The Ruthless Knight

by Jeana E. Mann

  My heart pounds against my ribs. I’m too weak to fight. The infection in my arm aches. Fever dulls my reflexes. This is my only chance for escape. Once I’m on a boat, I have zero chance at finding freedom. I lift my head to scan the thick jungle as we jolt down the dirt track. Even if the vehicle slows down, I don’t have the strength to run. And as Nicky said, there’s nowhere to go.

  So, this is it. I watch the tree branches overhead, savoring the patches of blue sky and the smell of saltwater. Feverish images float through my head—my mom, Jagger, Gran. For the first time since my arrival, all hope leaves me.

  No birds sing. The only sounds are the Jeep’s engine and the wind through the trees. Four pops like firecrackers come from the direction of the compound. The spray of machine gun fire follows. The driver stops the vehicle. Both men shoulder their guns. I lift onto an elbow. That’s when I see them. A group of men wearing camouflage step out of the brush. They point their weapons at my captors. Both soldiers drop their weapons.

  “You take care of them.” I recognize the deep male voice. Unshed tears burn my eyes. I don’t have enough moisture left in my body to cry. His voice is closer now. “Calliope?”

  His dark head peers over the side of the Jeep. I lick my lips, fighting for the strength to speak. “I’m here.”

  “I’ve got you,” he says, his voice tender. Strong, gentle arms lift me up. Relief washes through me before the world fades away.

  “Hello. How are you feeling?” The beautiful redhead stares down at me, her blue eyes wide with concern. “Henry, she’s awake.” A regal blonde man peers over her shoulder at me.

  “I’ll let the doctor know.” Henry’s voice holds notes of command and strength which are more comforting than frightening. He disappears from my sight as his footsteps fade into the distance.

  I struggle to an elbow, ready to defend myself, although this woman seems harmless. My trust in humans, however, has been decimated. Something else Valentina stole from me. From the gentle rocking motion and the sea beyond the window, I’m on some kind of boat. Haskill’s boat? Panic replaces the blissfulness of sleep. “Where am I?”

  The redhead pats my hand. “It’s okay. You’re safe.” Kindness warms her smile. “I’m Everly, and that was my husband Henry. We’re Nicky’s friends. You’re on a yacht in the Caribbean with Roman Menshikov and his wife Rourke.”

  “Nicky? Is he here?” A rush of warmth flows through my body. He came back for me. At the lowest point in my life, he didn’t abandon me. “I need to see him.”

  “He’s here. He hasn’t left your side for the past twenty-four hours. I promised to sit with you while he took a shower.” She presses back on my shoulder. “Just rest. Henry will get him. You need to stay put for a bit. The wound on your arm needed stitches. You were dehydrated and had a terrible fever when you got here. The ship’s doctor says you’re going to be fine.”

  Now that my faculties are returning, the bag of saline comes into focus, hanging from a hook above my head, and I feel the pull of the IV taped to my opposite hand. “Valentina, where is she?” I’ll never feel safe, not until I know she’s six feet under.

  “She can’t hurt you.” The sound of Nicky’s voice causes my heart to ping against my ribs. Bruises splotch his face, and he moves slowly, like he’s sore. Despite the injuries, he’s still got a regal presence, his movements graceful. Gratitude tightens the walls of my throat. He risked everything to save me.

  Everly rises from her chair, pausing to squeeze Nicky’s shoulder on the way out the door. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

  The doctor arrives and checks my pulse, removes the IV, and assures me that my wounds are superficial. After he leaves, an awkward silence fills the room. I have so many questions, so many things I need to say to Nicky, but I have no idea where to start. He sits in the chair next to my bed, crossing an ankle over the opposite knee in a casual pose, but his leg bounces like he’s nervous.

  “Well, it’s not every day you get the Queen of Androvia as your nurse. You should feel honored.” His gray eyes are soft, like finely spun wool. They bore into me, baring my soul. For the first time in my life, I feel seen.

  “That was the Queen?” I push myself up on the bed. “For real?” Her face had seemed familiar. “A regular nurse would’ve been just fine.”

