Luck of the Devil

by March, Meghan

  “Water,” I croaked out.

  “Doc,” the captain barked.

  A blond man wearing a white coat came to the side of the bed with a clear plastic cup and held a straw to my lips. “Don’t drink too fast, kid,” he said, but I sucked down the cool, crisp liquid as fast as I could. “Hold up. You’ll puke if you drink too much.” He pulled it away before I was done.

  “So, what do we do with him now?” the captain asked the doctor like I wasn’t even there.

  “He’s got IV fluids going. He’s massively dehydrated, as you’d expect. His shoulder was dislocated, but I relocated it while he was out. Kinder that way. His torso is covered with healing contusions, and if I had to guess, I’d say he likely has bruised or broken ribs.”

  “Am I gonna die?” The words felt like they were drawn from my throat by rusty pliers.

  The doctor shook his head. “You’re lucky as hell we found you when we did. A few more days without water . . .” He trailed off, but I knew what he was going to say.

  I would have died.

  “What the fuck do we do with him?” the man in coveralls asked.

  “Report him to the authorities in Baltimore,” the captain said. “They’ll have to track down his parents, and we’ll put him on a plane home.”

  “No.” I coughed twice, and my ribs protested. “Please. Don’t.”

  The captain looked down at me, his brown eyes scanning my face. From the way the man studied me, the remains of Uncle Ruben’s handiwork were still visible.

  “Give me one good reason, kid. I could lose my license if I don’t. My whole fucking business.”

  “He’ll kill me if you send me back.”

  The captain crouched by the side of the cot. “Who will kill you?”

  I coughed again, trying to clear my throat. “My uncle. I won’t go back. Fucking ever. I don’t care what you do to me. I’ll never go back there.”

  The captain glanced up at the doctor before looking back down at me. “He beat on you a lot?”

  My pride reared up, but a voice in my head told me to tell him the truth, at least about this. “As often as he could. He’s a mean drunk.”

  “You have no other family?”

  “No, sir. My aunt died the day I left. That’s when he busted my shoulder.”

  The captain’s dark eyebrows knit together, and white lines appeared in the weathered skin around his eyes and mouth. “How old are you, kid?”

  My brain was slowly coming back to life, and something told me if I gave him my real age, he’d get me off this boat faster than I could finish answering his questions.

  “Seventeen. Almost eighteen. I can work. I work hard. Just give me a chance. I swear, I won’t fuck it up.”

  Once again, his gaze flicked to the doctor and the guy in the coveralls. “Everyone out. Don’t say a fucking thing about this, or I’ll toss you overboard.”

  The two men nodded, and they filed out of the room. When we were alone, the captain pulled up a chair and sat down beside my cot.

  “How old are you really, kid?”

  “I told you—”

  “No, you lied to me.”

  I pressed my chapped, peeling lips together. “You can’t send me back. I won’t go. I’ll run again. I don’t care where.”

  “Then tell me the truth. How old are you?”

  I released a long breath and crumpled the white sheet in my fist. “Fourteen. Almost fifteen. But I’m smart. I’m strong. I can work. I’ll outwork every man you have on this boat. I swear to Christ. Just give me a chance.”

  “You should be in school. A cargo ship is no place for a kid,” the captain replied, crushing my hope that he’d let me stay.

  “What about cabin boys? Don’t they have a place on a ship? I can do that. Whatever you need. Scrub floors. I’m good at cleaning. I can work in the kitchen. Do whatever. Please, just don’t send me back.”

  The captain rose and dragged a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Jericho Forge.”

  “You got balls, Jericho Forge. I’ll give you that.” His jaw shifted, and I knew he was considering what might end up being my death sentence.

  “Please, just give me a chance, sir. I swear, I won’t make you regret it.” I gripped the sheet tighter, my palm sweaty.

  As he stroked his beard, I swallowed, my scratchy throat burning for another sip of water as I awaited his judgment.

  “I joined the merchant marines when I was eighteen. Fast as I could get out of my house. My pop liked his liquor too. Got nasty when he got deep in the bottle. If I let you stay, you’re going to have to work and study. We’ll get you GED books, and you’ll have to pass, because every real man needs at least a high school education. A strong body isn’t shit without a strong mind.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Thank—”

  “Don’t thank me yet.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest and lifted his chin. “Get healed up and you’re on probation. You can’t hack it, we send you back, and I’ll send a letter stating your condition when we found you and that your uncle was responsible. Maybe they’ll put you in foster care instead.”

  “I can hack it. I promise. You won’t regret it.”

  He nodded. “We’ll see about that.” He held out a hand and gripped my good one. “I’m Captain Isaac Marcos. This is my ship, the Fortuna. Welcome aboard, Jericho Forge.”

  2

  Forge

  Present day

  My business is my life. That’s one thing that never changes, no matter what. But today, I let myself get sidetracked. Because of her.

  I never forget meetings. Especially not meetings when one of my business partners has flown halfway across the world to meet on my turf. Today, though, I did. Because of her.

  India Baptiste—no, India Forge—is a distraction I didn’t predict, but only because I’m a fucking idiot. I can’t even remember the last time I went out of my way to make a woman smile or laugh, let alone change my plans for one. But I did today . . . because of her.

