Necessary Risk

by Sidney Bristol

  Great.

  “Killam!” Jabby called out.

  He bounced down the stairs, leaving his staff to trail behind him.

  Yousef, Jabby’s head of household, gave Killam an open glare.

  Probably because of the convertible.

  Yousef was the man with the brain. As far as Killam knew, Yousef had been installed by Jabby’s uncle early on, probably when Jabby reached the age to have his own household. It was most likely the deals and information they wanted to know was actually in Yousef’s head.

  Good luck getting it out of there.

  Killam ignored the stern, sour faced man and focused on the man who mattered.

  “Jabir, you dog. Good to see you.”

  Jabby grasped Killam’s outstretched hand in a tight grip, pulled him in and slung his other arm around Killam’s shoulders. “Yousef said you wouldn’t come. I said I can always count on Killam.”

  “You betcha. Sorry about the bad communication there.” Killam smiled sheepishly and the lie rolled off his tongue. “I got stuck on a yacht, and, well, you know.”

  Jabby’s eyes lit up and he slapped Killam’s shoulder. “That’s the Killam I know.”

  He turned toward the car and launched into a rundown of the specs. Soon enough, Jabby was distracted. Killam would rather not have to recall details about a fictional boat trip if he didn’t have to. After a little kicking the tires, they got in and Jabby reached for the stereo knob. Killam braced himself and grit his teeth.

  No one had ever told Jabby no, so he didn’t shy away from making himself at home even in Killam’s car.

  Hip hop blared through the speakers as they pealed out, tires squealing and left a cloud of smoke in their wake.

  The one good thing about the music, Jabby couldn’t carry on a conversation. No, he just rapped along with the words, making them up when he didn’t know them. It didn’t deter his enthusiasm one bit. In fact, it was comical how bad the man was at keeping a beat. Before they’d gone five miles Killam was recalling every reason why working Jabby wasn’t all that bad.

  The man never suspected a thing. He partied freely. He did what he wanted when he wanted, and he never cared if others thought he was a fool. He was rich enough that he didn’t have to care about opinions.

  Maybe this fed wouldn’t have such a hard time.

  “Loosen up, man,” Jabby yelled over the music and jostled Killam’s shoulder.

  “If I loosen up too much and get you hurt, Yousef will kill me.”

  Not to mention Killam would be in hot water for losing a source.

  Jabby threw his head back and laughed.

  It was an unseasonably warm October day. Probably the last week of the year Killam would drive the convertible before stowing it away for next year. Or getting rid of it.

  Suddenly Jabby turned the music down. “What toys are you bringing me to try out?”

  Business talk.

  He wasn’t high then. Maybe a little drunk.

  Killam listed off five cars he’d been able to source for this job. Two were the real deal. The others were supremely well-done fakes. Even in the world of high-class automobiles, fakes were a risk and Killam had a great team.

  Jabby hooted and slapped his thigh.

  He never was going to grow up.

  “What’s the agenda? How long are you here for and when are we leaving?” Killam doubted these details were arranged. The party went when and where Jabby said.

  “Oh.” Jabby waved his hand. “I don’t know. It will depend on how long it takes to find me some new women.”

  Killam glanced at Jabby. “Christ, how many do you need?”

  He grinned. “One for every day of the month and two for when the fancy strikes me.”

  Killam shook his head. One woman was enough trouble.

  “There was an incident.” Jabby sighed. “Women. You know how they can be to each other. Normally I ignore it, but this time it was impacting the party. You can’t have that, right?”

  “No, sir.”

  What the hell had the women done?

  Killam had seen some knock down drag out cat fights a few times. Jabby had laughed and placed bets on who would win. If that didn’t make him vote some girls out, what would?

  This job was getting better and better.

  He turned into the drive of the mansion Jabby kept on the north side of New York City. Cars were parked everywhere, and they ranged from expensive Ferraris to a few junkers he couldn’t put a make or model on.