  “Not on Roman Menshikov’s boat.” Nicky’s laughter lessens the tension between us. I drink in every inch of his face, happy to see him away from the gloom of the compound. We’ve only known each other for a few weeks, but it feels like a lifetime. “I thought you were dead. Are you okay?” Tears of relief prickle behind my eyelids.

  “Nothing time won’t heal.” He places both feet on the floor and leans in to take my hand, one of the few places not bruised on my body.

  “Are you sure about Valentina?” I want to believe him, but my faith in people has been shaken to the core.

  “You need proof.” As always, he understands what I need before I ask. The pad of his thumb strokes my palm. I’ve missed him so much. “I have her. She’s not going anywhere.”

  “You came back for me.” My voice breaks. I bury my face in my hands to hide the waterworks pouring out of me.

  “Shhh…it’s okay. You’re safe. It’s over.” In a flash, I’m enveloped in the safe haven of his arms, my face buried in the crook of his neck. His fingers caress the curve of my back, steady and reassuring, the same way they did on our first night together. He smells familiar, like soap and expensive cologne, the best scents in the world.

  “I thought you were dead.” I cling to him. My fingers dig into his back until he grunts in pain. “Oh, I’m sorry.” I try to back away, to give him space, but he tightens his embrace.

  “No worries.” Then he says the most wonderful words in the world. “Don’t let go.”

  Twenty

  Calliope

  The next day, Everly teases apart the tangles in my freshly washed, curly hair and pins the locks on top of my head. Intense concentration furrows her pale brow. Her red hair is pulled into a high, messy bun that compliments her oval face. The hem of her pale blue maxi dress swirls around her silver sandals as she works.

  “I feel a little weird having my hair done by a queen,” I say. My reflection in the mirror shows an unfamiliar woman with a thin face and shadows under her eyes. Two days in the shed sapped my strength. Makeup hides the worst of my bruises. The doctor gave me something to sleep last night, but I’m exhausted—physically and emotionally. My fever is gone, and the wound in my arm aches a little less. On the outside, I’ve begun to heal, but I have a feeling that on the inside, I’ll never be the same again.

  “Oh, please. I do my own hair every day.” Everly waves a hand. Her warm, friendly smile seems sincere.

  “Unless she has a formal function, and then she has a team of minions to do her work.” Rourke appears in the doorway holding an armload of apparel. This is my first day out of bed, and at her invitation, I’m having dinner with the guests. I’m nervous about meeting her husband, the eccentric billionaire who funded my rescue. His reputation as a hard ass doesn’t help my anxiety.

  “People expect a certain amount of pageantry from the royal family.” Everly winces as she tugs on a stubborn snarl like the pain is hers instead of mine. “Don’t let her fool you, Calliope. She has just as many people at her beck and call as I do. Maybe more.”

  “Fair enough.” Rourke shrugs, and with a guilty smile, drops the clothes on the bed. “I think these should fit you. What do you think?” She spreads a variety of shorts, pants, and sundresses over the dark blue comforter.

  “I like the white dress with the crisscross straps,” Everly offers. “It will look great against your tan.”

  The two women have been pampering and fawning over me since I woke up. Their kindness and concern surpass anything I’ve experienced in my twenty-eight years. Everly brought me tea and sandwiches on a silver tray, even though there are stewards onboard to do those things. Rourke ran a hot herbal bath and, since w
e’re of similar size, provided clothing to replace the grimy sundress I’d been wearing. Despite their generosity, we share a sense of wariness. They don’t know me. And I’m too broken to trust anyone.

  “I like the yellow one.” Rourke holds up the dress to me. She’s pretty in a normal way, not at all like a billionaire’s wife. Sun-streaked dark blonde hair skims her shoulders when she moves. I try not to gasp at the exorbitant price tag hanging from the strap. She chuckles. “I know. The prices still shock me, too.”

  Tentatively, I touch the dress. “I like this one.” The airy cotton glides through my fingertips. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Excellent choice.” Rourke smirks at Everly. The queen rolls her eyes but smiles like she enjoys the teasing. Their relationship is easy and effortless, something I envy. I’ve never had a female friend. Never cared to. Watching them makes me wonder if I’ve missed out.

