by Katee Robert
Desperate Measures
A Wicked Villains Novel
Katee Robert
Trinkets and Tales LLC
Copyright © 2019 by Katee Robert
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Oh So Novel
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5323-9803-2
Print ISBN: 978-1-5323-9806-3
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To everyone out there who prefers the villains to the heroes
Also by Katee Robert
The Island of Ys
Book 1: His Forbidden Desire
Book 2: Her Rival’s Touch
* * *
The Thalanian Dynasty Series (MMF)
Book 1: Theirs for the Night
Book 2: Forever Theirs
Book 3: Theirs Ever After
Book 4: Their Second Chance
* * *
The Kings Series
Book 1: The Last King
Book 2: The Fearless King
* * *
The Hidden Sins Series
Book 1: The Devil’s Daughter
Book 2: The Hunting Grounds
Book 3: The Surviving Girls
* * *
The Make Me Series
Book 1: Make Me Want
Book 2: Make Me Crave
Book 3: Make Me Yours
Book 4: Make Me Need
* * *
The O’Malley Series
Book 1: The Marriage Contract
Book 2: The Wedding Pact
Book 3: An Indecent Proposal
Book 4: Forbidden Promises
Book 5: Undercover Attraction
Book 6: The Bastard’s Bargain
* * *
The Hot in Hollywood Series
Book 1: Ties that Bind
Book 2: Animal Attraction
* * *
The Foolproof Love Series
Book 1: A Foolproof Love
Book 2: Fool Me Once
Book 3: A Fool for You
* * *
Out of Uniform Series
Book 1: In Bed with Mr. Wrong
Book 1.5: His to Keep
Book 2: Falling for His Best Friend
Book 3: His Lover to Protect
Book 3.5: His to Take
* * *
Serve Series
Book 1: Mistaken by Fate
Book 2: Betting on Fate
Book 3: Protecting Fate
* * *
Come Undone Series
Book 1: Wrong Bed, Right Guy
Book 2: Chasing Mrs. Right
Book 3: Two Wrongs, One Right
Book 3.5: Seducing Mr. Right
* * *
Other Books
Seducing the Bridesmaid
Meeting His Match
Prom Queen
The Siren’s Curse
Contents
CONTENT WARNING
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Acknowledgments
About the Author
CONTENT WARNING
This book contains depictions of consensual non-consent sex.
Chapter 1
Jasmine
Even if I’d been sleeping, the creak of my bedroom door would have startled me into awareness. No one comes into my room at night. Not my father. Certainly none of the men he insists on keeping in our house. Not even the ghost of my poor dead mother dares wander theses halls after hours.
It simply isn’t done.
And yet.
My feet ache from hours’ worth of pacing, my chest aches worse from the heart pain my father delivered earlier. Another betrayal after a lifetime of them shouldn’t be enough to keep sleep from me, but this most recent hurt weighs heavier than most.
He sold me.
Oh, he didn’t call it as such. He called it a merger secured by marriage. A meeting of two wealthy families with ties to the criminal underbelly everyone in this mausoleum of a house pretends doesn’t exist. I touch my face, the most persistent of my pains, the only one anchored in the physical instead of emotional. When I’d asked him what price his daughter brought, he’d struck me.
My mouth always had gotten me into trouble.
I slip into the deep shadows near my vanity as a man steps through the doorway and into my room. I can’t make out his features in the low light, but it doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t be here. Perhaps my father thinks to send my betrothed to ensure I won’t protest the marriage.
He’ll get what he deserves.
I barely dare to breathe and reach for the letter opener I’d left on my vanity. It is sharp and pretty, and it will serve my purpose as well as anything else.
The man moves on soundless feet toward my bed. If I need further evidence of his intention, I have it. He is no innocent, wandering into the wrong room—though nothing like that had ever happened before. He is here for me.
I will not go quietly.
I wait until he is several steps past me before I lunge. He’s too tall for me to reliably reach his neck from behind, so I go with the next best option. His sharp inhale and perfect stillness are his only response to the sharp blade pressing against the groin of his slacks. “Good evening, Jasmine.”
