the closet. And that window. It stretches from the thick carpeting to the coffered ceiling, providing a view from at least thirty stories above the street.

  The bedroom door is unlocked. With my hair hanging in damp ringlets, I wander down the hall. Despite my anxiety, I’m acutely aware of the priceless photographs, original oil paintings, and decadent sculptures on display. The minimalist décor provides the perfect backdrop for the art. Although I hate this man, I have to admire his taste.

  At the end of the hall, I contemplate my options. The penthouse is open concept with soaring ceilings and lots of windows. To my left is the dining room. The long table is set for six. An elaborate arrangement of white flowers adorns the center. To my right, the front door is within sight. A mere dozen yards away. With a little luck, I could sprint there.

  As if reading my thoughts, the hulking man from my apartment corridor steps into view. He blocks my escape with his wide torso. One of his thick eyebrows lifts. Sweeping a hand in front of him, he gestures toward the dining room.

  “You’re early. Fantastic.” Nicky appears from the living room. “I was just about to pour myself a scotch. Would you care to join me?”

  “No.” What’s wrong with this man? His pleasant demeanor confuses me. Am I a prisoner or a guest? I’m not sure.

  “Ah, well, suit yourself.” With the air of a man accustomed to nice things, he pours amber liquid from a crystal decanter into a matching glass. “How was your shower? Feeling better?”

  “I’ve been drugged and kidnapped. How do you think I feel?”

  After an exasperated sigh, he scans my damp hair, clean face, and the dress he’d chosen from my closet. “Pissed. Confused. Anxious.” He taps his lower lip with an index finger. “But not frightened. No, you’re not scared at all, and I find that fascinating.”

  “Your hospitality is a little weird.”

  “I’m a criminal. Not a barbarian.”

  “Dinner is ready.” A matronly woman in a chef’s uniform steps out of the kitchen. She wipes her hands on her white apron as she speaks. “If you and your guest would like to be seated, we’ll begin.”

  “Excellent. Thank you, Marta.” Nicky gestures toward the table. “After you, Calliope.” He pulls out a chair for me then takes a seat at the head of the table to my left. Viktor sits on my right. Nicky smiles. “Such an interesting name, Calliope. Tell me, was your mother fond of carnival rides? Personally, I’ve always loved a good freak show.”

  I gape at him. In the space of twenty-four hours, I’ve been transported into an alternate universe, one filled with unbelievable art, Michelin-star-worthy cuisine, and the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.

  When I don’t reply, he waves a hand. “No matter. It’s a lovely name. I like it.”

  “I’m so relieved.” I don’t try to curb the sarcasm in my tone.

  A butler arrives at my elbow, complete with white gloves and black suit. “Tonight, the first course will be scallops and winter truffle tartare tossed with sourdough croutons. The main course is sesame crusted ahi tuna, seared, and paired with a white wine reduction and jasmine risotto. For dessert, Madame Marta has prepared apple tartlets with fresh cream and lavender.”

  “It sounds delicious, Cornelius. Thank you.” Nicky snaps his napkin onto his lap. The butler uncorks a bottle of wine and proceeds to fill our glasses. “Where are my manners? You haven’t been formally introduced. Calliope, this is Viktor, my business associate.” The hulking man nods, his gaze chilly.

  I wave away the wine. “What happens next?”

  “So much for small talk. All right, then. You’ll spend the night here, and tomorrow we’ll deliver you to your new home.”

  “And then what happens?”

  The pause following my question is long enough to make my stomach lurch. He drops his fork to his plate. “I don’t know. It’s beyond the scope of my duties. I only procure things. What people do with them after—” He lifts one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “Not my business.”

  Now I’m no longer a person. I’m a thing, to be bought and sold and traded. Although the food looks delicious, I can’t eat. Soft classical music floats in the background at odds with the total terror churning in my chest. “At the very least, I deserve to know where I’m going. I deserve a fighting chance.”

  “There is no chance,” Nicky replies flatly. “I’m sorry, Calliope, but it’s true. Where you’re going is the end of the line. No one comes back.”

  My heart sinks. I’ve done a lot of appalling things to a lot of people over the years. Most of them deserved it. All of them had been wealthy beyond measure. In the beginning, it hadn’t seemed so terrible, to steal from the rich. Those people had everything while I had next to nothing. After a while, I did it more for the thrill than greed. Until Cash Delacorte came along. He forced me to do his dirty work, ripping off his rivals and keeping the money for himself.