  The girls were arriving.

  Killam groaned inwardly.

  “Look. Look!” Jabby smacked Killam’s arm.

  He glanced at the spectacle on the side lawn where a line of women were taking turns signing in at a table manned by two other women in business attire.

  “I think she was on one of those modeling shows. I know her,” Jabby said. He leaned toward Killam. “I heard she would have won, but got disqualified.”

  “Hey!” a woman yelped.

  Killam slammed on the breaks and whipped his head around.

  His gaze connected with a pair of hazel eyes and he felt a crackle of electricity. For a moment he couldn’t breathe.

  Damn, those were some eyes. As he watched, they seemed to shift from green to blue and back again.

  He blinked, vaguely aware of Jabby’s incessant talking.

  Killam focused on the rest of the woman with the hazel eyes.

  She was a leggy blonde, and now that his awareness expanded to the rest of her, she didn’t look very pleased. In fact, she was staring down her nose at him, looking decidedly pissed off. She had one hand on the hood of the car while the other was planted on her hip. He must have come six inches from hitting her. Shit.

  Where the hell had she come from?

  Killam lifted a hand and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  What was with him? Getting lost in a woman’s eyes? Really?

  He needed sleep.

  “Oh, my,” Jabby muttered and opened the door.

  Killam glanced from Jabby to the woman and groaned inwardly.

  Great.

  Whoever she was, she’d done her research. Or maybe this was thanks to the casting firm?

  Killam shifted into park and propped his elbow on the door.

  “Jabir al Saud.” Jabby took the blonde’s hand and kissed her knuckles.

  She was the prince’s type, alright. Tall enough that when she wore heels, Jabby could—and would—plant his face in her breasts. With her short jean skirt and the coral colored top that knotted at her hip, she looked like a blonde Daisy Duke.

  Killam swallowed and shifted in his seat. He couldn’t shake that gut punch of awareness. The last thing he wanted was to be attracted to one of Jabby’s women. Killam knew better than to fall into that trap. It did not end well.

  He hoped she knew what she was doing. That all these women understood what they were signing up for. The expensive gifts, shopping and money covered up a nasty world.

  “Oh, you’re much better looking in person,” the Daisy Duke look-alike cooed.

  And the fawning began.

  All the women did it when they met him, falling all over themselves to giggle, show off their boobs, feeding into his ego. And it worked. Jabby fell for it with every one of them.

  “You’re here for the, ah, audition?” Jabby’s eyes were practically eating her alive already.

  Daisy Duke tilted her head and smiled. “It sounded like a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

  Thank God.

  Killam felt the lust cool.

  “Turn around. Let me get a look at you.” He stepped back to examine her merchandise.

  She cocked a hip, towering in those gladiator looking brown leather platform sandal heel things, then did a slow pivot with a generous sway of her hips.

  Jabby clapped his hands in glee. “She’s perfect. Isn’t she perfect, Killam?”

  Daisy’s back was to Jabby and her gaze jumped to Killam. She wasn’t smiling or even pretending no
w. Her gaze was molten green and gold.

  Was she human? Was he tripping? Or were her eyes just really that weird and shifty?

  Wait...

  The hair on the back of Killam’s neck rose.

  This couldn’t be her.

  Could it?

  A switch flipped and Daisy Duke’s smile came back, as bright as before, and she pivoted once more to face Jabby.

  Hell.

  It had to be.

  Now that he’d had a look at her, she wasn’t quite as young as Jabby liked them. And he was right, she was perfect. A random woman off the street wouldn’t know about Jabby’s thing for the sweet, submissive types or that he was fascinated with southern women.

  She’d been put together by an expert.

  This had to be her.

  The agent.

  And damn it, he already knew she’d pass Jabby’s tests.

  “She’s too perfect,” he groaned and pulled out his phone. “Killam? Killam get out of the way.”

  “What are you doing?” Killam did as Jabby ordered, because there was no stopping this, and stepped aside.