  Stopping in Saint-Tropez meant screwing up my timeline, and to add insult to injury, I forgot my meeting with Creighton Karas.

  I toss the keys of my tender to the valet at the pier. “Don’t move it. Don’t drive it. Don’t fucking touch it.”

  The young blond Brit looks at me slack-jawed as he realizes who I am. “Yes, sir, Mr. Forge. Not a problem, sir. We’ll use the other dock for everyone else.”

  “Good. I’ll be back in less than two hours.”

  He nods again, his brows rising as I peel off a few hundreds from my money clip and hand them over. “Thank you, sir.”

  As I walk away from the quay, I already want to loosen the tie from around my neck and head back out to sea. For years, I’ve spent more time on the decks of ships than I have on land, and I like it that way. On the deck of a ship in international waters, the captain’s word is law, and he might as well be a god. On land, there are too many variables shifting constantly. Like wives who smile at you like a hero when you cook her dinner.

  The corner of my mouth tugs upward with a smile, and I wipe it away. She’s too fucking distracting.

  As I approach Nobu, I push the vision away simply for the fact that I liked it too much. When I walk into the new hotel that’s certain to be a draw for celebrities on the island wanting to rub elbows with its famous owner, I find the concierge wringing his hands in the lobby and checking his watch.

  “Mr. Forge, it’s a pleasure. Mr. Karas asked that I bring you right up.”

  I nod. “Lead the way.”

  Creighton Karas is one of my newest business partners. Three months ago, I formed a venture with him and Lincoln Riscoff, the heir to America’s largest timber company. Our goal was to bring a renewable energy solution to market that would revolutionize the way the shipping world does business. This is one more reason I need Russian steel to build more ships to house the new power production plants that will shock the planet and make all of us very r
ich men.

  We’ve kept our plans completely silent, because we know as soon as the fossil-fuel industry gets word, corporate espionage will be out of control.

  The concierge leads me through the lobby, with its sun-bleached reclaimed wood paneling and beige and blue tones of the Mediterranean, up the elevator to the penthouse.

  “Forge. Good to see you. Thought you’d changed your mind about meeting me,” Karas says as he opens the distressed white wooden door on the second knock. The man is a couple of years younger than me, but I’ve always respected him. I wouldn’t have entered into this partnership with him and Riscoff if I hadn’t.

  I reach out to take the hand he offers. “My apologies. I got caught up.”

  We shake hands, and then he turns to hold out an arm to a stunning brunette crossing the room. “You remember my wife, Holly?”

  “Of course. Mrs. Karas, it’s a pleasure.”

  “Call me Holly. Crey might act all formal, but I don’t have time for that nonsense. I was just about to order some appetizers. Would you like anything?”

  I think of the fish and lobster I left uneaten. I’ll make it up to India.

  “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

  She smiles at me and then walks toward her husband. “In that case, I’ll head out to the balcony and listen to the artist I’m scouting, and let you two boys talk business.” She reaches Karas’s side and presses a kiss to his jaw. “Don’t take too long.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Karas says, thrusting a hand into her hair to tilt her lips up toward his.

  I cut my attention to the blue shimmer of the water beyond the balcony, not wanting to intrude on their private moment.

  After Holly leaves the room, Karas walks to the bar and lifts a bottle of Seven Sinners whiskey. “You want one?”

  “Absolutely.”

  As he pours, he cuts right to the heart of the matter at hand. “How are the negotiations progressing with Federov?”

  Neither of my business partners have any idea how complex the situation has become, or what I’ve had to do in order to gain the old Russian’s cooperation to even discuss making a deal.

  “Complicated.”

  Karas moves toward me, tumblers in hand and eyebrows raised. “Care to elaborate on that?” he asks as he hands a glass to me.

  “He’s a cagey old man, and he’s proving more difficult to deal with than I expected.”

  “What do you need from me and Riscoff? We didn’t form this partnership to put all the work on your shoulders, Forge. We have plenty of leverage and money. What’ll make him cooperate?”

  I take a sip of the whiskey and let the warm, peaty taste roll over my tongue. “I have what he wants. I just have to work out a strategy for delivering it in a way that won’t compromise anything.”

  Karas’s dark gaze sharpens. “What the hell does the Russian want?”

  “His daughter.”

  His brows shoot higher. “And you have her?”

  I turn away from him and walk to the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows where Isla del Cielo is visible in the distance. Sailboats, catamarans, Jet Skis, and speedboats fill the waters between Isaac’s island and Ibiza, just like they do every day of the summer.

  “I married her.”

  From behind me, Karas chokes on his drink. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  I lift my glass and swallow deeply before shifting to face him. “No. It was a means to an end. The only way I could secure her and the deal.”

  Karas strides across the room and stops in front of me. “You married her to secure the deal? Jesus fuck, Forge. We’re going to have to throw you a bigger cut of the profits for taking one for the team, because I distinctly recall you saying not too many months ago that you’d never get married.”

  How could I forget that? I stood in Karas’s California cliffside mansion and swore off marriage right before Riscoff tied the knot.

