Luck of the Devil

by March, Meghan

  Summer’s head jerks back. “What the hell are you talking about? I never cheated! And if I had, I sure wouldn’t have gotten caught, because you taught me better than that. I didn’t even get to play the game!”

  A shroud of silence settles over all of us as we process Summer’s admission.

  My pulse beats in my ears as I realize they played me.

  “They lied,” I whisper. “The kidnappers . . . they lied to me.”

  I don’t know why I’m so shocked. It’s not like kidnappers are beacons of truth and honesty, but that changes everything. Especially because Bastien claimed the kidnapping was a setup and that Forge was behind it.

  I turn and look at Forge, who’s also staring at Summer with surprise lining his features. “Did you know . . .”

  His lips flatten into a hard line. “We’ll discuss this later.” He glances at Summer. “You need to write down everything you remember from the moment you found out about the game you tried to play until the second you set foot in my chopper. Understood?”

  She nods, her lighter blue eyes finally showing fear. My resilient, ballsy sister might have just given us a lead to help find out what the hell is really going on here. If Forge didn’t set up the kidnapping . . . that means Bastien had to have been involved.

  I’m going to find out every damn thing, and then I’m going to strangle him with my own bare hands.

  “So, how about we have some brunch?” I say, forcing cheerfulness into my tone.

  18

  Forge

  “Enter,” I call when someone knocks on the door to my office a few hours later.

  The wooden panel swings open and Indy strides in, her hips swaying in a short green sundress that looks like it’s meant to be casual, but on her, it emphasizes every curve of her body. She’s wearing a pair of Adidas sneakers as well, which makes me assume her sister brought her clothes this morning. Part of me is annoyed because I would have happily kept her naked or wearing my clothes for as long as possible before I broke down and had something sent for her.

  Yep. I’m fucked.

  “We neglected a very important piece of our conversation earlier,” Indy says. She sounds part sharp and partly mocking.

  Actually, that may just be the special tone that she reserves for me. I must be fucked in the head, because it makes my dick hard.

  “And what piece was that?” I ask, affecting boredom as I lean back in my chair and cross an ankle over my knee.

  “I’m going to need an advance on that hundred seventy-five mil you owe me.” She lifts her chin as if daring me to question her.

  Which is exactly what I’m going to do.

  I sit up. “What the hell for? You have a credit card. What else could you need?”

  Indy crosses to my desk and plops into the chair across from it. She leans back, kicking her white sneakers up on the edge as she crosses her arms over her chest.

  “You really think I’m just going to sponge off you for the next month? Sorry, Forge. That’s not how I’m built. I work for my money. Always have, always will. Being married to you isn’t going to change a damn thing about that.”

  Ah. Now I know what she wants.

  “You’re asking if I’ll allow you to sit a game?”

  A myriad of emotions cross her face, and it’s not until the rage turns into a burst of laughter that I realize I’ve miscalculated with my words.

  “Asking if you’ll allow me? That’s cute, Forge. Real cute. I don’t know how your arrangements with your women worked in the past, but I’m going to lay out how things are going to work between us.”

  Her attitude doesn’t help deflate my dick. As a matter of fact, all it does is make me want to bend her over my desk and fuck the sass right out of her.

  “Is that right?”

  She slides her feet off my desk and repositions herself to lean forward and plant both elbows on the antique wood. “I’m going to live my life and you’re going to live yours. You don’t bother me; I won’t bother you.”

  “And if I don’t agree?”

  “Tough shit. Because I’ve got a game, and I’m gonna play it and win, which means I need a million in cash from you right now. Then I’ll get out of your way, and you can go about your business.”

  I shake my head slowly. “That’s not going to work for me, India.”

  19

  India

  “What do you mean, that won’t work for you?” My voice shoots up an octave, even though I promised myself I’d be assertive and calm and professional in order to secure what I want before getting the hell out of his presence, and I’m already losing the battle.

  “We also neglected to discuss another very important point in our relationship.” Forge uncrosses his legs and leans forward, matching my posture with both elbows on the desk. “Because I very much want to bother you, especially when you walk into my office with your attitude on high and that dress taunting me.”

  I look down at the green T-shirt dress I’m wearing with its ruched sides that help camouflage all my imperfections.

  “Come here,” he says, and I meet his serious gray stare.

  “What? Why?”

  Forge pushes away from the desk, spreads his legs, and points to the spot between them. “You want your million dollars? Come stand right here.”

  It’s a trap. I already know it.

  I plant my feet on the floor and grip the arms of the chair. “That’s not how this works. This isn’t a negotiation. This is you giving me what you owe me.”

  The creases around his eyes deepen like he’s amused. “Everything in life is a negotiation.”

  My lips pinch together. I don’t want to give in, because at least with this massive wooden desk between us, I have an illusion of safety and distance. Proximity, I’ve learned, is my downfall when it comes to this enigmatic man I married.

  “No.”

  He shrugs. “Fine. Good luck sitting a game with no stake.”

