The Ruthless Knight

by Jeana E. Mann

  “I’m surprised you have the energy after all that fucking.” Spite drips from my tone.

  “Don’t make assumptions. You know nothing.” He avoids my gaze while he fills our glasses halfway with liquor.

  “And whose fault is that?” I accept the offered glass and take a deep drink. The rum heats my throat. I cough and frown. Maybe he’s going to drug me again. I don’t care. At this point, unconsciousness sounds like a gift.

  “Sorry. Valentina keeps the good stuff locked up. This was all I could find.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Not at this point.” The wistfulness in his statement catches me by surprise. The scent of his cologne drifts between us as he rests his feet on the railing. I should be afraid of him, but I’m not. Nothing about his demeanor is threatening. To a casual observer, we probably look like friends having an evening drink. In another life, we could’ve been friends. A second glance at his muscular calves and thighs strips me of the notion. Lovers maybe. Friends? Never.

  “We’re a lot alike, you and I.” He stares into the distance. The setting sun highlights his profile, the straight nose, his square jaw, and that delicious chin.

  My snort echoes into the atmosphere. “Yeah, right.”

  “We’re both pawns in Valentina’s twisted games. I’m just as much a prisoner here as you are.”

  The hopelessness in his statement makes my stomach churn. What if he’s playing me? I can’t let his charisma and good looks overcome my common sense. Those traits are what got me into this mess. “I doubt that.”

  “Believe me, if I had a choice, I’d be on my way back to Manhattan right now.”

  “You’re a powerful man. Why don’t you just leave?”

  His laughter rings across the reflective surface of the pool below us and drifts away on the wind. “Valentina has complete autonomy here. No one comes or goes without her express permission. And she’s not done with me. Not yet.” The bitterness in his voice strikes a chord in me. “I made a pact with her, and she’s holding me to the letter of the bargain.” He pauses to refill our glasses.

  “What kind of bargain?”

  “It’s a long story. Let’s just say she made threats against my niece—the girl in my apartment last night.”

  “Your niece means a lot to you?”

  “More than anything.” His chest rises and falls with a heavy sigh. Despite the lines of gravity around his eyes, a self-deprecating smirk twists his mouth. “If you got to know me, you’d learn that I’m not a horrible person. I have excellent hygiene. My wardrobe is impeccable. I’m a fantastic tipper. Last week, I gave up my cab to an old lady. I pay my taxes. Sometimes I give out new shoes to the homeless. And I always, always make sure that the woman comes first.” He smooths a hand over his hair before turning those churning gray eyes on me. “If you and I were together, I’d make sure you came first, too—several times.”

  “Are you flirting with me?” The audacity of this man knows no bounds. “Here? Now?” I point to the deck of the veranda. “After everything you’ve done to me?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” His shrugs. “Bringing you here was purely business.” His gaze travels over my bare legs, my breasts, and stops on my mouth. “But I’ve wanted you since the masquerade.”

  “You must have some kind of super-duper libido if you’re ready to go again after that marathon with Valentina.”

  “Like I said, you know nothing. We haven’t had sex in months.” His shoulders tense. “To be honest, I can’t get it up around her anymore. She’s too repulsive.” A shudder travels through his torso. “The only thing she wants now is to humiliate me. She made me watch while Luis fucked her and pointed out all the millions of ways his technique is superior to mine.” The words tumble out with a grimace, like they taste bad on his tongue. “More power to him. For his sake, I hope she tires of him quickly.” He drains the glass and refills it. “I’ve been her whore for five long years. Now, thanks to you, I’ll be released from our arrangement.” He lifts his glass in a toast. “Hopefully.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” When he doesn’t answer, I swallow past the knot in my throat. “Oh.” I curl my bare toes into the jute rug. He’s confiding in me because I won’t be around to tell anyone.

  “For what it’s worth, I admire your spirit. As someone facing their final hours, you seem remarkably calm.” The chair groans as he shifts to face me. “Aren’t you frightened?” Without waiting for an answer, he adds, “You should be.”

  “I’ll never give up. Not until I’m six feet under.”

