Reckless: A Dark Romance (The Masters Book 1)

by Sansa Rayne

She smacks my shoulder, laughing.

  “Ingram, you might be the first time my heart and my pussy were on the same page.”

  “That’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received,” I say.

  “I meant it.”

  “I know.”

  She climbs onto my lap and lies against my chest.

  “If my friends and colleagues saw me, they’d accuse me of having Stockholm Syndrome, for sure. Or maybe some kind of PTSD. I wouldn’t blame them. They might say I needed something positive to get me through my captivity. Maybe there is something messed up inside me, but I am who I am. The part of me that cares for you isn’t one I want to change.”

  “No? It wouldn’t be all wrong. I gave you plenty of good reasons to hate me.”

  “You did. And maybe I hated you before,” she says, “but I barely knew you. I didn’t know that there’s a good man in you, one who believes in justice and honor — even if you don’t always live up to it.”

  I nod. It’s harsh, but fair.

  “I’d like to help you though. I want you to be the good man inside.”

  “Okay,” I say. “If I help you be disciplined. Someone who orchestrates results, rather than chasing them.”

  She extends a hand.

  “Deal.”

  I shake hers, then pull her into a kiss.

  Her body warms on mine as our lips touch. I shut my eyes and wrap my arms around her. Her touch makes the rest of the world disappear. We could be alone on this island. She’s all that matters. There’s a bottomless hunger in her kiss, an aching need as powerful as mine. It’s almost as if the things I wanted to say to her in the last five days pass through my lips without the words themselves.

  “There’s something else,” I say, turning away with regret. But this is important. “Kate, I promise you: I don’t know how I’m going to do it, or how long it will take, but I will destroy the Masters who voted to have you executed. No matter what happens between us from this day forward. You saved me and that’s how they repay you? Fuck them. They’re not getting away with that.”

  Kate kisses my cheek.

  “I won’t talk you out of it,” she says. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’ve always wanted a man who would destroy my enemies.”

  Laughing, I kiss her again, sliding onto my back so she can lie on top of me. Feeling her pressing against my chest feels impossibly satisfying. I stroke her clean, silky hair and before long she passes out. I have nowhere I need to be, so I stay put, enjoying her closeness.

  After maybe a half-hour, someone knocks on the door.

  Kate starts, nearly falling off me, but I keep her steady.

  “It’s okay,” I say, moving our feet to the floor.

  “Sorry,” she mumbles, breathing deeply.

  I kiss her forehead and rub her back.

  “Don’t be, you’re fine.”

  The knock comes again, so I get up and check the monitor.

  It’s Jamison. I’m not expecting it, but the sight of him elicits a surge of magma in my chest. He said he would stand up for Kate. He barely did anything. If he had fought more vociferously, Traves would have had to stand down. I trusted him. He’s really not the person I’d like to see right now.

  “Jamison,” I say, opening up. “What’s going on?”

  “Can I come in?” he asks.

  “We’re kind of having a day off. Can I call you tomorrow?”

  “This is important.”

  Fuck.

  “Okay,” I say, letting him in.

  Kate’s putting away the dishes from breakfast when we walk in, I don’t know if she’s doing it to seem busy or obedient, but it’s a smart move. I wouldn’t blame her if her instinct was to stare daggers at Jamison.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” she asks.

  “Yes, please. Whiskey. Whatever you have is fine,” he replies, smiling. “How are you feeling today, Ms. Atwood?”

  “Better, thank you.”

  “I have to say, your resilience was truly inspiring. I wish I could have made it easier, somehow.”

  “I’m sure you did everything you could,” she says, her tone not betraying any irony or accusation, though I’m sure it’s there.

  Jamison doesn’t fluster at the comment.

  We take our seats while Kate finds the liquor cabinet and a pair of tumblers.

  “Okay, Jamison. What’s going on?” I ask.

  “Can’t you guess?”

  Damn.

  I can.

  Nodding, I say, “Victor’s seat.”

  “Yes. I’d like for it to be filled. We have a viable candidate in Mr. Ford.”

  I suppose he has a point. If there had been another Master during Kate’s trial, maybe he would have voted for lenience. That’s why it’s vital to have an odd number of seats. Except, it’s Anton we’re talking about.

  “There aren’t any other voting matters to be decided,” I argue. “What’s the rush?”

  Jamison and I accept our drinks from Kate. We both sip, eyeing each other through the amber fluid.

  “An open seat is an open casket. Until Victor’s seat is filled, his death will linger over us. Let’s put it to bed for good.”

  Sighing, I finish my drink. He’s not wrong about that.

  “Here’s the problem,” I say. “I don’t trust Ford.”

  Jamison’s hand shakes a moment, sloshing his drink inside the glass.

  “I’ve vetted him, Ingram,” he says. “Ford’s operations are solid, top to bottom. He’s going to take over Sovereign Aeronautics and salvage the operation. He’s loyal to our organization. What’s the problem?”

  “He said he would get Victor to calm down, and he did the exact opposite, that’s the problem. What the hell did he say to Victor?”

  Jamison shakes his head.

  “I’m sure he tried his best. Victor was out of his mind. No one was going to talk him down.”

