Make You Mine

by Jackie Ashenden

  A small hand in his, big blue eyes looking up at him as he’d taken her to school on her first day. He’d begged his parents to let him take her because she’d been scared and he’d wanted to show her there was nothing to be afraid of. He was her big brother. He’d protect her …

  The alcohol sitting in his gut burned like acid.

  “Okay,” he said thickly. “I hear you. Look, what I know about South is that he’s a prick. And he’s ruthless. Loves power games. If he’s swimming in cash and it’s looking sketchy as fuck then your instincts are probably right.” He put the empty glass back down on the table. “I’m going to get Katya to look around while I play.” He paused. “I’m also in the process of getting South to participate in the game too.”

  “He doesn’t play?”

  “No, and he’s famous for it. There are only ever seven players and he’s never one of them.”

  There was a silence down the end of the line. Then Gabriel said, “Seven?”

  “Yeah. Funny how that number keeps turning up, isn’t it? Makes me wonder about Tremain and why he had a pair of Apocalypse dice when he wasn’t a poker player.” Another thought struck Alex. “The invites are always anonymous too. No one knows who sends them out; the dice just apparently turn up. It’s assumed the invites come from South, but maybe they don’t.”

  “Your father had six friends,” Gabriel murmured. “That’s too much of a coincidence.”

  “What? So the invites come from each of them? Could be, I guess, but why? What’s the intention of the game? Especially when there isn’t a prize pool. Is it entirely for fun or for other reasons?”

  “Good point. You sent the names of the players to Zac? We need to figure out who these people are and why they were invited, see if there’s any pattern.”

  “Yeah, I sent them on to him.” Jesus, he really needed another vodka.

  “What about the rest of your dad’s friends? Not including South, Tremain, and your father, there were four others. Patrick Mantel, Will Elliot, Benjamin Jordan, and Evelyn Fitzgerald.”

  Alex knew the names. Knew the faces. All rich, privileged middle-aged men, just like his father. All of them powerful and arrogant as hell. He’d seen a couple of them at the Lucky Seven, but all they’d done was play a few idle games of poker, then retreat to his father’s offices behind the bar. They’d always seemed much more comfortable sitting around in his family’s lounge talking about their golfing games and their business successes.

  “Elliot and Jordan are dead.” Alex shifted on the couch, gesturing to the bartender to fill up his tumbler again. “They died some years ago if I remember. The others … They’re just old men with God complexes and too much time on their hands if you ask me.”

  “So you never knew any of them?”

  “No.” And that wasn’t a lie. He hadn’t actually known them. “They were just Dad’s friends as far as I was concerned.”

  “Right, well, Zac’s already digging into their pasts. And we have the player names too. That’s a start.”

  The bartender came over, poured Alex another tumbler of Grey Goose. He picked it up, stared at it. The words were there in his mouth and he wanted to say them. How’s Honor? Is she okay? Tell her I’m sorry.… But he didn’t say anything. Instead he raised his glass and took a sip.

  At that moment, his phone chimed, indicating he had a text. He glanced at the screen, reading the notification. It was from Conrad and all it said was: Your bet is on.

  How the guy had gotten his number Alex didn’t know, but a bolt of triumph went through him. Fucking finally. A chance to get even. A chance for revenge.

  He smiled, turning his attention back to the conversation with Gabriel. “If you’ve got anything else to ask do it now, because I’ve got shit to do.”

  After Gabriel had ended the call, Alex found he couldn’t sit still, restlessness pumping through him. He wanted to get up and beat that fucker right now, but of course that was going to have to wait until the first game tomorrow night.

  Perhaps he could work out instead. Let off some steam punching a bag or practicing a few forms.

  Getting up from the couch and taking his vodka with him, he stalked through the bar, heading for the private gym in the basement of the building. The door was closed and locked when he got there, but he could hear the sound of feet moving on the sprung wooden floor.

  He’d only given one other person the code to get in. Katya.

  Heat swept through him, thick and hot. He’d kept away from her the past couple of days, hadn’t even let himself think about what had happened between them at Conrad’s reception. Mainly because it wasn’t the feel of her against him or even the sight of her coming under his hand that was seared into his head.

  No, the thing that kept replaying over and over in his brain was the unthinking fear in her face as she’d stilled his hand. Then her obedience as he’d ordered her to let go. As he’d told her to close her eyes.

  Her trust as he’d told her he’d keep her safe.

  That, especially, he did not want to think about. Because there was no way he deserved her trust.

  She may not have been an innocent, but she was a virgin nonetheless and he’d touched her up in a room full of people. Made her obey his commands, made her come in public just to satisfy his own selfish needs. It didn’t matter that they had been sheltered by the screens shielding them. It didn’t matter that she’d wanted it. It didn’t matter that she’d argued him into it.

  He should never have done it in the first place. He should never have crossed the line.

  Sex was supposed to be physical only and he’d made damn sure over the years to dissociate it from emotions like shame. Like guilt. Any emotions at all in fact. There were too many bad memories tied up in it.

