Luck of the Devil

by March, Meghan

“Fuck you, Bastien.” I open my eyes again, if only to glare at his still-blurry form. “Where the hell am I?”

  A man in white shorts and a neon-yellow muscle tank, who I assume is Mickey, enters the room. His deeply tanned skin is covered in tattoos. “Here you go, man.” He holds out a bottle labeled with a familiar pain reliever logo. “This should do the trick.”

  Bastien grabs it from him and waits for Mickey to leave before facing me.

  “Answer my damn question. Where the hell am I?”

  He rolls the bottle between his hands. “You’re in a safe place. Forge won’t find you here, at least not right away.”

  I look around the room. There must be a dozen silver suitcases lined up along one wall below a ledge that is covered with liquor bottles. A turntable sits on top of a white desk in the corner, like it’s just waiting for a DJ to come in and go to work. Dark shades cover what I assume are large windows, and red LED strip lights lend an eerie glow to the place. Or maybe it’s supposed to be a sexy glow. Ew. Gross.

  “You brought me to your fuck pad? Jesus Christ. Now I need a damn shower.” I release my grip on the bedspread.

  “Calm down. You’re fine.”

  My wavering vision finally clears and I meet Bastien’s gaze, thankful I only see one of him. I haven’t seen him since Monte Carlo when his parents cut him off after his sister tattled that I was with him.

  “Shouldn’t you be back in the UK begging Mummy and Daddy to reinstate your credit cards, and saving your inheritance?”

  With a bored expression, Bastien flicks open the lid to the bottle and hands it to me. “I’ll get you some water.” He walks away without answering a single one of my questions.

  Asshole.

  Even though I don’t want to accept a damn thing from him, when he returns to the side of the bed and offers me water, I snatch it because my head is killing me. I tap three pills into my hand and pop them into my mouth before unscrewing the cap to wash them down.

  “Do you remember anything I told you before you hit your head?”

  I bare my teeth at him like a feral animal. “You mean when you knocked me unconscious and kidnapped me?”

  “You should be thanking me, not looking like you’d rather skin me.”

  “Not a goddamned chance.” I grit out the words. “Now tell me everything, and don’t leave out a single fucking thing. Maybe then I won’t report you to the cops.”

  At my threat, Bastien grunts out a laugh. “The police aren’t going to help you. As a matter of fact, you need to steer clear of them. They’re corrupt as fuck, and probably on Forge’s payroll too.”

  When I growl out his name, Bastien shakes his head and raises his hands as if surrendering, but I know better. He doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do, and he always has an angle. I learned that the hard way.

  Before he speaks, he nods at Mickey, who hovers just outside the room. “Close the damn door, but let me know if you spot anyone who shouldn’t be here.”

  Bastien’s order reminds me that Forge has to be looking for me. He fucking hates Bastien, and I can’t imagine what is going through his head right now.

  What if he thinks I went willingly?

  I did break my word immediately after Forge and I struck a deal by going straight to the tarmac and hopping on Bastien’s jet.

  Which is the entire reason I’m in this situation.

  The door clicks shut and Bastien paces the room.

  “Answer now, or I walk out that door in sixty seconds,” I tell him.

  Bastien spins around to face me. “You’re in that much of a hurry to get back to the man who tricked you into marrying him? The one who’s using you and lying to you? I thought you had better instincts than that, Indy. I’m disappointed.”

  “Sounds like you and Forge have a lot in common then, doesn’t it?”

  Bastien’s expression twists with anger, but it’s nothing but a match to my own.

  “Spit it out,” I say, “or I’m gone.”

  He walks toward me slowly, pausing an arm’s length away. “You won’t want to go back to him when I’m done.”

  “I’m waiting.” I push myself to my feet and cross my arms over my chest.

  “Your sister’s kidnapping was a setup.”

  The thumping in my head kicks up another notch. “You said that already. Did you do it?”

  His head jerks back. “Why the fuck would you ask that?”

