The War King

by Jeana E. Mann

  The War King

  Jeana E. Mann

  Ishkadiddle Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Rourke

  2. Roman

  3. Rourke

  4. Rourke

  5. Rourke

  6. Rourke

  7. Roman

  8. Rourke

  9. Rourke

  10. Rourke

  11. Roman

  12. Rourke

  13. Rourke

  14. Roman

  15. Rourke

  16. Rourke

  17. Roman

  18. Rourke

  19. Rourke

  20. Rourke

  21. Rourke

  22. Roman

  23. Rourke

  24. Roman

  25. Rourke

  26. Rourke

  27. Rourke

  28. Roman

  Epilogue

  Also by Jeana E. Mann

  Stay in Touch

  Before You Go

  About the Author

  Prologue

  ROMAN

  The battery on my phone died a few minutes after my phone call to Rourke. I shoved it into the breast pocket of my jacket and rested my head in my hands. Think, Roman, think. No one had read my Miranda rights or charged me with a crime. They’d done nothing but ask me the same question over and over.

  The door creaked open. Two burly men dressed in identical black trench coats followed the man with flat gray eyes. As I watched, the men stripped out of their coats, folding them before setting them aside. Next, they rolled up their shirtsleeves to reveal thick, muscular forearms covered in sinew and veins. My guts began to churn. This couldn’t be good.

  “Now, we’re going to start again, Roman.” Mr. Gray Eyes pulled up a chair in front of me and sat down. “You had seven shipments of arms destined for Saudi Arabia. Only one of those shipments made it. Where are the other six?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. Of course, I knew where the guns had gone. The first three shipments had been diverted to Kitzeh, my home country, and the fourth to neighboring Androvia. The rest sat in the basement beneath a donut shop in a small central Indiana town.

  “Wrong answer, Roman.”

  “I can’t give you answers that I don’t have.”

  “Let’s cut the bullshit.” He stood and shook his head. “You received payment in full for a product you didn’t deliver. That’s not good business. What are we going to do about this?”

  “I don’t know. Call the Better Business Bureau,” I suggested.

  With ominous calculation, he cracked each of the knuckles in his right hand, then the left. “You need to get in line, Mr. Menshikov. No one wants to cause a scene. Just do your job, and the threats will end.”

  “I’m confused. Did you bring me here to charge me with a crime? If so, you need to get on with it.”

  Hours later, they shoved me into the back of a van. My head cracked against the floor. Darkness swallowed me. I woke up on the hard, wet pavement in an alley behind a Chinese restaurant. My lower lip throbbed from a right hook, but the swelling had stopped. Their other kicks and punches had landed in my midsection. My body ached in previously unknown places. I managed to hobble inside the restaurant and called Spitz.

  “You smell like a dead rat,” Spitz said, blinking at the aroma wafting from my soiled clothes. “You’re gonna stink up my car.”

  “I’ll buy you a new one.”

  “You need a doctor? Stitches? Anything broken?” His shrewd gaze traveled over my ripped trousers, blood-spattered dress shirt, and fat lip.

  “No, I’m good.” Thankfully, I’d managed to protect my healing gunshot wound from their abuse. “I could use a hot shower though.” And Rourke—I needed her more now than ever. The thought of her sassy mouth and bright smile carried me through the worst of the beating.

  He sat behind the wheel and contemplated the trash bins, scattered garbage cans, and a stray tabby cat. “You sure picked a dangerous business. With all your money, you could be sitting on a beach in Fiji, sipping cocktails, and working on your tan.”

  “I know.” This arms project had started to finance Kitzeh’s freedom but had quickly grown into a billion-dollar empire. I was in way too far and way too deep to quit, and I’d dragged Rourke into the depths of hell with me.