  “Perhaps,” I admit.

  “Trust me, Ingram,” Jamison says. “Anton’s on our side. I’d like to hold the vote tomorrow.”

  Kate glances at me, her expression souring.

  “Would I be the only holdout?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  Fuck.

  It won’t look good if I dissent now.

  “Fine.”

  “Excellent,” Jamison says, getting up. He smiles, clearly relieved. “Then I’ll leave the two of you to your day off. Ms. Atwood, I’m glad to see you doing well.”

  “It’s been a pleasure,” she replies.

  I show him out. As soon as he’s gone, I turn to Kate.

  “You didn’t really buy that, did you?” she asks.

  “No. But I have to go along with it, unless…”

  “We find something else on him.”

  “Something big,” I say. “Think we can do that in… eighteen hours?”

  She grabs the whiskey bottle, pours herself a shot and downs it.

  “I don’t know,” she says, patting her chest. “But we can try.”

  “Eyal’s taking a helicopter from Miami,” says Ingram. “He should be here in a couple hours.”

  I nod, filing away the information. Right now, I’m not interested. I’d almost forgotten what it’s like having access to Ingram’s files: criminal and financial records, intelligence reports and clandestine surveillance. Everything the NSA, FBI, SEC, IMF and Interpol have on any given person is at my disposal — and a lot more. Ingram’s operatives have acquired numerous world government databases, either by theft, subterfuge or black market deals. I can’t help being reminded that in my old life, the one I had only a few weeks ago, I would have nailed Ingram Dent to the wall for this.

  Finding information on Anton Ford isn’t difficult — the problem is there’s too much of it: Thousands of pages of financial records for his personal holdings, for his Innovative AF business accounts and the spider’s web of shell companies and affiliates.

  In all the years I’ve spent investigating people like Ford, I’ve never had so
much material to analyze — nor have I ever had such a tight deadline. It could take months to sort through all this for just me and Ingram. Even if he got Eyal and his associates to help, it would still take days we don’t have.

  I start with his personal file. Tax returns reveal his net worth, his real estate holdings — nothing surprising there. He’s rich and owns a lot of stuff. He has no criminal record — just a couple speeding tickets. His college transcripts show he narrowly missed being valedictorian at Harvard — a dual-major of finance and computer science, which couldn’t have been easy.

  Surely he must have been at the top of his class in high school, except…

  “Huh.”

  Ingram looks up.

  “Find something?” he asks.

  “Yes. No. I’ve found a nothing.”

  “What?”

  “Where there should be something, there’s nothing,” I explain. “He has no personal records from before college. No residence, no school records. Anton Ford was not a person before the age of eighteen.”

  “No shit,” he says, taking the tablet from me and scrolling through the file. “So, he changed his name.”

  “Yes, but wouldn’t you have a court filing about that?”

  “Probably.”

  I run a search, but after a few minutes nothing comes up.

  “So he covered up his past,” I say. “The question is why?”

  “It could be nothing. Maybe he got into some shit when he was a teenager and didn’t want it coming out.”

  “Or he had famous parents and wanted to make his own name,” I suggest.

  What would my career look like if I’d picked a different name than Atwood? I’d like to think I’d still have excelled, but I can’t pretend my father’s legacy didn’t open doors.

  “But what if he had something truly horrible to hide?” Ingram asks.

  I grin, my head swimming with theories.

  “What’s really surprising to me is that there’s nothing here. Surely someone doing a profile on him would have wanted to delve into his early years. Why not falsify the records to something mundane? Leaving it missing invites questions.”

  “Yes,” says Ingram, “but if he had it list a fake school, we could easily look it up. And if he used a real school, but no one there remembered him, that would also be suspicious.”

  “So he took the least curious option,” I reason. “I mean, it could be something benign. We could keep digging, maybe we’d figure out what it is. Or, move on to something else.”

  I grin. Regardless of what happens with the vote tomorrow, I’m getting to the bottom of this.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Ingram says, starting a kettle for coffee.

  “What?”

  “Doing your job again. Being in your element.”

  “Yeah, it fucking does,” I say. “Mostly.”

  “You want to break the story to the world, not us.”

  “Yes, exactly. At least, if there’s anything to break. You know, other than the fact that the world’s hottest, youngest tech billionaire playboy philanthropist is joining a secret cabal that would make the Illuminati look quaint. I’m never going to stop wanting to expose all of this to the world. People deserve to know.”

  Ingram sighs, drumming his fingers on the kitchen table.

  “Does that include me?” he asks.

  Tipping my head back, I stare up at the ceiling. Why does he have to ask that?

  “I mean, what do you want me to say? Even if I didn’t mention you by name, it wouldn’t matter. Exposing everyone would lead them to you too.”

  He glances at the kettle, then leans back against the counter.

  “So what would I do? Do you want me in jail, Kate?”

  “You could disappear. Change your identity. I’d give you some warning,” I say. “You have the resources. Would it be that bad? And if I was with you…”

  He offers a reluctant smile.

  “That wouldn’t be the worst fate imaginable, but I’ve got a counteroffer.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Hear me out,” Ingram says, turning off the stove as the kettle whistles. “Remember when we talked about you becoming one of us?”

