The Ruthless Knight

by Jeana E. Mann

  “Just go home, would you? I can finish up.” My tone is gruffer than necessary. Being a jerk gets easier with each passing day. I hardly remember the sweet, sunny girl I used to be, the one who died on my fifteenth birthday. It’s safer this way. If I’m prickly, no one will dare to breach the fortress I’ve built around myself. I place two shots of peppermint schnapps on the counter and lift an eyebrow at Edna. “Are you done blowing me shit? Or do you need something else?”

  A frown tugs down the corners of her wide mouth. “I’m worried about you.”

  “Don’t be.” Her confession brings a lump to my throat. Aside from her, no one cares about me. Not one, single, solitary person in this world gives two shits about my welfare. I shove the self-pity into the deepest, darkest pit of my soul to fester alongside the rest of my useless emotions. I brace both arms against the counter. “Let me save you some time. I’m not worth the trouble.”

  “Hey.” Her small hand covers mine for a brief moment before I shrink from the contact. No one has dared to touch me in a very long time. I curl my fingers into fists at my side. The softness in her expression is enough to bring the sting of tears to my eyes. I want to break down and confess the darkness lurking in my soul, to lighten the load I’ve been carrying for sixteen years, but I can’t. If it were just me, I’d unburden my conscience in a second. Others, however, depend upon my silence. So, I keep the shield intact around my secrets and glower at the man in the corner. She’s not fooled by my expression. “Whatever happened to you—whatever you’re hiding—just know that you can always talk to me.”

  “Thanks.” I duck my head, pretending to check the cooler beneath the bar, but it’s really to fight back the burn of emotion in my throat. How many times have I longed to confide in someone? To lighten the burden on my back? I want to, but I can’t. No one will ever know the unholy secrets that I carry. “After you deliver those drinks, you can head home.”

  “Are you sure?” She glances around the bar. Everyone has left but the enigmatic guy in the corner booth and her customers. Her reluctance wars with her desire to get home to three kids and a doting husband. “I don’t like you being here alone so late at night.”

  “I can take care of myself.” To cement my sincerity, I grab the rope suspended from the brass bell next to the cash register and ring it. “Last call. Drink up. Time to go home.”

  “All right.” Edna shrugs and bustles to deliver her drinks.

  Edna’s college kids gulp down their beers then leave. She clocks out, leaving me alone with the guy in the booth. I watch him from the corner of my eye as I move through the closing routine. Normally, I would let Edna stay while I shut down, but I don’t want her around on the odd chance that this guy is here for me.

  In the corner, the handsome man sips from his glass, his stare vigilant. After a few minutes, he stands and stalks toward me. I ignore him, watching his progress from beneath my lashes. To my relief, he brushes past. On the way, he drops a hundred-dollar bill into my tip jar. A few feet from the door, he stops and comes back. My heart skips a beat.

  “What’s your name?” His voice is deep and rich, his accent more international than American and vaguely familiar.

  “Who’s asking?” I stare up into a face sculpted by the gods. Lord have mercy, he’s got a dimpled chin and square jaw and the most beautiful gray eyes I’ve ever seen. Mr. Big Dick had gray eyes, too. The random memory is troubling.

  His gaze crawls over my breasts, lingering on my bare belly before climbing back to my face. “Does it matter?”

  “No. Not at all.” My hands shake as I drop dirty glasses into the sanitizing solution. Why did I let Edna leave? “Thanks for the tip. It was very generous. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to close up.”

  He ignores my statement, claiming the nearest bar stool. The gracefulness in his movements reminds me of a panther circling prey. The hairs at the nape of my neck lift. “Aren’t you afraid to be here alone so late at night? This side of the Cleveland isn’t known for its safety.”

  “I can handle myself.”

  “May I keep you company?” His clasped hands rest on the polished surface of the bar. His fingernails are manicured. A bold ruby and platinum ring circles the third finger of his right hand, and matching cufflinks peek from beneath his coat sleeves. “This is my last night in town, and I really don’t want to sit in my hotel room alone. Do you mind?” A sincere smile curves his lips. “Please?”