  “Because how else would you know?”

  One side of his mouth lifts in a cruel smirk. “Funny how you question everything I say now, but you didn’t bother to question why Forge wanted to marry you.”

  I know he’s changing the subject on purpose, and I’m holding strong. I also know what it feels like to be played by Bastien. When I saw his boat, I should have run the other way.

  “You’re bluffing. You don’t know shit.” I take a step toward the door, but Bastien blocks me.

  “Am I? Seems you lose your ability to read people when you’re not sitting at a poker table.”

  My hands clench into fists as Bastien turns his back on me and wanders over to the bar. I grit my teeth and take another step toward the door.

  “You’re not going anywhere, Indy. Not yet.” Bastien shoots me a look over his shoulder.

  I don’t know what his angle is, but he wants something from me. Otherwise, he’d never go to all this trouble. This is no mission of mercy to save me from the big bad wolf.

  “I’m pretty sure my husband is going to have something to say when he finds out you kidnapped me.”

  Bastien spins around to spear me with his icy glare before replacing the liquor bottle and stalking toward me. “You think Forge is the fucking hero here, and I’m the villain? Fuck no. You’ve got it dead wrong. He’s the one who tricked you into marrying him, remember?”

  I take another step toward the door. “Isn’t that what you were going to do if I said yes? Or did you forget that little proposal you made already?”

  “I didn’t forget shit.” Bastien’s nostrils flare. “But I also wouldn’t have used your sister as leverage. That’s what he did, right? Because he had her the whole fucking time.”

  The lobster and fish I ate earlier threaten to make a reappearance on the white tile floor.

  “You’re lying,” I say, my tone ragged as my stomach twists. I don’t want to believe it. I can’t believe it. Who would be so horrible?

  “You don’t have to believe me,” Bastien says with a smirk. “You can figure that shit out for yourself. All you gotta do is think, Indy.”

  I dig my nails into my palms as I try to steady myself. I know what Bastien’s trying to do—make me question everything. And it’s working.

  I flip through the memories of how Forge said he’d help me get my sister back, but only if I said yes to his no-questions-asked favor that would be financially beneficial to him.

  I remember the shock I felt when the chopper touched down on the deck of the yacht and Summer stumbled out. I couldn’t believe she was already there and safe. I was too stupid and happy and grateful to ask the million questions that popped into my mind about how he managed it.

  Forge didn’t kidnap her. There’s no way. Is there?

  When I don’t reply, Bastien continues.

  “Actions speak louder than words, right? You know none of this adds up. He’s been playing you since day one. Fuck, even before day one. You think he walked into that card game at La Reina by accident?” Bastien taps his chin. “I wonder who told him about it? Jean Phillippe, maybe?”

  I swallow. “Give me one good reason why Forge would do any of this.”

  Bastien’s lips twist into a predatory smile. “No one gets something for nothing around here.”

  Of course. Of course he wants something from me. I can only imagine what it is.

  “Not so quick to ask questions now, are you?” His smug tone makes me want to backhand the smirk off his face.

  Play the man, not the game. Pull it together, Indy. He�

�s trying to bait you.

  “That’s not it,” I tell him, my tone frigid this time. “I just know you won’t answer a single one. I shouldn’t be surprised either. You always go back on your word.”

  Bastien’s expression sharpens. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “You said you’d tell me everything if I came with you. My instincts to run the other way were absolutely right.”

  “And stay with Forge? He’s the one who fucked you over . . .” His lip curls as he drags his gaze up and down my body. “Literally and figuratively.”

  A greasy feeling pools in my stomach and I sidestep toward the door. “You want me to believe he’s the bad guy in this scenario? Give me proof.”

  Bastien laughs caustically. “I didn’t peg you to be so fucking naive, Indy. Answer one question for me—did he make you sign a prenup?”

  I freeze. It’s the same question I asked myself. How the hell could Bastien know to ask that?