  “Have you known each other long?” I ask, curious to learn more about them.

  “We met when we were kids. Our parents were friends.” Rourke sits on the bed, her blue eyes earnest. “My parents died when I was young, and I had to go live with my aunt. They left me penniless. Life was a real struggle, but Everly’s family supported me through all of it. I don’t think I would have survived without her.” They share a glance of mutual appreciation.

  Everly takes Rourke’s hand in hers. “I know I don’t tell you often enough, but I love you.” When her eyes meet mine, they sparkle with tears. “Our lives might look wonderful on the outside, but we’ve gone through a lot of terrible things together. She’s been my rock.”

  “You’re lucky to have someone.” Watching them reminds me that I have no one waiting for my return. If I had died at Valentina’s hands, no one would have looked for me. The knowledge hurts more than I could have guessed. I want what they have. Caring friends, loving husbands, a family.

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. We’ve had some killer fights.” Rourke rises from the bed to wrap an arm around Everly’s shoulders. “Especially over Nicky. He almost tore us apart.”

  My ears perk at the mention of his name. A weird pain stabs my heart. “You were together?”

  “For a short time,” Everly says, a guilty blush staining her high cheekbones. “Well, as much as anyone can date Nicky.” He had a relationship with this gorgeous creature? There’s no way I can compare to her long legs, radiant complexion, and cascading auburn hair. Sensing my unease, she backpedals quickly. “It was no big deal. Just a fling to get over my divorce.”

  “Thank goodness you came to your senses. He’s not the kind of guy to lose your head over,” Rourke adds. “But I’m sure you’ve figured that out about him, Calliope. It only takes a minute to realize he’s a playboy through and through.”

  “Sure.” I bite my lower lip and turn back to the array of clothing to hide my emotions from her. Of course, he’s had a life outside of Valentina’s compound. He’s too handsome and too rich and too charismatic to live like a monk. My thoughts bounce back to the dozens of videos in Valentina’s library and the pain of seeing him with all those women. I swallow, trying to regain my composure. On the other hand, the pull of attraction between us is undeniable. Deep down, I accept that he could never have real feelings for me. I’m a high school dropout, former prostitute, and a thief. Sometime soon, we’re going to part ways, and I’m going to have to admit the truth. We’re nothing to each other, only strangers brought together by a shared experience.

  “Hey, things are getting a bit heavy in here, don’t you think?” Everly clears her throat and forces a bright smile. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

  On legs still shaky from my ordeal, I stand. Rourke lowers the dress over my head. Everly tugs the seams and straps into place. The airy fabric floats over my curves. The hem falls just above my knees. The tight bodice boosts my ample breasts up to impressive heights. Simple yet stunning. I smooth my hands down my stomach, noticing with approval that I’ve lost a few pounds.

  “You look amazing. But you need something more.” Everly unclasps the thin gold chain from her neck and drapes it around mine. “There. That’s better, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. Perfect.” Rourke presses her hands together, blue eyes sparkling. “Yellow is Nicky’s favorite color. He’s going to die when he sees you.”

  The mention of his name brings a rush of heat into my face. I want him to feel the way I do; excited, nervous, hopeful. Before the emotions get out of control, I shut them down. This is the end of our journey together, and I need to prepare for my exit.

  “Look. She’s blushing. It’s so cute.” Everly bites her lower lip to contain her amusement. “Have you two—I mean—did you—?”

  “Everly!” Rourke rolls her eyes, interrupting the queen before she can continue. “Even if they did—you know, do the deed—it’s not our business.”

  “He’s got a huge dick,” Everly replies, ignoring her friend. “No one will blame you if you did.”

  “Stop it.” Rourke turns me toward the mirror and nudges a loose lock back into my updo.

  “Thank you so much for all that you’ve done. You’ve both been so nice to me. I don’t know what to say.” I try to maneuver the topic of conversation away from my obvious crush on Nicky to something less personal, but I hope they’re right about the dress. With my curls tamed and hints of mascara and blush, I’ve been transformed from a wayward wreck into a normal person, almost unrecognizable from the Ohio bartender. Aside from the bandage on my arm and the haunted shadows in my gaze, no one would suspect what I’ve been through.