  He stares at me for a long time. With each passing second, my pulse escalates. Such a beautiful man. Despite my hatred for him, I’m intrigued. He drops his feet to the floor, preparing to stand. “I should go.”

  “No. Wait.” The thought of spending my last night alone brings the sting of tears to my eyes. The request bubbling past my lips shocks me. “Please stay. I could use the company. Unless that’s not allowed?”

  The last sliver of the sun shimmers on the horizon, preparing to sink into the calm waters. The gray of his eyes reminds me of a misty morning. He breaks his stare, shifts back in the chair, and takes another drink. “I’ve always been a rule breaker.” For the first time since we met, a true smile lights up his face. The dimples in his cheeks deepen. “Would you like to go for a walk with me?”

  Eight

  Calliope

  I should be tired, but sleep seems out of the question. Instead, I’m walking with Nicky, barefoot in the sand. The pristine beach stretches for miles in each direction. Lush jungle surrounds the edges of the compound. White cabanas dot the beach. At first glance, this could be a luxury resort. The idyllic setting is spoiled by armed sentries who watch as we make our way down to the water. Nicky wades into the surf until the foam laps at his ankles. I stand a few yards away.

  “The water’s warm. Join me.” He beckons with an outstretched hand. The liquor bottle is tucked beneath the opposite elbow.

  “No thanks. I’m fine here.” I drop to the sand, crossing my legs beneath me. The nearby guard shifts his AK47 from one shoulder to the other. Nicky returns, sits beside me, and offers the rum bottle. I shake my head.

  “Suit yourself.” His elbows rest on his uplifted knees. Dark, wiry hair sprinkles his muscular thighs and calves—the perfect amount. Our shoulders brush against each other. The contact lifts the tiny hairs on my skin. I shiver then rub my bicep to disperse the lingering attraction. He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

  “Who are you? I mean, really.”

  “Nobody.” The muscles of his throat convulse as he swallows.

  “A nobody doesn’t live in a Manhattan penthouse and rub shoulders with the Colombian cartel.”

  With a manicured index finger, he picks at the label on the liquor bottle. “It’s the way I grew up. I never really had a choice.”

  “Me neither.” Maybe we’re more alike than I care to admit. “I did what I had to do in order to survive. Do you have any regrets in life?” The question pops out of my mouth. How strange that in the face of death my greatest regrets aren’t the things that I’ve done, but the ones left unfinished.

  “Millions. Hence the liquor.”

  “Give me that.” I reach for the bottle, second-guessing my previous decision to remain sober. “There are a lot of things I wish I’d done. Sex on the beach. Skydiving. Horseback riding. Learning a second language. Falling in love. Finishing high school.”

  “Love. Yuck. An emotion I find highly overrated.” He grimaces like the word tastes sour. “Jumping out of a perfectly good plane seems insane to me. And horses, in my experience, are smelly, obstinate beasts. But sex on the beach? It can be amazing. A word of warning, though. If you’re not careful, you’ll be digging sand out of your crevices for the better part of a week.”

  A rusty laugh bubbles up my throat. The sound surprises me. I haven’t laughed in years. And now, in my darkest hour, I can’t seem to stop. The irony of life never ceases to amaze me.
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  Nicky shifts back, resting his elbows in the sand. “The security wall goes around the entire compound.” His tone drops to a quiet murmur, barely audible above the swish of the receding tide. The sudden shift in topic catches me off guard. I lean toward him to catch his words. “The only exits are through the front entrance or the service gate in the back. You’ll never get out the front. Too many cameras and too many people. But the back gate? The sentries change three times a day at random hours. Most of the drug shipments come in on Tuesday nights. If you’re going to escape, that would be the way, when they’re distracted.”

  His tip makes my situation seem very real. “Are you saying there’s a chance of escaping?”

  “The odds are against you. I’m saying, if—and I do mean if—you were to try it, that would be the best time.”

  After that, we sit in silence, observing the moon drift above the water, listening to the rustle of palm leaves and the rhythmic churn of the ocean. From the corner of my eye, I watch the wind ruffle his hair. With his hair tousled and his shirt unbuttoned, he’s hotter than ever. How strange that my greatest enemy has become my only ally.