  “If only your face was this expressive at the poker table. You’d never fucking win,” Bastien says with a cruel grin. His index finger taps the rim of the glass. “So, no prenup . . . Did you even bother to ask yourself why a billionaire would commit financial suicide by getting married without a prenup?”

  I may as well have turned into a statue, because I did ask myself the question . . . and just let it go like a freaking idiot.

  Bastien’s tapping stops as his grin turns shark-like. “One answer . . . because he has more to gain than to lose by marrying you.”

  “I’m broke, Bastien. What the hell could Forge possibly have to gain?”

  A fractured memory comes back as Bastien crosses the room to sit on the bed.

  “Forge is using you to get what he wants from your father.”

  But I don’t have a father.

  Bastien pats the mattress beside him. “Why don’t you sit down, Indy. It’s a long story.”

  6

  Forge

  Death by a thousand cuts was the wrong way to play Isaac’s revenge. I should have killed de Vere. If he were dead, I wouldn’t be in this situation.

  Now I’m going to kill him with my bare hands, and I don’t give a fuck who he is.

  His father can scream down the House of Lords, and it will make absolutely no difference to me. De Vere took my wife. Somehow, he’s involved in this whole fucking mess, and I don’t know how. Yet.

  “You’re sure she was drunk? Not unconscious?” I demand answers from the blond twenty-something kid who works the marina where Bastien’s sleek red Donzi is docked.

  “I don’t know. People are always carrying other people off boats after they’ve had too much. It’s not my job to ask questions.”

  I curl my hands into fists and fight the urge to pick this guy up and toss him off the dock, because it’s not going to do me any good.

  “He didn’t say where he was going?” Donnigan asks.

  “No. He just put her in the car and left. I didn’t see which way he went. We had another boat coming in—”

  Useless fuck. I turn away and head back to the chopper where a crowd has gathered around it on the quay.

  “Let’s go. This is a waste of time.”

  Donnigan matches my stride by the time we reach the helicopter. “Where to next?”

  “His villa. He just might be stupid enough to go there.”

  Once we climb in the chopper and put on the headsets, Donnigan radios the tower again, but they refuse to clear our takeoff after our unsanctioned landing. Donnigan looks to me.

  I reach out and flip the channel on the radio so the tower can’t hear us. “Go. I’ll pay their fines. Just avoid the goddamned planes.”

  With a nod, he takes off, and within minutes, we reach a large white house situated in the hills. It’s Bastien’s party pad, although not for much longer, if his parents really cut him off.

  A red Lamborghini winds its way down the curved driveway.

  “Set it down right in front of him. Don’t let that fucker get away.”

  Donnigan doesn’t question my orders. The car speeds up as we approach, and I motion to the ground.

  “Now!”

  The driver slams on the brakes as the helicopter touches down on the pavement. I whip my harness off and jump out.

  “What the hell,” the driver yells from the window, but he goes quiet when he sees me charging at him. His hands flutter in the car, and the window slides up.

  I yank open the door before he can lock it. “Where the fuck is de Vere? He inside?”

  The driver, a dark-haired Spaniard with a thick gold chain hanging around his neck and a goatee throws his hands in the air. “I don’t know shit, man. I made a wrong turn. Bad address.”

  “Lying sack of shit. You’re going to fucking tell me where de Vere is right now.” I grab the chain and twist it around my hand.

  “I’m just the help. I don’t know anything. I swear.”

  My gaze narrows on his fear-filled eyes as his hands claw at the chain tightening around his neck.

  “The help drives a Lambo? Not a fucking chance. I’m going to ask you one more time, and if you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll take you up in that chopper and drop you in the middle of the fucking ocean. You understand? Where the fuck is de Vere?”

  “No! I don’t—”

  His words choke off when I tug the chain to pull him out of the car. Donnigan throws open the back door as we approach the chopper, and the guy flails harder with every step I take.

  “Please, man. Don’t kill me. He’s not home.”