  “It’s been our pleasure,” Rourke replies. “We’re just happy to have another female around to cut some of the testosterone on this boat.”

  Everly adjusts the shoulder straps of the dress for the tenth time. “But for the record, I’ve been nicer, right?” Her tone carries unbridled mischief. “I mean, if you had to make a call, it would be me, wouldn’t it?”

  “Whoa. Hold up a sec.” Rourke raises her hands, joining in the fun. Her diamond and sapphire wedding ring gleams in the sun slanting through the cabin windows. In my previous life, I would’ve snatched the ring from her finger at the first opportunity. Not now. I’ve changed in ways I never expected. Her eyes crinkle at the corners. “It’s really unfair to put Calliope in a position like that.” She hooks her arm through my elbow, leading me toward the door, then bends to whisper in a conspiratorial tone. “But if you had to pick, it would be me, right?”

  For the first time in weeks, laughter bubbles up my throat. It’s great to feel something other than anxiety and pain. We leave Rourke’s master suite and walk down the corridor past warm wood paneling, priceless paintings, and sumptuous leather furnishings. In my head, I tally up the value of each item, unable to stop the old habit. On the next deck, the dining room table is set for dinner. A warm breeze blows in through the open windows. The walls, the floors, the furnishings—all are pristine white and contrast with the brilliant azure of the Caribbean Sea. It’s the first time I’ve been beyond my cabin since arriving. I pause, letting the salt air caress my face. Freedom has never felt so sweet.

  The men are gathered at the stern, smoking cigars and sipping whisky. Their deep rumbling voices quiet upon our entrance as if they sensed our presence before we arrived. Henry steps forward, takes Everly’s hand in his, and bends to place a kiss on the back. “My queen.”

  “Oh, stop.” Everly rolls her eyes, but a blush turns her ivory skin to a bright rose. Her embarrassed gaze slants to mine. “He’s showing off to impress you.”

  “Calliope, we haven’t been properly introduced. Henry Von Stratton. It’s an honor to have you with us. Nicky has nothing but wonderful things to say about you.” Henry releases his wife’s hand to take mine. His grasp is warm and strong.

  “Thank you. It’s an honor to meet you, Your Majesty.” I’m not sure if I should bow or curtsy, so I do an awkward combination of both, stumbling a little in the process.

  “Oh, no. Everly is right, as always. N
one of that here. This is one of the few places in the world where we can be regular people.” A British accent adds to his regal persona. His cool blonde handsomeness is the perfect foil to Everly’s fiery hair and personality. “And you must call me Henry.”

  “All right.” The power of their presence overwhelms my composure until Roman steps forward.

  “Calliope, welcome. I’m Roman Menshikov.” He’s the tallest person in the room. Inky black hair curls above his collar and a sprinkling of afternoon shadow covers his square jaw. He’s wearing board shorts and deck shoes. The unbuttoned front of his white shirt reveals a dusting of chest hair over rippling abs. Like the royal couple, he bears an aura of command.

  “Thank you for having me. Your boat is lovely.” We shake hands. His dark eyes search mine. I’m not sure what he’s looking for, but I have a nagging feeling that I don’t measure up to his high standards.

  “It’s a yacht. Don’t call it a boat. He gets very angry about that.” Nicky’s lips brush my earlobe as one of his arms steals around my waist. He crept behind me so quietly that I didn’t hear him approach. My skin pebbles at his nearness, especially knowing this could be one of our last moments together.

  “Only because you treat it like a fishing boat every time you borrow it.” Roman’s gaze cuts to his younger brother. Their dynamic bears traces of animosity on both sides. In just a few words, I can sense the tension between them.

  Nicky shrugs. When he removes his arm, I shiver at the trail of his fingertips over my ribcage. He faces me, straightening the collar of his linen shirt, letting his focus linger on my breasts and legs. One corner of his mouth curls upward. I’ve missed that sinful smile and all the dirty, sexy things it promises.

  “Roman, be nice. You promised.” Rourke steps between us to button up her husband’s shirt. Her tone is half-amused, half-chastising.

  “I am.” His gaze follows her fingers along the placket. “This is nice—for me.”