  “You’re determined to make me hate you, aren’t you?”

  Something unreadable flashes across his features as he lifts his chin higher, like a goddamned pasha on a throne, waiting for the newest member of his harem to be introduced.

  No, like a pirate king awaiting the presentation of the wenches he claims as his own booty.

  No, Indy. Stop. No thinking about booty. The memories of how hard I came with his finger in my previously virgin ass rise to the surface, and my thighs tense of their own volition.

  “Stubborn woman. You don’t know how to bend, do you?” Forge’s deep voice, normally rough, smooths into silk and wraps around me like a rope, tugging on my subconscious to bring me closer to doing his bidding.

  “You don’t want me to bend,” I say. “You want a mindless doll that’ll do whatever you say.”

  A light that’s equally predatory and excited brightens Forge’s gray eyes. “If I wanted blind obedience, I could have any number of women here within fifteen minutes who wouldn’t question my orders.”

  I bare my teeth. “You agreed to no sharing.”

  His lips curve up with a knowing smile. “I did, indeed. And I don’t want another woman. You lied to me when you claimed to be a lousy lay. I want to fuck you again, India, and I’m willing to make a deal so we both get what we want.”

  I shoot out of my chair. “I’m not a whore.”

  “We’ve already covered that. Now, come here if you want to leave this island—at all—in the next thirty days.”

  Rage propels me around the desk. “You can’t fucking keep me here against my will. I—”

  Whatever I was about to say is cut off when Forge’s hands wrap around my hips and yank me off-balance to land over his knees.

  “Hey!” I screech, but his palm lands on my ass with a stinging strike.

  “You’ve got an attitude that makes my dick as hard as a rock.”

  “Go fuck yourself—”

  Another swat lands on my other cheek, and the burn sends heat and wetness blooming between my legs
.

  I should hate his high-handed behavior. I should want to murder him, but my body doesn’t care about should. It only knows how damn good it feels. My hips arch against my will, and I lift, seeking the next strike from his hand.

  “Fuck, you tempt me, India.”

  Another strike lands, and then another. I can’t help but rock against him, seeking the contact on my clit that it’ll take to get me off. Forge’s wide hand strokes over the fabric of my dress, caressing where he spanked, and all my nerve endings light up.

  I want to beg him to keep going, push up my dress, and get me off, but my stubbornness keeps me silent.

  “This ass . . .” Forge cups my burning cheek and squeezes. “It belongs to me. You sit at a table and play a game, you do it knowing that you come home to me when you’re done. Do you understand?”

  I push against his thighs again, and instead of keeping me deliciously trapped, he helps me rise to my feet beside him.

  He’s still a fucking caveman.

  “If you’re going to work a girl up, the least you can do is finish her off.”

  He shakes his head. “No. I want you thinking about exactly what you want from me, even if you won’t admit it.”

  I grit my teeth together, hating that he knows exactly how he affects me. I cross my arms over my chest and pop my hip.

  “Fine. Now, where’s my money? Oh, and by the way, I’m taking the chopper. I am Mrs. Forge, after all, aren’t I?”

  20

  Forge

  Three hours later, I watch the chopper hover over the blue water holding three of the most trusted members of my security team, and a woman who probably wouldn’t cry at my funeral if I got pushed off a cliff. More than likely, she’d be the one to shove me over.

  India wasn’t supposed to affect me like this. She wasn’t supposed to get under my skin and into my blood. She wasn’t supposed to entertain me and challenge me.

  We all know how that worked out.

  Now she’s on her way to a game in Mallorca. Every instinct tells me I should have gone with her, but I couldn’t. A very important visitor will arrive here in two hours, and India’s not ready to meet her father yet. Not by a long shot.

  Grigory Federov won’t be happy either when he realizes the daughter he’s expecting to be reunited with isn’t here. But that’s my choice. I refuse to spring something like this on her before she’s ready. For now, I’d rather face his wrath alone.

  Especially when he finds out that I didn’t just find his daughter . . .

  I married her.

  21

  India

  Forge’s ego knows no bounds. I’m settled between three hulking men, all of whom look like former black-ops types who kill people for fun and hide bodies in their spare time.

  I’ve nicknamed them Batman, Spiderman, and Superman in my mind, because I was arguing about not needing any kind of security when Forge told me their names, and now I feel like too much of an asshole to ask after the fact since I already forgot them. I mean, they should be flattered, right? They’re the best superheroes the comic-book world has to offer.

  When we land on Mallorca, I reach for the small duffel bag at my feet, but Superman, who wears a royal-blue shirt beneath his dark suit, grabs it for me.

  “I’ll carry that for you, Mrs. Forge.”

  Hearing him address me by that name is strange as hell, but I suppose that’s who I am now. And since I’m already basking in the luxury that comes with the title, I might as well own it.

  “I should’ve been comped a room at the casino.”

  Spiderman, the youngest-looking of the three who gives off Peter Parker vibes, nods. “We’ve secured the penthouse, and Mr. Forge directed his assistant to have a hairstylist, makeup artist, and personal shopper meet you upon your arrival.”