  I shove him toward the open door and look to Donnigan. “Go check the house. If he’s lying, he dies.”

  The guy crosses himself. “He’s not there. I swear. He had me pick up some shit, and I’m supposed to meet him at a friend’s place.”

  “Tell. Me. Where.” I grit out the words through clenched teeth.

  * * *

  The rotor wash kicks up dust as we land on another roof that was never meant to be used as a helipad. Thanks to the punk in the Lambo, we know one of de Vere’s friends leases the entire top floor of this building for parties and as a stash house for the drugs de Vere traffics on his clueless parents’ private jet.

  He’s going down, and there won’t be anyone to save him.

  Donnigan stays in the chopper as I hop out and head for the door marked stairs. It swings open as I approach, and Goliath’s familiar form waves me on. As I jog down the flights behind him, I send up a vow to Isaac.

  You’ll be able to rest easy soon, my friend. I’m going to end it.

  Goliath shoulders open the door that leads to the penthouse level, and I step out behind him, gun in hand. The hallway is empty, but I spot the door closest to the sea side of the building, which is where the rat in the chopper said we’d find de Vere.

  I nod at it, and Goliath approaches it at my side. We stand in front of the door and he motions like he’s going to handle it, but I hold up a finger as Donnigan’s words roll through my head again.

  “At first it looked voluntary, but then there was a struggle.”

  Banked rage roars to the surface, and I take a step back before ramming the sole of my shoe into the door beside the handle with every bit of force my six-foot-three, two-hundred-thirty-pound frame can muster.

  The door swings wide and whacks into the opposite wall.

  With guns drawn, Goliath and I rush inside toward a man jolting up from where he was bent over a table, a rolled bill held nearly to his nose.

  “What the fuck! You can’t—” His protest cuts off when his gaze lands on the Glock in my hand and the giant at my side. “What do you want? I don’t have any cash.”

  Another door swings open, and de Vere leans against the frame.

  “He doesn’t want your cash, Mickey. He came for something very, very different.” De Vere looks over his shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Indy?”

  7

  India

  He’s here. Forge is here.

  I push out of the chair where I parked myself behind the desk with the turntable to keep my distance from Bastien while he proceeded to toss back drink after drink and talk shit about Forge.

  As soon as I’m on my feet, the room wobbles from side to side. From hitting my head? I hold on to the desk for support and take another step toward Forge’s voice. Everything feels weird, including the smooth, cool wood beneath my fingertips.

  I blink a few times, trying to get the room to stop spinning, but it doesn’t help. My palms are clammy and sweat breaks out on my brow. Something’s wrong.

  I look around the room, and the light hurts my eyes.

  I’m fucked up. What the hell is going on? I attempt another step toward the door, but cool air hits my skin and tremors ripple over me.

  I have to sit down. I stumble toward the bed and plop onto it, gripping the red coverlet with my fists to stay upright.

  “Sorry, Forge. Your wife is in no hurry to leave my bed.” Bastien’s lazy drawl reeks of innuendo.

  “Get the fuck out of my way, de Vere.” Forge’s voice deepens to the point where it’s almost inaudible.

  My head bobs as I try to stand again. Nope. I shut my eyes, hoping that will help me regain a modicum of balance or control.

  “Feel free to stay in bed, Indy. You don’t have to leave with him if you don’t want to.” Bastien’s tone is even more smug now, and I don’t need to see him to know that he must be grinning like the cat who got the cream.

  What the hell is happening to me? I shouldn’t feel like—

  Then I remember the pills I took out of the pain reliever bottle.

  He drugged me. Bastien fucking drugged me. Again.

  8

  Forge

  With the gun pressed to de Vere’s chest, I lower my voice. “Move, or I won’t hesitate to pull this fucking trigger.”

  De Vere shows no fear, which shocks me because he’s always been a fucking pussy. “You won’t do it. You would’ve killed me years ago if you had the balls, but you don’t.”

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