  Yet somehow, those heated minutes in the chair with Katya had hit him in a place he wasn’t expecting. A vulnerable place, bringing back feelings he hadn’t experienced for years. And that wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to feel.

  It was sure as shit why it wouldn’t happen again.

  Alex punched in his code and pushed open the door, stepping into the gym, then kicking the door shut behind him.

  Ahead of him was a large, open, brightly lit space. There were mirrors along one wall and various different sets of fitness equipment. A treadmill. A stationary bike. Weight benches and cross-trainers. A punching bag.

  Yet none of them were in use at the moment.

  Katya was in the middle of the room, rising up from a low, sweeping kick. She wore a tight black tank top and black yoga pants, her bare arms and neck gleaming with sweat. Her hair was tied in a tight braid, the small blond wisps that had escaped sticking damply to her neck.

  She didn’t look at him as he entered, continuing on with her martial arts workout. He couldn’t tell what it was, perhaps a mixture of styles, but it was fast, brutal, and absolutely beautiful to watch.

  Or maybe that was just her. She was so graceful and yet at the same time incredibly powerful. Strong and sure. She moved fluidly, different stances morphing from one into another without a break. A stunning show of female strength, revealing the warrior beneath all the form-fitting gowns and high heels he’d forced her to wear.

  Shit, he’d known those muscles he’d felt beneath her clothing weren’t there for show. But what he hadn’t realized until now was how extremely attractive it was to watch her move.

  She was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.

  I wanted to be a dancer …

  But her father had told her dancers were weak, or at least that’s what she’d revealed at Conrad’s reception. A strange thing to think when dancers were the very opposite.

  She came to a stop down Alex’s end of the room, her back to him. She was breathing fast and hard, the lights gleaming on her skin. “Good afternoon, sir.” She turned around, passing a hand across her forehead. “I hope you don’t mind me using your gym.”

  “Not at all.”

  “I was carefu
l, I kept the door closed and locked.”

  “So people don’t see my delicate lover delivering killing blows to imaginary opponents?”

  “Yes.” Her gaze was flat, which meant she was hiding something.

  Automatically he wanted to know what it was, but the time for that kind of thing was over. He had to put distance between them, not close it.

  “So is that a special form of martial arts then?” He knew he should let her go, get on with his own workout, but for some reason he just stood there, staring at her.

  “It’s a mixture of different styles, yes. Adapted for the special forces unit I was part of.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he said honestly.

  She blinked a little at that, her expressionless mask wavering. “Thank you. I should let you get on with your own workout.”

  God help him, he didn’t want her to go. “You could join me if you wanted. Show me a few moves.”

  Her forehead creased. “You know martial arts?”

  “Kenpo. I learned from an old guy in a studio in New York years ago. I actually pay him to come and spar with me at least once a week when I’m there.” He’d told himself it was because every man should know how to defend himself from attack. But of course, that wasn’t the real reason. In the years after Conrad, after his father’s death, he’d felt perpetually unsafe and learning how to kill someone with his bare hands had helped.

  She eyed him and this time the look she gave him was very much that of a fighter measuring up an opponent. He found it almost unbearably sexy. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?” The combination of restlessness and vodka was making feel wild and a little reckless, not the best of combinations. “Scared I’ll beat you?”

  “I don’t think so.” The look in her eyes was derisive and he liked that too.

  Weren’t you supposed to be keeping her at a distance?

  Yeah, well, he had. Two days of distance. And this was only working out, nothing more, right? Besides, he just … couldn’t let her go quite yet. He wanted to see her move again.

  He stepped back, rolling up the sleeves of the business shirt he wore. “Come on. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  A familiar spark glowed briefly in her eyes. “With all due respect, I wouldn’t let you. And in fact it’s you who should be worried about getting hurt.”

  “Uh-huh.” He bent to deal with his shoes, taking them off along with his socks. The wooden floor was cool beneath his feet. “I’m sure you’ll pull back at the crucial moment.”

  She was frowning deeply. “Sir…”

  He moved past her out into the middle of the room. “Indulge me, sweetheart. Conrad has accepted the stakes. He’s going to play tomorrow night. Which means I need to let off a little steam.”

  The frown vanished, her eyes widening. “He did? But … your clubs—”

  “I’m going to beat him; don’t worry about that.” Alex grinned at her. “I’m going to take him down and make him beg for mercy. Now, why don’t you try the same with me? If you can.”

  The look on her face cleared, her expression becoming determined.

  Ten seconds later he found himself on his back with her forearm over his throat, holding him down with surprising strength. Or maybe not so surprising. He’d felt that same strength in her grip when she’d held his wrist in the chair.

  He panted, looking up into her face. She was flushed, the gold flecks in her eyes glittering. Beautiful.

  You fucking idiot. What the hell are you doing?

  He didn’t know. All he knew was that not thinking about the moment she’d closed her eyes and handed her trust to him hadn’t worked after all.

  That the second she got close, it was all he could think about.

  That he wanted her to do it again.

  “Let’s go again,” he said.

  * * *

  Katya waited until he’d gotten to his feet. Many men got angry when they were taken to the floor by a woman, and yet it wasn’t anger she saw in his eyes but something far more complicated. Desire was there, and with it the thrill of a challenge. The spark of competition she’d seen ignited in him time and time again.