  Chapter 1

  Rourke

  Roman’s phone call left me cold and unsettled. You’re going to hear things about me that may or may not be true. I want you to know that I always did what I thought was right. What had he meant? The man I’d married had no regard for rumors and gossip. But now, I had to wonder if our entire relationship had been an ingenious production of smoke and mirrors. Roman had many layers; lover, father, and shrewd businessman, to name a few. The air of intrigue surrounding him was part of his charm. At least, it had been, until someone had assassinated Ivan, his best friend and mentor.

  Times up, Roman. The unfamiliar voice at the end of Roman’s call repeated in my dreams. What did that mean? Was he injured? Did he need my help? Frustration tightened the muscles in my forehead and shoulders. Even if he needed my help, I had no idea where he was or who he was with. My feelings bounced from anger to anguish and back again.

  After a sleepless night, I texted Spitz, expecting answers, and received nothing. No return phone call. No voice mails. His complete silence frightened me more than any truths he might have revealed. Lance offered little comfort; he knew less than I did.

  To distract my mind, I spent the day in Roman’s study, reorganizing his files, rummaging for clues to his whereabouts. When I logged into his computer, the screen remained blank and unyielding. His password no longer worked. Desperate for information, I waited for the work day to end then slipped into his downtown office. After a futile search of his desk and files, I climbed into the back of the limo, eager to return home. I drew the edges of my coat tighter as the car took the wrong exit off the freeway. My heart lurched at the unexpected change of direction.

  I lowered the partition to question the driver. “Where are we going?” Lance had taken the night off for personal business, leaving me in the hands of an unfamiliar driver.

  “I was instructed to take you to the Devil’s Playground, Mrs. Menshikov.” His unsmiling gaze met mine in the rearview mirror.

  “Whose orders?” My pulse escalated. Relief flooded through me. At least Roman was okay.

  “Mr. Menshikov, ma’am.”

  “I want to go home.” Although I needed answers, Roman’s highhandedness spurred my rebellious nature. Now that I knew he wasn’t in trouble, anger crept in to replace the relief.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I have my orders.”

  “Turn the car around,” I snapped.

  “No disrespect, Mrs. Menshikov, but I don’t work for you.” With an apologetic nod, he raised the partition.

  Outside the car, the city lights streaked through the night. I shoved back in the seat, seething with fury, knowing that further protests would go unheeded. I’d been summoned to the court of the exiled prince, and there was nothing I could do about it. With every passing mile, my anxiety climbed to new heights.

  When the car stopped at the nondescript back door of the Devil’s Playground NYC, a thin sheen of perspiration chilled my skin. The last time I’d been here, I’d been filled with nervousness for different, more pleasant reasons. Reluctantly, I climbed out of the limo and rang the buzzer. Achilles opened the door immediately. His expression face yielded nothing.

  “Good evening. May I take your wrap?” Under his watchful gaze, I slipped out of my light jacket and handed it to him. He draped it over his arm then pulled a red blindfold from his pocket. “You’ll need to put this on.”

  “Why?” I s
tared at the blindfold, unable to fathom the rules of this newest game, a game I wasn’t sure I wanted to play.

  “I have no idea, madam.”

  “I know. I know.” I cut him off mid-sentence. “My husband’s orders.”

  “Yes, madam.” He clasped his hands in front of him and waited.

  “Fine.” I kept my tone even and placed the blindfold over my eyes. My fight was with Roman, not Achilles, and it would be unfair to take my wrath out on his employee. The silk slipped through my trembling fingers, but I finally managed to tie the knot. Robbed of my sight, the rest of my senses leaped into action. The scents of floor polish and Achilles’s aftershave jumped to the forefront. The faint notes of classical music hovered in the air, too soft to be identified.

  “Excellent. If you’ll allow me to take your hand, I’ll guide you to your husband.”

  I jumped at his cool touch on my wrist. Taking my hand, he curled my fingers into the crook of his elbow.

