Deal with the Devil

by Meghan March

  “They’re not going to take me. I swear. It’s going to be fine.” I have no idea whether I’m lying to Alanna, but I hope I’m not.

  Wait. Shit.

  “I forgot about Belevich. He’s Russian. People say he has ties to the Bratva. He played last night. I won some of his money, but I lost it all to Forge.”

  Alanna wraps her arms around herself. “Do . . . do you think he sent people to get his money back?”

  I shake my head. “That wouldn’t make sense. He plays all the time. I’ve never heard of him going after people before.”

  Not for something like this, I add to myself. I have heard one or two stories about Belevich fighting over women with other men. I know I wore my gold dress . . . but it was clear he didn’t have a chance with me, or so I thought after Forge staked his claim.

  “I don’t like this, Indy,” Alanna says.

  “Me either, but I don’t know what else to think. Unless . . .” I trail off as I gather my thoughts. Maybe there’s another possible reason Russians were here.

  “What?”

  “Maybe they followed Forge’s guy here.”

  Alanna’s hand covers her mouth. “Good God. That man probably has enemies all over the world.”

  I’m sure she’s right, because he has plenty right here in Ibiza. What if they were trying to track me down to get some kind of leverage over him?

  But that doesn’t make sense, because I’m nothing but a pawn in his game to piss off Bastien. He doesn’t give a shit about what happens to me. He proved that last night when he tossed me out on my ass like a hooker who’d served her purpose.

  Either way, I have one more problem to add to my list . . . and Forge may be the only person who can tell me why Russians are looking for me.

  I pace to where I left the bag on the sofa after his dreaded henchman left, and rip it open looking for the note.

  It’s right there, on top of my neatly stowed makeup. The bold handwriting is more slashes than curves, but it’s legible.

  * * *

  You need a stake for a game.

  I have a million-dollar proposition.

  No one will let you play anywhere worth playing unless you show up at La Marina Quay tonight at 8.

  15

  Forge

  From the helm of my newest toy, a Gamma Black Shiver that’ll act as the tender to my superyacht when it returns home, my island comes into view. Not Ibiza. Isla del Cielo. The small island paradise I inherited when Bastien de Vere killed Isaac Marco.

  Isaac was the father I never had. The only person I’ve ever fully trusted. He saved my life when I was a stowaway aboard his ship. He saw the bruises from my last beating, and instead of turning me over to the cops to deal with, he gave me a new life. He’s the reason I joined the merchant marines. He taught me to be a good captain and how to make money shipping cargo. He made me the man I am today. And that fucking reckless bastard killed him—and never paid the price or suffered a goddamned punitive consequence. Taking everything from de Vere isn’t even enough. He’ll still never understand the pain of his actions.

  If he thinks he’s going to live happily ever after married to India Baptiste, he’s going to receive a rude awakening.

  Take her and break her.

  That was my initial plan, and then I saw a glimpse of what de Vere sees in her.

  The plan can’t change. I’ll lure her back into my web through any means necessary, starting with bribery and threats. No one has ever accused me of being a good man, especially after Isaac died.

  The knot in my chest tightens every time I think about him. Ten years has dulled the sharpness of the wound, but my need for vengeance grows every day.

  A stupid man would have killed de Vere outright before Isaac was cold in his grave. I may not be a good man, but I’m not a stupid one either. I knew no one would let the murder of the heir to an earldom go unpunished, which is why I’m still biding my time and taking swipes where I can.

  With that vow echoing in my brain, I reach the island’s dock, and two of my old crew members, Koba and Ivan, toss lines to me.

  “What have you learned?” I ask as soon as I tie up the boat and step foot on the pier.

  “Plenty about her, but no one knows why she needs the money.”

  “Keep digging. I want to know about her family, friends, and where she’d go for help next.”

  “Her records only go back as far as seventeen. She and her sister were adopted by an American with dual citizenship named Alanna Clark. Before that, she didn’t exist, Forge.”

  They fall in step beside me as I make my way up the path toward the cliffs and the house that Isaac built and was only able to enjoy for a year before he was murdered.

  “What the hell do you mean, she didn’t exist before she was seventeen? You have every resource at your disposal. How can you not find records?” I look from one man to the other.

  Koba shrugs. “Could she have gone by a different name? India Baptiste doesn’t pop up on radar until adoption proceedings started. Before that, she was a ghost.”

  “What about her sister?”

  “Same. Summer Baptiste doesn’t exist until age eight. She almost dropped out of high school, but somehow she managed to graduate and then go to university, where she majored in fashion design. She also tried to join the poker tour but didn’t make the cut. She doesn’t have the skill at cards her sister does, and from all evidence, it seems she prefers partying to working.”

  I file the facts away for later use. “And the adoptive mother?”

  “Nothing interesting. Widow who rents out part of her beachfront flat for income. She’s been here almost twenty years. Rarely leaves the island and lives a quiet life.”

  We climb the stairs carved out of the rock and reach the top where the low-lying white villa sprawls beyond the blue water of the pool.