  Every cell of my brain warns against this man. He’s too polished, too perfect. Meanwhile, my body thrills at the subtle scent of his cologne, the masculine angles of his jaw, and the strength in those long, elegant fingers. Edna was right. It has been too long since I’ve been with a man. So, I ignore the warning bells in my head and smile back at him. “Okay. Sure. Would you like another drink?”

  “Only if you’ll have one with me.” Sin and the promise of seduction drip from his words. A pulse of attraction flutters between my legs.

  I pour two shots of Macallan and nudge one toward him. He takes the glass between index finger and thumb. We clink the shots together in an impromptu toast. The expensive whiskey warms my insides as it slides down my throat. “You’re paying for these.”

  “Of course.” Our gazes hold for the length of a heartbeat. It’s been a long time since any man caught my attention. This guy—there’s so much more to him than good looks. He’s got manners, charisma, and primal heat lurking beneath his custom suit.

  “So, where are you from?” To regain my composure, I concentrate on wiping down the bar.

  “Many places, but mostly New York. You?”

  “I was born in Indiana, but I’ve lived all over.” Talking about myself always makes me uncomfortable. Thinking about my childhood reminds me of the misery it contained. I rapidly deflect the question. “Are you in town for business or pleasure?”

  “Business. But I’ve never been against a little pleasure.” Sin and mischief curl the corners of his lips into a smirk. “How do you feel about it?”

  “About what?” My gaze locks on his mouth, the sweep of his tongue over his bottom lip, the neatly trimmed beard and moustache covering the sharp angles of his jaw and chin. Heat races up my neck when I realize I’m staring. I drop my attention to the bar, pretending to scrub a nonexistent spot from the polished wood.

  “About mixing business with pleasure.” The way his tongue rolls over the word pleasure, drawing it out, makes my nipples tingle. I bet he can do wicked, nasty things with that tongue. Make a girl scream in toe-curling, sheet-clenching ecstasy.

  “In my experience, pleasure is a foreign concept to the majority of men. At least where women are concerned.” For a brief moment, a flash of my former self takes over. My flirtatious tone matches his. I lean forward, bracing on an elbow, giving him an eyeful of my cleavage. His pupils dilate when I trail a finger along the curve of my collarbone.

  “Then you’ll be thrilled to know that I’m an exception to that rule. You see, pleasure is my business.”

  “So, you’re a pimp?” I bite my lower lip to hide a smile when his eyebrows shoot up.

  “Not at all. I make fantasies come true for the richest of the rich. Whatever their hearts desire.” His voice drops lower, a dangerous caress of promises and temptation. “I can make your fantasies come true.”

  I bet you can. The answer circulates through my consciousness. For a brief moment, I’m caught up in the possibilities for the future. This man, naked and writhing in my bed. Me on my knees, bent over this counter. Both of us panting and sweating on the pool table across from the bar. Then I remember who I am. “Another time. Another life. But not tonight, hotshot.”

  “Pity.” His stare weighs on my backside as I walk to the end of the bar. “I’ll get out of your hair. How about one more for the road?” He lifts his shot glass into the air.

  “Sure.” I avoid his gaze as I refill his glass and mine.

  “To pleasure.” We clink glasses once more. The liquor traces down my throat. Within
seconds, a pleasant numbness spreads through my chest and into my fingertips. He withdraws a crisp twenty from his wallet and drops it on the counter in front of me. “Enjoy your evening.”

  Streetlamps cast golden pools of light on the sidewalks. In the distance, the skyscrapers of the city illuminate the night sky. Aside from the occasional barking dog or police siren, my neighborhood is dark and quiet. I tug the lapels of my jacket tighter around my waist to fight away the November chill, resisting the urge to glance over my shoulder—again. Soft footsteps thud on the pavement behind me. He’s back there. I feel his gaze on me. Those bedroom eyes are crawling over my backside, the same way they did at the bar. He’s been following me for the last block. Maybe longer. Always at a distance, but close enough to keep me in sight.

  Don’t panic. I repeat the words beneath my breath. The entrance of my apartment building looms in sight. My strides lengthen, but my legs feel heavy. I take the concrete steps two at a time to the security door. I try to slide the key into the lock, but my hands are shaking too much. They slip through my grasp and land with a clatter at my feet. “Damn it.”