  Not this again.

  “They’ll never go for it,” I say, accepting a mug. The coffee steams, filling my senses with its rich scent.

  “Not today, no. You’d have to be groomed a little before making it official. We’d build your stature and power easily enough. You’re already a famous journalist — respected, trusted and admired. It wouldn’t be hard to turn you into a member of Congress.”

  I scoff into my coffee.

  “What, you’ve never thought of running for office?”

  He really has no idea. How would he? When you can just ask your powerful buddies to make things happen, anything’s possible.

  “You know what they’d say about me,” I mutter.

  “Dedicated public servant? Intelligent, top-class orator? Trusted by the people?”

  That’s sweet, but naive.

  “No,” I say. “They’ll say I’m completely inexperienced and unqualified. A spoiled rich girl who inherited her job from her dad. A former party girl who makes dumb decisions. An elitist snob who’s never worked a real job, or worried about paying the bills. And all of it’s true.”

  Ingram comes over and takes me in his arms.

  “You’re whatever you want to be, Kate. And they’ll say what we want them to say.”

  I laugh, brushing away a hot tear.

  “You think that’s what I want? To gain power through lies?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, his voice low.

  “Yes, you did!”

  “Okay, fine!” Ingram shouts. “But it would be for you!”

  “No, it would be for you! My name would be on the ticket but only so you could use me. Why the fuck would I do that?”

  “To survive! You have enemies here. If you want to live, you need power. You need to make yourself more valuable alive than dead.”

  He’s not wrong necessarily, but I couldn’t live with myself. I could never be a tool for these men. Some things are too unconscionable, even if the alternative is death.

  “Even if I was okay with the idea, and I’m not, but if I was, that still means having 10 of your friends looking past the fact I killed Victor. They wanted me dead. You think they’ll suddenly accept me as one of their own? You think they’ll welcome a woman into their ranks? I’ve seen how the men on this island treat their women.”

  Ingram takes my hand; I nearly pull it away. His eyes widen, like he sensed the hesitation.

  “You didn’t go through five days of hell not to be accepted by the Masters. You’ve paid your dues. More importantly, you’ve proven yourself tough and capable. We care about power more than anything else. If you can help us get more, that’s enough. And it’ll guarantee that no one ever tries to hurt you.”

  Now I draw back my hand.

  “I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me, but I will never be a part of this.”

  “Kate-”

  “You’re parasites,” I spit, holding up the file folder from Anton’s shell corporations. “You have all the power in the world and you still want more. Why? What else can you achieve that you haven’t? What can’t you do that you’d like to?”

  “When you’re at the top of the mountain, someone always tries to knock you off it,” Ingram says. “It’s not about wanting more. It’s about keeping what you’ve got so no one else takes it.”

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me, how I keep forgetting that Ingram is not just going to change who he is because I’ve given him some new purpose. He’s used to wielding incredible power and seeking to acquire more of it. Even when he means to do well, he sees the answer through a lens shaped by his experience. He is used to solving his problems a certain way, and that’s what he’ll keep doing, even though his problems have changed.

  “That’s no way to live,” I mutter,
stepping back and taking a seat. “And it doesn’t justify causing so much pain for so many people.”

  Ingram promised to take down the men who wanted me dead, and I believe him. But what about the rest? They’re no angels. Just because they sided with me once doesn’t mean they don’t all belong in jail. How could I join them? I’d never forgive myself.

  More importantly, can I be with someone like that? Can I love someone who’s lived his life without regard for others?

  He doesn’t answer me. He stares out the kitchen window, at the blue, foaming waves lapping against the shore.

  “What would it say about me, if I were to join you?” I ask.

  “At the moment, it would say love means accepting one another for who they are,” he replies. “And it means being thankful for everything I’ve done for you.”

  “You saved me. I saved you. If you’re looking to keep score, then we’re even.”

  “True. But you still need me, and I need you. Don’t tell me you don’t; I’ve felt it.”

  I bite my lip, unable to meet his stare. Feelings for Ingram swell within, warming me. We’ve had good times together. It’s true. And if what we have was purely physical, I could ignore my body’s signals. As much as I try, I can’t.

  “Maybe. Unless I just needed something to give me hope, even if it was misplaced. That’s kinda typical for me, in case you didn’t realize. I was a mess long before you met me and that hasn’t changed.”

  My chest tightens up. The truth I’m seeing can’t be denied, not anymore. And what if I’m wrong? There’s only one way to find out. If I was drawn to Ingram because of the goodness in him, I have to see it. And if I only fell for him because he was a raft in a dark and violent sea, then I’ll know for once I saw myself with some semblance of self-awareness.

  “You won’t be less of a mess as a prisoner. You’re still going to need me,” he says. “Just like I need you.”

  “Maybe I will,” I say. “And that’s a problem, Ingram. One that money and power can’t solve. How could I make a life, a real life, with someone who pays thugs to carry out assassinations, who intimidates people into obeying? You’re a friend to murderers and rapists; you’ve protected them and killed for them. And I know there’s more to you than that, but I can’t escape the fact of who and what you are.”