  “Sit on the car,” Jabby ordered.

  Killam froze.

  “You want me to...?” Daisy Duke glanced from Jabby to the expensive car and back.

  “Sit on it,” Jabby said again and motioned at the car.

  This was not happening.

  It couldn’t happen.

  Killam rubbed his face, but when he opened his eyes, it was happening.

  Daisy Duke planted her fine ass on the driver’s side of the hood, stretched her long legs out and flipped her hair while Jabby snapped pictures on his phone.

  Great.

  Now Killam would have to clean ass prints off his car and hope this little photoshoot didn’t leave a dent. And yet, he found himself looking at her ass a little too hard. If she leaned forward any more, it was going to come up.

  He turned his head, looking for anything to divert his attention.

  There.

  One of the uniformed house staff.

  “Sir?” The man jogged up and said something that caught Jabby’s attention.

  He turned from the woman, the car and Killam without another thought and headed off toward the house.

  Damn.

  He’d hoped for the distraction to include him, but no.

  Killam stepped up to the car and offered Daisy Duke a hand. “Don’t take it personally.”

  “I’m not.” She ignored his hand, hopped off and tugged the skirt down a bit. “Everything’s a shiny new toy to him, isn’t it?”

  “For the most part, yes.”

  Her smiling, fawning act was over and now she stared at the house as if she were planning how to lay siege to it.

  Killam should get in the car and take a short drive. Zora hadn’t told him the agent’s name, and he didn’t want to know who she was.

  He really didn’t.

  The lie was wearing thin.

  He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “And you are...?”

  She glanced back at him, their gazes clashing, and damn it if he didn’t feel another head to toe zap of electricity. “Ivy. Ivy Ashley.”

  There was intelligence behind those hazel eyes. Real smarts. Not just training. And she didn’t seem to feel the same charge he did. Or she was much better at masking it.

  “You did pretty good with him, but if you want the job? Some advice? Don’t let the act slip. The house staff report back and weigh in on the selection process.”

  She arched a brow at him. “How many times have you seen this done?”

  “Jabir normally makes two trips a year, one to New York, the other to LA, to find new girls. I’ve probably been around four or five of these things.” He glanced back at the house. “It’s always a circus.”

  “How does he treat his harem?”

  “About as good as a man who can afford to hire one, I suppose.” He looked at her again. “You do know what you’re getting into, don’t you?”

  “Professional party girl.” She smiled, showing off a flash of teeth. “What’s not to like?”

  Then she turned and walked away.

  Killam fought the urge to grab her and shake some sense into her. Or maybe toss her in the car and drive off with her.

  It wasn’t just partying.

  But she was an adult making her own decisions.

  Unless she was the agent going in undercover.

  He should have said no to this job. What the hell had he been thinking?

  Killam turned to get in the car and paused as he saw Yousef and the others unloading from a SUV. Maybe this was the job where he got to crack that nut.

  FRIDAY. JABIR AL SAUD’S Home. New York City, New York.

  Ivy Ashley entered the sprawling mansion through a side entrance into some sort of grand ballroom space. She refused to look over her shoulder. He was still watching her. She could feel the weight of his gaze.

  She needed a drink. Badly.

  It had taken an iron will to keep her face clear of thoughts or emotion when she’d seen him for the first time.

  His picture made him look fairly attractive. It hadn’t prepared her for the sense of being around him.

  Piers Killam oozed a masculine aura. She didn’t doubt he was dangerous and capable. It was her siren’s song. The deadly combination that was her weakness.

  She sidestepped and leaned against the wall just inside the doors.

  “Get your head in the game,” she muttered and forced herself to put the car boy out of her mind.

  The room was set up like a club with tall tables that were blue one moment then green the next. A bar was at one end of the room and a pair of double doors led into another space.

  There were easily a dozen or more women milling around. Every one of them glared daggers at the other girls.