  Our footsteps echoed on the hard floor—his certain and mine hesitant. We passed through several corridors, winding our way into the unknown. When he opened the next door, loud techno music pulsed through the walls, making conversation impossible. My heart clanged against my ribs, knowing that each stride brought me closer to Roman. Equal measures of anticipation and anxiety warred inside me.

  After a lengthy journey, Achilles halted. I strained for clues: the rustle of clothing, the click of a key in a lock, the quiet creak of hinges. He led me into what I presumed was one of the playrooms. “Wait here, madam,” he said. I reached for the blindfold, but he closed a hand over mine. “Don’t remove the blindfold.”

  “Wait.” I reached in front of me, finding nothing but empty air. “Achilles, where are you going?” Standing alone, unable to see, my panic escalated. His footsteps faded to the rear. The door creaked shut, and the lock clicked.

  “Don’t be afraid.” Roman’s deep voice rumbled at my side.

  “I’m not afraid. I’m furious.” Even while I protested, my chest heaved with excitement. The scent of his cologne—peppery, familiar, and sweet—tickled my nose. “Why am I blindfolded?”

  “Because it pleases me.” The command in his voice weakened my knees. This was the Roman I loved, the man who ruled my heart and my body without mercy.

  “I don’t appreciate being kidnapped.” In the absence of sight, my senses sharpened. Light footsteps circled me. I turned, trying to follow his path.

  “And yet, here you are.”

  “I hardly had a choice. I asked to be taken home. Your driver refused.”

  “You always have a choice, Cinderella.” His breath brushed my right ear. I gasped at the delicious spread of goosebumps down the back of my neck.

  “If you wanted to talk to me, you could have called on the phone like a normal person.”

  His voice moved to my left. I whipped my head to follow his movements. “I could have, but then again, we both know I’m not a normal person, right? I’m arrogant and dirty and perverted.” The backs of his fingers skimmed up my bare forearm. I shivered. “This seemed like a lot more fun.”

  “Don’t play with me.” An ache unfurled in the pit of my belly. Although I complained, I wanted him to do just that. Take me. Fuck me. Make me whole again.

  “I want you back.” The stubble of his chin scraped along my jaw. I whimpered, knowing his lips hovered mere inches away. “You belong to me. I’ve barely touched you, yet your nipples are poking through your dress, taunting me.” To prove his point, he pinched one of them, making me hiss at the sting of pleasure. “Your rejection makes me crazy.”

  “Your call this morning—what was that about? I’ve been out of mind with worry. Was it another one of your mind games?”

  “A bad move on my part. I’m sorry for putting you through that.” The heat of his body warmed my backside. “I let circumstances get the better of me, and I apologize. It won’t happen again.” His soft lips nibbled along the bend of my jaw. The muscles below my waist clenched in response. “But I needed to hear your voice, to touch you, and the situation seemed…desperate.”

  “Where were you? Give me answers.” This was just like him, to play with my head and tug at my heartstrings. As my fury grew, so did my lust for him. They were irrevocably entwined, each feeding the other.

  “You’ll get them, but not tonight.” The tip of his nose traced the curve of my ear. Against my will, my body leaned into him, drawn by a force more powerful than gravity. “Tonight isn’t about excuses or explanations. I brought you here to remind you of how we began.” A slight tug preceded the growl of the zipper down my back. Fresh air wafted over the skin laid bare as my dress parted. His fingertips smoothed along the curve of my spine.

  “Is anyone watching us?” The playrooms had been designed with walls of mirrored glass. The voyeuristic members of the club could observe and listen at the discretion of the occupants. The thought added to the slickness gathering between my thighs.

  “Maybe.” His teeth nipped the bend of my shoulder. I whimpered, shifting my weight from one foot to the next, seeking to ease the ache of desire growing inside me. “Would you like that, my dirty princess?”

  “Yes.” I bit my lower lip to keep from whimpering. “I mean, no.”

  “Maybe there’s a whole gallery of people watching me strip your gorgeous body.”