  “So, this is my going away party?” The remark is meant to be glib, but no one smiles. “I wish you’d told me. I would’ve worn something more appropriate.”

  The rest of the meal passes in a blur. Tension thickens the air. Viktor and Nicky speak to each other like they’re strangers. My host sits at the head of the table, but he glares at Viktor like he’s uncomfortable with his presence. The food is good, and despite my anxiety, I manage to clean my plate. Then I’m back in my room, staring at the locked door, hating myself for allowing this to happen.

  The minutes drag into hours. As I sit on the edge of the bed, I think about Jagger, the father who left us, and my deceased mom. Will Jag bury me next to her? Or will I just be tossed into a ditch like garbage, never to be heard from again? A knot forms in my throat. Maybe this is what I deserve. I’ve never believed in karma until now.

  When the door opens, I jump to my feet. In that split second, my mind is made up. I won’t make this easy. If I’m going to die anyway, I might as well go out fighting. Nicky enters the room, closes the door, and leans back on it. We stare at each other for a long minute before he gestures for me to sit.

  “I won’t go.” My voice trembles on the declaration. “You’ll have to kill me.”

  “Nope. Not an option. She wants you alive—to make you suffer.” His words intensify the fear gnawing at my insides.

  I wrack my memories for a woman that I’ve wronged. There have been so many marks during my career. All men.

  He takes a seat in the chair and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Where can I find the man you work for? Cash Delacorte?”

  “I don’t work for him anymore.” I shrug, unwilling to let him see my growing fear. “The job at the masquerade was my last.”

  “You disappeared without a trace. And believe me, I searched for you.”

  “Obviously, you’re not very good at it or you would have found me before now.” I stare back at him while my brain rapidly searches for options of escape. He never locked the door behind him. Is Vik outside? Can I even leave the building once I’m out of the apartment?

  “But I did find you, didn’t I, Calliope?” Cruelty highlights his flawless features—his straight nose, high cheekbones, and those sculpted lips.

  I glance away to regain control of my thoughts. “If I’m going to die, do I get a last request?”

  He studies my face with stormy gray eyes. “Maybe. If it’s within the realm of my resources. What would you like?”

  “Some ice cream?” I end the question with my best, innocent lilt.

  “Sure.” He stands and turns to leave. “Is chocolate okay?”

  “Perfect.” I wrap my fingers around the lamp on the nightstand. When he’s two steps from the door, I yank the cord from outlet. A primal growl rips from my throat. I charge at him, lamp raised high over my head, preparing for battle.

  For someone so tall, he’s fast. Before I can bring the lamp down on his head, he whirls, and we tumble to the floor. His heavy body lies on top of me. Te
ars of frustration and anger leak from the corners of my eyes. I buck my hips, twisting and turning. His knee wedges between my legs. He pins my wrists above my head. I’m immobilized on the soft carpet, able to feel every dip and swell of his body, the strength of his muscles, and the hardness of his thighs.

  “Stop. Struggling.” The steel in his tone escalates my fear. We’re breathless and panting. He holds my wrists with one hand, reaches into his pocket with the other. My hair flops into my eyes as I twist beneath him. He grunts when my knee grazes his groin. “Careful. Don’t do anything you’re going to regret.”

  The sick thing? I’m equal parts aroused and furious. I’d love to rip off his shirt and drag my nails down his back, to feel that monster cock inside me. I know it’s twisted beyond measure, but I can’t help myself. Instead, I let out a frustrated growl. “It’s too late for that.”

  Zip ties tighten around my wrists then my ankles. No matter how hard I fight, he keeps overpowering me. Triumph glows on his face. He smirks, his full lips inches from mine. “I know.”

  Six

  Nicky

  Three months. Three long, agonizing months to find this woman. There’s no way in hell I’m letting her escape. Her dedication to anonymity has been impressive, but that part of her life ends with me. She’s been a worthy adversary in every respect. In another time, another life, I would’ve fucked this woman within in an inch of her life. Brought her pleasure like she’s never known. My sympathy for her plight, however, has limitations. I take pride in a job well done. Even if it’s for Valentina.

  My gloating comes to an end at the sound of Viktor’s gruff voice on the other side of the door. “Yo, Nicky, we have a situation.”

  Calliope twists beneath me. The top buttons of her blouse have popped open following our struggle, revealing the upper swells of round, supple breasts. Her chest heaves from exertion. The amount of hatred in her brown eyes is frightening. I shout over my shoulder. “I’m busy. Take care of it.”