  “What about debts? Who does India owe? Who does her sister owe?” There’s something they’re not finding. I may not know her well, but I know there’s no way in hell India would willingly offer herself up unless circumstances were dire.

  “The sister parties and plays cards. She could owe people, but nothing on record. No one has seen her in a few days, so she might be off the island.”

  “All signs point to this being related to her sister then.” I stare up at the brilliant blue sky and try to piece together the puzzle. It would make sense that India would take bigger risks and be more desperate if her sister is in trouble. I can’t fault that kind of loyalty.

  “Dig deeper on the sister. If she has debts, find out who holds them. I want leverage over this woman before she arrives. You have three hours.”

  Both men nod and split off to head for the staff quarters, which are on the other side of the island, allowing us all our privacy while living on one of earth’s most remarkable places.

  It doesn’t even occur to me that India may not come.

  She needs money.

  I have money.

  That’s how the world works.

  I glance skyward one last time before heading inside. I will get revenge for you, Isaac. I swear it.

  16

  India

  I reach the quay ten minutes after the appointed time, mostly because I was hoping I could talk myself into not going. Unfortunately, telling Alanna about the note led to the opposite effect I had intended.

  “You don’t have to do anything but listen to him, Indy. If there’s a chance . . .”

  Her well-intentioned logic lasted until she left my flat about an hour before I needed to leave. I spent that time scouring the internet for underground poker games like the one that got Summer into trouble, but they don’t post schedules like the poker tour. Not shocking, I know.

  Finding absolutely nothing, I resigned myself to the fact that Alanna was right. If there’s a single chance I can get what I need from Forge without selling my soul in the process—and stop him from making me persona non grata at every casino in Europe—I have to hear him out. Even more
than that, I have some questions of my own about the Russians sniffing around.

  A sleek, dangerous-looking boat floats at the end of the pier. The massive dreadlocked giant stands beside it, which tells me that I’ve reached the right place.

  “Good evening, Ms. Baptiste.”

  “Maybe it’s good from where you’re standing, but I have other opinions on the subject.”

  His expression doesn’t change as he gestures to the boat. “Mr. Forge doesn’t appreciate tardiness.”

  I spare him the sharp reply that begs to leap off my tongue, deciding that I’m better off keeping my hostility in check until we reach the man who summoned me.

  Think of Summer. She’s all that matters.

  With a deep breath, I step onto the boat that floats on the gently lapping waves. It looks more like something the military would use than a civilian, but for some reason, that doesn’t surprise me. Jericho Forge is a billionaire. It’s probably one of a long list of extravagant toys he owns.

  A list he probably wants to add me to. What else could a million-dollar proposition mean? After being thrown out by him last night, I don’t know what to expect. The man doesn’t follow any set of rules I’ve ever encountered, and apparently just makes up his own.

  The perks of being ridiculously rich, I’m sure.

  As soon as the giant boards, he points to a seat and I take it. I’m not going to quiver and protest like a helpless damsel in distress, regardless of how in distress I actually am.

  I just want to get this over with, which means reaching Forge as quickly as possible and then getting away from him even more quickly.

  Thanks to Forge’s infamy, I already know exactly where we’re heading—his private island that’s less than ten minutes from here. The internet held a wealth of information about how he grew a shipping company with a fleet of twenty into two thousand. The world is literally at his fingertips, and he’s one of the wealthiest men on the planet.

  He wouldn’t even notice ten million missing.

  Except I’m not a thief, no matter how much I wish I had those skills right now. Which again shows how low desperation will take you.

  As we approach the island rising out of the ocean with its sheer cliff faces and staggering beauty, I can’t help but wonder what it must feel like to know it’s yours.

  Or maybe when you have enough money to own an island like this, you take it all for granted. Which is so much worse.

  Why the hell am I even wondering this crap? I snap myself out of my awestruck reverie as I catch sight of a man standing near the edge of one of the cliffs, his figure imposing even from here.

  I don’t need a second guess to know it’s Forge, watching his dreaded beast deliver me according to his bidding. His broad-shouldered frame and wind-swept black hair make it impossible for it to be anyone else. No matter what he’s expecting tonight, I can promise I won’t comply, if for no other reason than the man puts me on the defensive simply by existing.

  Two other men, one blond and the other darkly tanned, approach the dock. Both are large enough to make me question why I agreed to a meeting on Forge’s turf, where I wouldn’t have a prayer of being able to swim to shore.

  As the giant and one of the men tie up the boat, the other man holds out a hand to me.

  “Ms. Baptiste. If you’ll come with me.”

  I use the stairs that lead up the side of the boat and hop onto the dock without his assistance, thankful that I chose flat gladiator sandals rather than heels. My azure-blue sundress with its shoulder-baring design and puffed sleeves circling the tops of my arms doesn’t show even a hint of the cleavage that I displayed in full force last night.

  From his actions, Forge proved that he’s not a man to be swayed by tits and ass. I can only assume that he gets a wealth of them shoved in his face at every opportunity. Gold-digging party girls are a dime a dozen in Ibiza. All you have to do is sit by the pool at one of the swanky resorts for less than an hour to see them begging to be invited to private cabanas to drink with the men on stag weekends.