  It made her catch her breath.

  He’d kept himself away from her since South’s reception, citing too much work. The same old excuse he’d given her the time before that too.

  And maybe it was true. Or maybe it was something else. Maybe it was her.

  Some part of her hoped so, but the rest of her knew that to hope was a bad idea.

  Since he’d given her that orgasm, it had been like he’d turned a key inside her. Switching something on. A flame that burned hot and strong, that was hungry for more.

  Dangerous. Very, very dangerous.

  Left to herself the past two days, she hadn’t been able to think about anything else, which was reason enough to worry. Because it wasn’t only the physical pleasure she kept remembering, but the moment in the chair, when she’d been overcome by the feeling of vulnerability, of being helpless and exposed in front of him. The soldier in her had been appalled.

  She’d been scared. She’d been weak. And she could not be either again.

  Since Alex had kept to the club, she’d had nothing to do, so that was why she’d spent most of the time down here in the basement, working herself into physical exhaustion.

  Proving her strength over and over again.

  And as Alex got back to his feet, sliding into a Kenpo stance, with his hands up and ready, she knew that here was another opportunity to prove that strength.

  This time against him.

  Are you mad? You know what happens when you get close to him.

  No, that would not happen. She would be stronger this time.

  Katya composed herself. Then came at him with a punch to the head, no warning. He slipped to the side, grabbed her wrist, and twisted around her, using his body as a pivot point, his other arm flashing out and around her throat, pulling tight. She went still, her chin up, the crook of his elbow holding her hard against the lean strength of his body.

  “Not so confident now, are we?” He sounded smug and not even particularly short of breath.

  Katya didn’t waste time replying. She shot one hand up and back into his face, at the same time as she twisted in his hold, holding on to the arm around her neck, using momentum and her own body weight to turn it, then pull down, sweeping her foot around and taking his feet out from under him, bringing him facedown onto the floor in seconds.

  “Fuck,” Alex muttered as she pulled his arm into the small of his back, her knee against his spine. “You’re good at this.”

  “Of course I’m good at it. My life and those of my clients depend on me being able to protect both myself and them.” She released him and stepped back.

  He rolled onto his side, then got up in a quick, fluid motion. “You really like this bodyguard stuff?”

  “I like to protect people, yes.”

  “Why?”

  She frowned at the question. “Executive protection was the most logical choice of a civilian career for someone with my skill set.”

  “I’m not talking logical, sweetheart. I’m talking about what makes you want to give your life for someone else’s.” He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. “Especially when you started out wanting to be a dancer.”

  The water in the bath was red. The tiles were red. Everything was red. Everything except her mother, who was so white she looked carved out of marble. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling, but when Katya said her name there was no response. She wouldn’t wake up; she just wouldn’t wake up …

  Cold seeped through Katya’s body, the ice of memory freezing her. “I was a child. Being a soldier was a more honorable ambition. And as for giving your life for someone, well, that’s what a soldier does. That’s what I was brought up to believe.”

  “Fun childhood you must have had.” His voice was light, but the look in his eyes wasn’t. Was he goading her? “What abo
ut this promise you made? To your Mikhail.”

  “He is not my Mikhail. And why are you asking me these questions?”

  “Are you going to marry him? Is that what you’re going to do when you get back to Moscow? Settle into married bliss? Go on romantic missions for two? Lovingly kill bad guys together?”

  Oh yes, Alex definitely was goading her. Why, she had no idea, but one thing was sure—he had to stop talking right now.

  She came at him, aiming for his head with her fists, but he countered, weaving and knocking her hands away. He was fast and very powerful, and she could feel the energy in him as he caught one of her punches in his hand, his fingers closing around hers.

  She jerked her hand back to her chest, pulling him in close, then shooting her other hand up to catch on his chin and pushing it up and back.

  He cursed, stumbling away, and she let him go, waiting.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “You’re amazing.”

  An odd warmth settled inside her. Odd because it was almost as if she cared what he thought of her and she didn’t.

  Katya watched him as he moved a little way away, pulling open the buttons of his shirt and taking it off, discarding it onto the gym floor. The bright lights of the gym followed the cut muscles of his chest and abs, the sharp flex and release in time with his quickened breathing.

  He was beautiful. Intellectually she’d always appreciated it, but before he’d touched her she’d been confused about the physical attraction she’d felt for him. Not now, though. There was nothing confusing about the deep pulse of hunger that sat low in her gut as she watched him move back into the middle of the room. Nothing strange about the way she wanted to touch him, run her fingers over his chest and stomach the way he’d done to her. Explore that hard, lean body.

  He moved, exploding toward her in a blur of movement. And because she was too busy staring at him, he took her by surprise. A punch to the head made her dodge, only to run into a kick to her thigh that had her down on the floor on her knees, his hand gripping her arm and twisting it back.

  She didn’t give him time to get comfortable. Bending over suddenly, she put her free arm down on the floor, putting distance between them. Then she jerked her pinned arm out straight and rolled away from him, each movement strong and powerful.