  “Do you think…?” My voice trails away. I clear my throat and try again. “This might seem weird, but would you kiss me?” His gaze slants to meet mine. “After the masquerade, I couldn’t stop thinking about your kiss.” One corner of his mouth curls upward like a comma. Then his focus dips to my mouth. A lightning bolt of desire strikes my core. “It’s just—this whole deal is so surreal, and I need to feel connected to someone.”

  His chest rises and falls with a deep breath. He shoves a hand through his hair then wraps his fingers around my neck, digging his grip into my nape, angling my head so that my lips align with his. My heart pounds against my ribs as his face lowers to mine. Our eyes meet. The connection jolts through me. The truth smashes into me. We are alike. Damaged. Wounded. Obstinate.

  Instead of kissing me, he brushes his lips over mine from left to right in a soft caress. The gentle sweep of velvety flesh against flesh ignites hundreds of tiny explosions beneath my skin. A quiet whimper slips out of my throat. With the tip of his tongue, he traces the Cupid’s bow of my upper lip. The movement is sensual, erotic, and filled with heat. Then his tongue dips into my mouth, sliding along mine. He’s slow and leisurely, like we have all the time in the world. Like this is our first kiss instead of our last. The bittersweet notion brings the prickle of tears.

  When he pulls back, I’m dizzy and breathless. I open my eyes to find him staring down at me. He brushes my hair back from my face in a tender, wistful gesture. It would be so easy to pretend he’s my lover. That we’re starting this journey instead of ending it. He releases my neck, rises to his feet, and extends a hand. “Come on.”

  This is wrong on so many levels. He’s the enemy. My common sense is compromised by the situation, the armed guards, Valentina’s veiled threats. No one in her right mind would consider sleeping with the man who delivered her to the devil. But I’ve never been the type of girl to overthink things. Right now, I want to revel in the picturesque scenery and this delicious, complicated, sinful man. So, I thread my fingers through his and let him pull me toward the largest of the cabanas.

  The white canvas sides flutter against the wooden posts. Inside, a rug covers the slatted deck floor. In the center, fluffy white pillows and throws cover a round wicker daybed. He grips the hem of his shirt with both hands and drags it over his head. I trail my fingertips over the ripples of his abdomen. He’s taut and toned in all the right places. A small, circular scar mars the delectable cut of muscle above his hipbone. Although I can’t quite make out the symbol, I know what it is. A brand. I’ve seen them before. On myself. I trace the edge with a fingertip.

  “Her initials,” he says, his tone nonchalant, like he’s talking about the weather instead of abuse. I bend down to see the letters V and S joined by a circle. “She likes to inflict pain. That’s how she gets into a man’s head. She knows how vain I am about my looks and wanted to ruin my self-image. So that every time I look at myself in the mirror, I’ll think of her.”

  “I’m sorry she did this to you.” I place a kiss on the scar. He shudders at the touch of my lips to his skin.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for. She tried to break me and failed.” His warm hands slide over my bare shoulders. I’m wearing the white bikini and sarong Pablo brought to my room. Practically naked. “She’ll try to break you, too.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now.” I smooth my palms up his chest, enjoying the heat and hardness of his torso. Standing this close to him does strange things to my body. My senses are heightened by the small space, his scent, the swish of the tide.

  The press of his lips to my neck sends shivers of need down my back. While his mouth trails along my collarbone, his fingers tug the strings holding my bikini top and bottoms together. The material whispers to the floor. He steps back. The length of his erection tents the front of his shorts. His attention wanders over my aching breasts, down to the triangle of hair between my legs, and back to my face. “You’re lovely, Calliope.”

  “So are you.” The words die in my throat. He yanks me to his chest. His fingers dig into the flesh at my hips, holding me against his arousal.

  “When I saw you at the masquerade, I wanted to fuck you right then and there. If Roman hadn’t interrupted us, I would have.” Our mouths crash together. There’s nothing gentle or sweet about this kiss. It’s brutal. Hungry. Desperate like me.

  He walks me backward toward the bed. We fall onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs. I shove his shorts down, pushing them along the length of his legs with my feet. His skin is so hot. It feels like fire against my bare belly. I dig my fingers into his hair to deepen our kiss. My worries evaporate. I throw myself into enjoying each and every sensation.