  “I did what needed to be done.” I toss down the rest of my drink. “I won’t let you or Riscoff down. The ships will be built with Russian steel. The world will be stunned. And we’ll all be even richer than you ever planned.”

  Instead of brightening like I expected, Karas’s expression turns thoughtful. “And what about your wife? What does she think about all of this?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t told her yet. She doesn’t even know who the fuck she really is.” To myself, I add, and I have no fucking idea how I’m going to tell her.

  I’ve never given a shit about collateral damage resulting from doing whatever it takes to close a deal. But for the first time ever, it’s all I can think about. Because of her.

  Karas gives me a worried look. “I hope you know what the hell you’re doing, Forge. Because complicated doesn’t even begin to cover the situation you’re dealing with. Let me get you another drink.”

  He snags my glass, and I stare out the window toward the island where I left India.

  I shouldn’t care how this is going to affect her.

  But I do, and I have no idea what the fuck I’m going to do about it.

  3

  India

  Bastien’s hand wraps around my fingers like a vise, and I know I’ve made a terrible mistake.

  “No, I’m not going anywhere with you.” I jerk back, but he won’t release me. “Let me go, Bastien!”

  “Sorry, Indy. I can’t.”

  He hauls me forward with all his strength, yanking me off my feet. I fly off the dock and over the side of the boat. My head slams into something hard, and pain explodes in my temple.

  “No,” I mumble as I hear a man yelling my name in the distance.

  “Gotta go,” Bastien says.

  He lowers me to the deck as everything goes black.

  4

  Forge

  Karas runs down the list of action items he and Riscoff have been handling on their end as my phone buzzes incessantly in the pocket of my suit pants. I ignore it for as long as possible, but when it starts up again, my gut says something’s wrong.

  Karas pauses, and I pull it out.

  “Excuse me for a minute.” I walk toward the marble fireplace on the opposite end of the living room from the table we’d taken over. “Forge,” I snap out in greeting.

  “We have a problem, sir.” The voice belongs to Donnigan, one of my security people on the island. “Your wife . . .”

  An icy shroud settles over me as I prepare for the worst, because somehow, my gut says that’s what’s coming.

  “Where is she?”

  “Gone, sir.”

  I grip the mantel, and the sharp edge of the wood digs into my palm. “How the fuck did she get off the island?”

  “By boat. She was down on the dock. I believe it was Bastien de Vere. I don’t know if the meeting was prearranged or not. At first it looked voluntary, but then there was a struggle. I’m climbing in the chopper now. We’ll pick you up on the roof of the Nobu, sir.”

  A struggle. The ice melts and my temper boils with rage as I picture de Vere putting his hands on her. That motherfucker took my wife.

  My jaw clenches, and I grit my teeth. I flex harder on the mantel, needing the bite of pain to keep from punching through the fucking wall.

  “Get here. We’re going to hunt down that piece of fucking shit. I’m done playing games. I want his fucking head.”

  I disconnect the call and release the mantel as fury rolls through me. Blood pounds in my head as I face Karas. Normally, I would school my reactions before someone could see my temper, but right now, I don’t fucking care.

  “What happened?”

  “My wife is gone.”

  “What can I do to help?” he asks, pulling out his phone as he glances out to the balcony where his wife sits in safety. “Between us, we could buy this fucking island. She couldn’t have gone far.”

  I’m already at the door of the suite with my hand on the knob by the time he finishes speaking. “If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

  I miss whatever h
e says in reply because I’m already headed to the roof.

  De Vere is going to die for this.

  5

  India

  My head thumps like it’s pressed against a speaker with a relentless beat at a club. Someone flicks water on my face, and I squint one eye open.

  “What the hell?” I groan as I roll over on something soft.

  “Shit, Indy. I thought your head was harder than that.” Bastien’s voice grates like nails on a chalkboard.

  “What the hell did you do to me?” I reach up to feel for the source of the pain and find a lump beneath my hair, near my temple.

  The edge of the mattress depresses as Bastien sits down. “What I had to do—which was get you the fuck away from Forge and his goons.”

  He touches my hair and I jerk back, not wanting his hands on me. The quick movement sets off another round of explosions in my head.

  At my groan, Bastien stands. “Mickey, get her something for her head, and hurry the fuck up.”

  I blink twice, trying to push through the pain, and open my eyes. The lights are dim and multicolored. I don’t recognize the black, white, and red modern decor. The spread beneath me is the color of blood, and I can’t help but wonder if mine is on it.

  I try to sit up, but the room spins as I rise. Bastien’s hands land on my shoulders, as if to steady me, but I slap them away, blinking my eyes open.

  “Don’t touch me, you piece of shit.”

  His hands disappear, and through the pounding in my head, I try to remember what the hell happened. Bastien pulled me onto his boat . . . after he told me Forge lied to me about everything. And I’m not who I think I am.

  The memory slams into my brain, setting off another wave of agony. I dip my head and scrunch the bedcover in my hands as I take long, deep breaths.

  “You should’ve just gotten in the boat, Indy. It didn’t have to be this way.”