  “Allow me.” His voice is nearer than I anticipated. Almost at my ear. The hairs on the back of my neck lift. How did he get so close so quickly? He bends down, retrieves the keys, and straightens to meet my gaze.

  “It’s fine. I’ve got it.” I reach out a hand.

  He ignores the gesture. The ends of his scarf flutter in the breeze. He’s taller than I am, has the broad shoulders and slim hips of a man who takes pride in his body. A pulse of attraction hits me between the legs. Despite his beauty, his politeness, his aura of composure, there’s something sharp and brutal in the depths of his eyes. In another life, I would’ve taken him up to my apartment for a nightcap. But not tonight. Not when all my senses scream for me to run.

  “I insist.” He uses my keys to open the building door and gestures me inside. He crosses the threshold behind me. I try to calm my racing heart.

  “Are you following me?” I wait for him to return my keys.

  Instead of answering, he heads toward the elevator with my keys in his hand. The doors open immediately. I hesitate. Am I being silly? Paranoid? I took painstaking measures to protect myself from Cash’s henchmen. There’s no way Cash sent this man. He presses the button for the fourth floor—my floor—and the doors swoosh shut, trapping me inside with him.

  “It’s late to be walking around this side of the city alone. I wanted to make sure you made it home okay.” He rolls his lips together, like he’s choosing his words. “I thought you might change your mind about the pleasure.”

  “No. I didn’t change my mind.” The scents of leather, spice, and musk hover above the usual building smells of floor polish and disinfectant. We stand shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at the beige metal doors. Men like him don’t visit this building. Goosebumps crawl along my forearms. My intuition is seldom wrong. This guy is dangerous.

  “You have my keys.” For the second time, I extend a hand. A cold sweat breaks out on my upper lip. When was the last time I ate? Breakfast? I lean against the wall, fighting the urge to close my eyes and sleep because the heaviness in my limbs is overpowering.

  The elevator chimes as we pass the second floor. He drops the keys into my open palm. “You didn’t think I was going to keep them, did you?” His tone is light, teasing, almost playful.

  “No. Of course not.” I clench my fingers around the plastic key ring, noticing how the playfulness doesn’t reach his eyes. I’ve seen eyes like his before—angry, arrogant, predatory. Once he disembarks, I’ll make an excuse, ride the elevator back to the lobby and take the stairs to my floor. Except I’m so drained of energy that I can barely keep my chin from hitting my chest.

  “Are you feeling okay?” His stare bores into me.

  “Just a little dizzy. It’s nothing.” But it is something. The sweating, the dizziness, the trembling in my limbs.

  The doors open. “After you.” He sweeps a hand toward the hallway, blocking the control panel and emergency call button. My panic escalates. I resist the urge to rub my sweaty palms on my jeans. Mostly because I’m too tired. Each step is like slogging through wet cement. His fingers wrap around my elbow, saving me from a collision with the wall. “Easy. Let me help you into your apartment.”

  “I’m fine. Seriously. Thank you.” I smile, forcing my expression to remain relaxed and open. “My roommate is home. I don’t want to wake him.”

  “We both know that’s not true.” A hint of amusement curls the corners of his mouth. “You don’t have a roommate.” The briefest flash of mischief ignites then gutters from his expression. When I don’t move, the doors start to close. He shoves a hand between them. They bounce open again. His voice lowers. “Go ahead.”

  “You’re not a businessman. Who are you, really?” My voice cracks on the words.

  “Why don’t we go to your apartment? We can discuss it there.”

  “I don’t think so.” I scan the hallway for options. Two of the four apartments on this floor are vacant, and my neighbor is out of town. If I scream, will anyone hear me above the squabbling married couple on the next floor? My gaze lands on the fire alarm directly across from the elevator. An option I’m not above using.

  “Don’t be stupid, Calliope Jones.”

  My heart pings against my ribs as my real name falls from his lips, a name I haven’t used in months. At the end of the hall, the emergency door opens, and the biggest man I’ve ever seen steps from the shadows.