  Ivy ordered up a cocktail and watched the bartender make it.

  She wasn’t taking chances, nor was she going to trust anything she hadn’t seen poured herself in case something unwanted was added to the mix.

  Armed with her drink, she started eyeing up the competition. Getting her on the list had been easy. She’d gone to the recruiter’s website, filled out a form and had an interview in three days’ time. Her story about being referred by a college friend who’d paid off her student loans by spending a year and a half in a harem had held enough water.

  It wasn’t an outright lie.

  Zora had a source and it was that girl’s story. But Ivy had never met her.

  At a glance, Ivy realized one crucial detail no one had considered.

  She was old.

  Okay, so at twenty-eight she wasn’t actually old, but most of these girls had to be right at twenty-one, or younger. It was how they carried themselves, the way they dressed. There were some in the crowd with a bit more poise, like the model looking specimen that had set herself up in the corner where natural light bathed her in a golden glow. But for the most part, they were young.

  Ivy’s skin crawled at the idea of what they were all here to do.

  Sure, maybe if she were eight years younger this might seem like a great idea. That’s how she’d wound up in the Army to begin with. But reality was often a rough wake-up call.

  Ivy wandered out of the ballroom and into an expansive living room area with a pool table and poker table.

  The few women here had some years on them, but even then Ivy was fairly certain she was one of the oldest.

  Crap.

  She had to land this gig, and this was her competition? What if she didn’t make the cut?

  What was a modern harem, anyway? How did it work?

  The recruiter’s pitch had been vague enough.

  Travel the world.

  Spend time with a rich man and his friends.

  Enjoy his generosity.

  Reading through the lines wasn’t all that difficult.

  Could she do this?

  Diha had given her the tools to ensure she wouldn’t have to ac
tually sleep with anyone—if she was prepared. But what if she wasn’t? What then?

  There was no backing out now. She wasn’t a failure.

  She managed to pull off small talk with a few girls and cooled her heels for almost an hour. Unfortunately, all she learned was how much liquor some of these waif thin girls could consume.

  “Ivy? Ivy Ashely?”

  She turned and found a woman in a tweed skirt suit holding a clipboard.

  “That’s me.” Ivy saluted the woman with her glass. “Let me just put this down.”

  The woman’s critical gaze raked over her. “How many have you had?”

  “Just this one.” Ivy set the glass down on a tray holding empty glasses.

  “You aren’t a drinker?”

  “Didn’t seem wise to drink before a job interview. Drinks are for celebrating.”

  “Hm.” The woman gestured toward the rest of the house. “Come with me.”

  Was that a good hm, or a bad one?

  Ivy had no idea.

  Her handler didn’t speak, just led Ivy through a pair of closed doors. Guards stood on the other side, the barely concealed bulges under their jackets giving away their firepower. Still, Ivy followed the handler across the spacious entry and into another room. An office.

  Jabir al Saud sat behind the desk. Four women were arranged to one side behind him, each decked out in a figure hugging dress, jewels Ivy doubted were fakes, and enough makeup those clearly weren’t their real faces. In addition, there was another woman in a skirt suit and a chair next to her. The tweed wearing handler sank into the empty chair.

  In the room but a little apart were three men.

  One of them was Piers Killam.

  Great.

  Because she needed that distraction.

  Ivy focused on Jabir and screwed on her smile. “Hello again.”

  “Having a good time so far?” He smiled back at her and propped his chin on his fist.

  “Yes, you have a lovely home and excellent hospitality.”

  Both of the suit wearing women scribbled notes.

  The Shrew Squad glared.

  “When are you free to travel?” The tweed wearing handler asked.

  “Immediately,” Ivy replied.

  “Why?”

  “Well...” Ivy ducked her head and sighed. Time to lay it on. “See, I moved to New York because I got a job as an engineer’s assistant. First day in the office I met my boss’ wife, she took one look at me and said fire her or I’m divorcing you. It was cheaper to let me go.”