  “I’m not going to have sex with you,” I said, in a final attempt to gain control of the situation.

  “I can respect that. I wouldn’t expect any other answer from you, considering my recent bad behavior.” The loss of his body heat signaled his retreat. The removal of his lips from my skin filled me with disappointment and confusion.

  “Where are you going?” Somehow, he’d turned the tables. Part of me wanted to scream at him, while the rest of me wanted him to fuck me senseless. How could I be so angry and so in love at the same time? The Victorian romance novels in my library had never mentioned this kind of conflict.

  “I’m right here, but I’ll go if you want.”

  “Not—not yet.” I held the front of my dress to my breasts with one arm.

  “Do you want more?”

  “Yes.” I whispered the word, ashamed of my desperation for his touch.

  “Drop your dress.” The sharp command sent adrenalin rushing through my veins. I let the knee-length linen puddle at my feet. Gooseflesh pebbled my arms and legs. The roughness of his palms skated over my breasts, cupping them, then caught the edges of my panties and dragged them down my legs. “Step out.”

  I lifted my feet, letting him dispose of the thin lace.

  His footsteps circled me again. “Very nice.”

  “I’m glad you approve.” I liked knowing he desired my body with its lumps and bumps and cellulite. I exhaled to calm my soaring heart rate. Where was he taking us? This game might have been unexpected, but I opened my mind to the possibilities. A little playtime might bring us back to common ground.

  His hands bracketed my hips, his lips close to my ear. “Lift your arms. There are two ropes above your head. I want you to wrap them around your wrists and hold on.”

  “What are you going to do to me?” My voice came out raspy and breathless. I trembled with excitement.

  “Trust me.” He guided my hands to the soft braided ropes. The fabric of his shirt whispered across my back, my left arm, and finally my breasts as he came to stand in front of me.

  I leaned into him. His shirt buttons bit into my breasts, and the hardness between his legs nudged my belly. “Why are you still dressed?”

  “Until tonight, I’ve been holding back with you, but not anymore. It’s become apparent to me that life is fleeting. You want to know the real me—well, this is just a small part of who I am.” His arms wrapped around my waist and crushed me to him. I soaked up his strong embrace. “I can take you places you’ve never been before, Rourke, if you can accept my world.”

  I didn’t have time to contemplate the double-edged meaning of his words. He kissed a burning
trail down the column of my neck, pausing to suck each of my nipples, then continuing down my belly. The heat of his breath tickled against my flesh. His lips dragged down to my hips, his hair sweeping over my pelvis.

  “Don’t let go of the ropes. I’d tie you up, but I don’t think you’re ready for that quite yet.” His words vibrated against the insides of my thighs. “Put your leg over my shoulder.” With a hand behind my knee, he steadied me, opening me to him. His next kiss landed directly on my sex. I threw my head back and moaned.

  God, I’d missed his mouth. It worshipped me, punctuated by tiny flicks of his tongue against my clit. I gripped the ropes tighter. My fingers ached. He pulled me to him, his hands on my bottom. The tip of his nose nudged my folds. With his face between my legs, he sucked and nipped. One of his fingers thrust inside me. I cried out, not caring who heard or was watching.

  “Yes. Please. Yes.” I struggled to keep my balance while he dragged me to the edge of oblivion. In my head, I pictured him on his knees in his black trousers and crisp white dress shirt, clinging to my bottom, wringing every ounce of pleasure from my naked body. My loud cries echoed through the room. As warning tremors shook my legs, I thrust my pelvis forward, trying to ride his mouth, desperate for release.

  My words spurred his efforts. He thrust two more fingers inside me, curling them upward to hit my most secret place, and I lost control. My walls contracted. I released the ropes and dug my fingers into his hair, rocking against his face, crazy with need. My clutching hands stirred the scent of his shampoo. Waves of pleasure raced through my center, radiating out to the tips of my fingers and toes.