  “Who sent you?” All I can hear is the rush of blood through my ears. This can’t be happening. “Was it Cash?”

  “Like I said, we can discuss this in your apartment.” My companion jerks his chin toward my door.

  “I don’t know anything.” I back up until my rear end hits the wall.

  Confusion flickers across his face. He shakes his head, moving closer until I feel the heat from his body. His breath puffs against the shell of my ear. “We can sort that out—in your apartment. Let’s go.”

  My knees quake as we walk toward my apartment. His hand grips my hip, guiding me to the door. I don’t know what disturbs me more—my predicament or the perverse attraction pulsing between my legs.

  Inside my apartment, he takes a seat on the sofa and smooths a hand down the length of his silver paisley tie. An expensive tie with a gleaming diamond-studded tie bar. His opposite arm stretches along the back of the couch. The smart lines of his pristine navy suit contrast with my shabby living room. I stand in front of him, weaving with exhaustion. His gaze crawls over the modest décor, the pile of books on the floor, the laundry basket of unfolded clothes in the hall. When his attention reaches my face, I feel a rush of heat race up my neck. “Judge much?” I ask.

  Something like a smirk curls the corners of his mouth. It’s the first sign of humanity that he’s shown. The tip of his tongue drags over his lower lip in a slow, sensual sweep. “Do you have anything to drink, Ms. Jones?”

  “What do you mean?” My befuddled brain is unable to process his presence or his request.

  “I’d like a drink. Wouldn’t you, Viktor?” The big guy hovers in front of the door. Annoyed by my confusion, the businessman’s left eyebrow shoots toward the ceiling. “Alcohol? Liquor?” On the back of the sofa, his fingers drum an impatient tattoo.

  “No. I don’t drink at home.”

  “Not at all?”

  “No.”

  “Never?” His tone rises incredulously. “Not ever?”

  “No. Not at all. Not ever.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Look for yourself.” I sweep a hand toward the kitchen.

  “Curious.” A sigh of disappointment gusts through his pursed lips. “Well then, let’s just get to it, shall we?” He nods to the chair across from him. “Have a seat.”

  I slide into the dilapidated recliner, grateful to get off my wobbling knees, too afraid to challenge his authority. He shifts forward, resting his forearms on his kn
ees and clasping his hands between them. The adjustment puts us at eye level. I want to look away, but I can’t. I’m mesmerized by the facets of emotion, turbulence, and fire in his gray irises. Fear bubbles in my chest. This must be the way a rabbit feels when staring into the eyes of a lion. Trapped. Resigned. Terrified.

  “I’m in a bit of a predicament, Calliope.” His words are fluid, the elegant speech of a wealthy man. “And I hope you can help me out.”

  “Okay. Sure. If I can.” I rub my sweaty palms over my thighs then curl my fingers into fists. Maybe he’ll leave if I’m compliant.

  “You see, Calliope, a few months ago, someone robbed me at the Masquerade de Marquis.” My breath catches. He’s Mr. Big Dick. The sexy guy from the ball. He notes my reaction before continuing. “I mentioned this robbery to a friend of mine. Maybe you know her. Maybe you don’t. Doesn’t matter. Anyway, she was very interested when I told her what happened. It seems that this girl who robbed me did something to piss off my friend.” His index fingers steeple and point to me. “That’s where you come in.”

  A thousand regrets roll through my head because this is how I’m going to die. I should have been nicer to people. I should have tried bungee jumping. I should have told Jagger how much I love her. We’d parted in a rush. I sent her on her way with the key to my safe deposit box and directions to make a new life for herself. Now, she’ll never know how much I regret abandoning her, because this beautiful man is probably going to tie a cement block around my ankles and drop me into the Cuyahoga River. Sparks of determination catch fire in my belly. Jagger would never let a man get the better of her. Nor will I. My spine straightens. “Who are you?”

  “Sir Nikolay Reznik Tarnovsky, at your service. But, please call me Nicky.” He’s still wearing the same smirk, like a cat with a belly full of cream. At least one of us is having a good time.

  I shiver and back away to hide the tight points of my nipples pressing against my shirt. Because even though he’s here to harm me, I’m attracted to his aura of danger.