  The thought of bachelor parties reminds me of how Bastien and I met, and how he is ultimately responsible for me standing here right this moment. The animosity between him and Forge is legendary, but rumors can’t substantiate what caused it. Only that it’s very real.

  I follow the blond up the path and toward the stairs that will take me to Forge. The other man trails close enough behind me that I can feel his presence.

  Apparently, hospitality isn’t their forte, because nothing about this reception feels welcoming at all, and I highly doubt that will change when I see Forge. With each step, I feel like I’m being led to the gallows, but there’s not a damn thing I can do about it now. There he is.

  “Ms. Baptiste.” He says my name and nothing else. No greeting. No false warmth. Nothing but a man carved from rock, just like the island on which we stand.

  “Mr. Forge,” I reply in kind.

  “Follow me.” He turns on his heel and walks toward the massive white villa fronted with floor-to-ceiling windows, just beyond the turquoise waters of the swimming pool.

  My gaze darts from the house to the landscape to the man, trying to gauge all of my surroundings at the same time. My attention zeroes in on Forge because he’s clearly the most dangerous.

  Instead of being dressed in a somber suit like he was last night, he’s in tan linen trousers with a white linen shirt, billowing open in the wind as he makes his way to a table that’s been set for two beside the pool.

  “You’re joining me for dinner. You’re having the fish I caught earlier,” he says without turning around.

  I stop short beside the table. “Did you poison it?”

  His head swivels to face me, one eyebrow raised as his dark hair catches on his collar. “Why would I go through all this trouble to get you here to kill you?”

  “Can’t blame a girl for wondering, under the circumstances.” He has to know I’m referring to the feud between him and Bastien.

  Forge pulls out the chair that’s sure to give the best view of what promises to be a spectacular sunset this evening. “Sit, India.”

  And there he goes barking orders at me like I’m a mutt again. Or a bitch, as he put it.

  Before I can snap out a reply, the wind picks up and my skirt lifts. I slap it down against my thighs before dropping into the seat.

  “You didn’t have to stop it on my account.”

  I flick my gaze at Forge as he studies me in his indolent fashion. “You didn’t seem impressed the last time my dress disappeared.”

  “Martyrs don’t turn me on. Pissed-off women who would prefer to chance drowning in a swim to shore rather than fuck me do.”

  How the hell can he read my mind? I have no idea, but keeping my emotions masked at this table has become more important than any poker game I’ve ever played.

  “There’s something seriously wrong with you. You should probably seek psychiatric help.”

  Forge takes the seat next to mine. “Last I checked, they can’t get me revenge, but mouthy women distract me from it.” His dark gray gaze dips to my chest before rising back to my face.

  Really? He’s checking out my boobs in the cleavage-less dress when he couldn’t manage to spare a glance when they were on full display? I don’t know why that pisses me off, but it does.

  “Cut the shit, Forge. Why did you summon me, and what the hell is this million-dollar proposition? Dinner isn’t necessary to say what you have to say.”

  He lifts the cloth napkin off the plate in front of him and shakes it out before placing it on his lap. I don’t know if it’s a signal of some kind, but one of the men from earlier approaches with a carafe of water in one hand and a decanter in the other. I watch them both as he fills the glasses in front of us without asking me if I want anything.

  Forge lifts the lowball glass of liquor in salute. “Here’s to a productive business discussion.”

  Business discussion?

  “What the hell are
you talking about?” I ask him in lieu of raising my own glass.

  “You and I are about to make a deal, India. So, drink up. You’ll probably need it to help loosen your tongue into saying yes.”

  17

  Forge

  I thought of a hundred different ways I could play this. How I could entice her to take the money I know she desperately needs and lock her down so that Bastien can never have her. After last night, there’s no question that she’s a proud woman. Luckily for me, pride goeth before a fall.

  “Make a deal? Are you already drunk?”

  The smile that tugs on my lips is something that only seems to happen when I’m around her. She entertains me, which is a bonus, considering I’m going to own her.

  I tip my glass against my lips and sip the sixty-two-year-old liquor. My tastes have changed drastically as my fortunes improved, but there’s one thing that hasn’t—my appreciation of a beautiful woman with a mind to match.

  When I replace the glass, I lean my elbows on the table and steeple my fingers. I notice she can’t stop her gaze from dropping from my face to where my shirt gapes open, exposing my chest and abs.

  She’s not immune to me in the fucking slightest. It’s gratifying to confirm that I didn’t exaggerate her attraction last night.

  “First drink of the day.”

  “Then what the hell are you talking about?”

  “You need money. I have money. Did you know that concept, in large part, is what makes the world go ’round?”

  She rolls her eyes, but it doesn’t make the unique blue color that matches her dress any less striking. “Spare me the deal bullshit if you’re about to tell me about the oldest profession in the world, because I already told you I’m not a whore. You can take your money and—”

  Before she can finish her sentence, I pull a piece of paper out of the breast pocket of my shirt and hold it out to her.