  Mr. Forge did what?

  I look at Spiderman like he lost his damn mind along with his Spidey sense. “Excuse me?”

  “Mr. Forge wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.”

  That shouldn’t send a whoosh of lust through me, but of course my traitorous body doesn’t listen.

  “Is he planning on making some kind of grand entrance, and he wants me to be properly outfitted on his arm?”

  Spiderman shakes his head. “No, ma’am. He has a business meeting and won’t be leaving the island tonight.”

  “Who is he meeting with?” My mind riots, thinking of him having a cozy dinner for two with that bitch Juliette.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know, but Mr. Forge prefers to meet in his own territory.”

  Of course he does.

  I bite down on my lip and take a deep breath. Forge made the stipulation about not sharing. He didn’t just spank me, hand me a million dollars, and send me on my way so he could get a piece of ass. I don’t care who he’s meeting. I will not let my brain psych me out. I’m here to work.

  I paste a smile on my face before I speak again. “Wonderful. Then there’s no chance of my concentration being disturbed tonight.” I look at each man’s face. “Which means . . . I would be forever in your debt if all three of you could figure out how to do your job without making it look like you’re doing your job.”

  “But, Mrs. Forge—”

  When Batman, the guy dressed in all black with a Bruce Wayne look about him, tries to chime in, I silence him with a raised finger.

  “I swear I’m not trying to make your life harder. I know you have orders. I get it. But I’m here to outplay and out-bluff every man at the table, and I can’t do that while you’re hovering over my shoulder. There has to be some middle ground that we can all live with, because I need to win tonight.”

  Because I can’t be dependent on Forge for every nickel and dime I want to spend, I add silently to myself.

  Each man nods, but only Superman replies.

  “Understood, Mrs. Forge.”

  “Are you sure? Because I can’t have any of you looking like you’re working as a team and sending signals to one another or to me. If you do, I’ll be tossed out on my ass for being a cheater. My reputation will go to shit, and I’ll never get to sit a decent game again. That’s a chance I can’t take. Understand?”

  This time, I get three “yes, ma’am” responses in unison.

  “Glad we’re clear,” I tell them with a blindingly bright smile.

  The pilot signals the tower that we’re landing, and I glance out the window as we approach.

  “It’s time to go kick ass and make money.”

  22

  Forge

  Grigory Federov arrives in a black helicopter that appears to be civilian, but it looks like it could easily morph into a gunship capable of leveling the entire island.

  One has to wonder if he flies it for intimidation or out of necessity.

  Either way, I’m grateful not to be his enemy . . . at least for the time being. There’s no guarantee this meeting is going to end with us both working toward a common goal, but I’m hopeful he can be persuaded to see my side of things.

  Indy is playing to win tonight, and so am I.

  As soon as the chopper lands on the helipad, Federov climbs out, followed by two men dressed in black suits. The rotor wash flips his thinning silver hair from side to side as he strides toward me. He’s seventy-four but doesn’t look a day over sixty. According to my sources, he target-shoots from horseback whenever possible, and frequently uses pictures of business rivals for bull’s-eyes. His tailored suit jacket fits his stocky frame well, but his collar is already open and his tie is gone. Fair enough, because I hate wearing a tie as well.

  His gaze travels over my shoulder as he comes to a stop before me, no doubt looking for his daughter. My suspicions are confirmed when the first words leave his mouth.

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s not here.”

  “What do you mean, she’s not here?” The lines on his tanned face deepen with his scowl. “You said you found my daughter. I come to take her home, and now you say she is not here.
Is this how you do business, Forge? You lure people with false promises? I want to see her!” His accent thickens as his emotions rise.

  I need to defuse the situation before he stalks back to his chopper and never answers another one of my calls again—or he orders his henchmen to shoot me. Goliath would snipe them both before they could, but I really hope to end this meeting without bloodshed.

  To that end, I pull my phone from my pocket and push the button to wake it up. The lock screen is a picture of India standing on the deck of my yacht, taken from above when she didn’t know I was watching her.

  “Here. Look. She’s fine.”

  The old man reaches out with surprising speed and snatches the phone from my hands to stare at the screen in awe. “She looks just like my Irina.” The twinkle of nostalgia fades from his blue eyes as fast as it appeared. “Where is she now? I want to take her home.”

  “She’ll be home tomorrow morning.”

  “This isn’t her home.” He waves an arm around at Isaac’s island. “Her home is Russia.”

  “Her home is wherever she wants it to be. You’re not dealing with a child, Mr. Federov. Your daughter is a headstrong woman who doesn’t take orders well.”

  “She will adjust,” he says stubbornly, like it’s a decree.

  “No, Federov, she’s not going to adjust. She’s not going anywhere with you.”

  He stares at me in confusion, as if he can’t quite understand that I’m telling him he won’t get his way.

  If India were standing with us right now, I would tell her that this is a big part of why I married her. No Russian is going to bulldoze my wife. Only I get to do that.