  “I like your breasts.” To demonstrate his approval, he nuzzles the nearest nipple, teasing it with the tip of his nose. I hiss when he sucks the tip, stretching it to a taut peak with his teeth. The sting carries the perfect balance of pleasure and pain. Pain to let me know I’m still alive, and pleasure to ease the torture.

  “Thanks.” His genuine appreciation makes it easy to forget that I haven’t shaved my legs in days. Funny how the little things don’t matter when you’re facing down your mortality.

  The mattress dips as he rolls to his side. His lips and tongue tease mine while his hand slides between my legs. I’m slick and needy and eager to have him inside me. He dips a finger between my folds to find my clit. With expert precision, he strokes through the sensitive flesh. Each circle—each pinch—makes me squirm. My chest heaves. I struggle to breathe as the pleasure builds into a tempest of sensation.

  “Do you like that? Does it feel good?” He stares down at me, gray eyes intense. “Do you want me to continue?”

  “Yes.” I grip his wrist to slow down his frantic pace. My legs jerk at the shocks of ecstasy evoked by his touch.

  “Let go of me.” His words are an order, not a request.

  “I’m going—going—I’m going to come.” It’s too soon. I wanted this to last.

  “Look at me, Calliope.” My gaze flits up to meet his. The moonlight highlights the planes and angles of his cheekbones and jaw.

  “It’s too much.” Every muscle in my body tenses. “I can’t.”

  “You can, and you will.” His tone is commanding, sharp. I unclench my hand from his arm. He plunges two fingers into me, deep enough to make me jerk into a sitting position. And then, I’m coming, coming, coming. Hard enough to blot out the future. Intense waves of bliss radiate from my core to the tips of my toes. He rides out the contractions, shaking his hand, wiggling his fingers, wringing every single drop of orgasm from my pussy.

  I flop back onto the mattress. My laboring breaths echo in the stillness. He shifts on top of me, spreading my thighs with his knees, and plunges into my still quivering channel. The force drives my knees to his waist. When he’s fully seated, he
keeps pushing. The friction of his long cock against my walls chases away any lingering regrets. I drag my nails down his back. His hiss of pain is almost as satisfying as my previous orgasm.

  “Easy with the claws, kitten.” To underscore his point, he withdraws and jabs into me again. “Or I’ll have to punish you.”

  “If you’re trying to scare me, you need to try harder. I like it rough.”

  “Let me put that to the test.” Transferring his balance to the left, he loops his right arm through my knee, boosting my leg to my shoulder. The position leaves me open and vulnerable. He begins pounding into me. The force shoves me higher on the bed until the top of my head hits the backboard. I brace my hands against the wicker.

  This is what I needed. Someone ruthless and dark to drive away my worries. I watch a dozen different expressions flit across his features: concentration, anger, pleasure, and determination. He throws his head back, riding me like his life depends upon it. And maybe it does. Maybe I’m saving him the same way he’s saving me. The thought transports me to a different level of sexual awareness. The veins in his biceps swell and thicken. I sink my teeth into the tender spot where his neck meets his shoulder. He grunts from the pain. The furrow in his brow deepens. Reaching between us, he presses the pad of his thumb on my clit. It’s enough to send me spiraling out of control. I gasp his name, surprised by the intensity of my climax. He stills. A shudder ripples through his body. The reaction is primal, fierce, and like catnip to me.

  I close my eyes to sever the connection between us. I can’t afford to feel any emotion toward this man. Despite everything, he’s still the enemy. His large hand closes around my jaw, forcing my face toward his. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

  Sensations collide and tumble over each other. The scratch of his hairy legs on the backs of my thighs. The brutality of his cock in my quivering pussy. Scents of sex and tropical blossoms. The crash of waves on the beach. I open my eyes, giving in to his command, to find his face inches from mine. I try to look away, frightened by what I see in those enigmatic gray irises. Fury. Triumph. Despair. A tear leaks out of the corner of my eye, rolls down my cheek. He licks it up before pressing the tenderest of kisses to my mouth.