I freeze. I know that cultured voice, have heard it in both dream and nightmares for the last five years. This man isn’t my betrothed, the sword that’s hung over my neck since my father’s proclamation. No, he is far worse.
Jafar, my father’s second-in-command.
I catch myself before I relent. If Jafar hadn’t signed the contract himself, he was at least party to it, the trading of my body and soul as they trade in so many other unmentionable commodities. Why had I thought I was special? A princess locked in a tower is only kept away from the world for one reason: it has nothing to do with her safety and everything to do with her perceived value.
“I will not go quietly.” I don’t know why I say the words aloud, why I make this particular claim when so many others crowd my lips. Don’t make me do this. I don’t choose this. Help me. Save me. I am a daughter and not a son, so my father will never acknowledge me as heir, and neither will his men. Jafar owes no loyalty to me.
A new word bubbles up, the one I’ve only ever used in his presence once before. Our secret little game that we’ve played for five long years, to what end I haven’t let myself consider. “Rajah. Jafar, just … please.”
My only warning is a slight tension in his body and then he moves. He catches my wrist in a punishing grip and spins to face me, forcing my hand up and out, the letter opener falling from nerveless fingers. He captures my chin roughly, tilting my head back, though I can’t read his
expression in the darkness. “You want me to save you.”
I should have known better.
Humiliation rolls over me, a toxic mix when combined with the fear and anger already bubbling up inside my skin, the emotions too big for this fragile shell of mine. I wish I was larger, more deadly, able to fight back in any real way instead of standing here, shaking in his grasp. “Fuck you.”
“Ah, there she is.” I don’t have to see his mouth clearly to hear the smile in his voice. If the devil exists, he sounds like a satisfied Jafar, all slow grins and carefully curated words that seemed to have meanings within meanings. His thumb brushes my lip, a glancing touch I only notice because I’m so hyper-focused on him.
On how close we stand.
All he has to do is lean down a little …
Or perhaps if I arch my back a little more …
My breasts will brush his chest. And our hips—No, best not to think about that. Not now.
Not ever.
“Let me go,” I bite out.
“I don’t think so.” Instead, he closes the last bit of distance between us, shifting his grip from my chin to the base of my neck, his arm around my back pressing me firmly against him.
Oh my god.
He’s so much bigger than he seems from a distance. Not massive like so many of the meatheads my father employs for security. Jafar possesses a lean strength that his expensive suits have hidden up to this point.
And his cock …
He wants me.
A hysterical laugh flies free. “Not so cold and proper now, are you?” I roll my hips against him. I can’t help it. It’s like some fiery demon has taken possession of my body. Or maybe it’s my inevitable fate bearing down on me that makes me fearless in this moment.
Will my buyer want me if I’m tarnished goods?
The thought spurs me on. I roll my body again, an invitation I can’t quite put into words. I may be dancing on the edge of daring, but that’s too bold, even for me.
He stills me with his hand on my hip, holding me a breath of distance away, his fingers digging roughly into my flesh. “Your father is gone.”
I blink. “What?”
“The territory is mine.” His grip doesn’t tighten, exactly, but it becomes almost possessive. “You’re mine, Jasmine.”
That isn’t an answer, but I am helpless to focus on anything but his last sentence. “Over my dead body.” I am not some trophy to be passed to the victor in whatever power plays they insist on acting out.
Except …
That’s exactly what I am.
“Earlier you said Rajah. You know what that word means to us.”
Us. There never was an us, not in any way that could be quantified. Barbed words exchanged time and time again, each of us seeking to dig deeper, to incite a response, to push past the icy surface layer and bring forth irritation, anger, frustration. Something.
Words. It was only ever words.
Tonight is the first time Jafar has ever touched me.
I shiver at the thought. “It means you stop.” I’m not even sure where that truth originates. I’ve only had cause to use it once, the only time Jafar’s cutting remarks strayed too close to causing me harm. A single word and he immediately retreated; his dark eyes grave. We never spoke of it again.
“It means I stop,” he agrees.
There it is again, the softest touch of his thumb sliding down the side of my neck. So faint I might have imagined it. I lick my lips, and I swear I can actually feel his attention sharpening on my mouth.
He shakes his head. “Everything that was your father’s is now mine. Everything, Jasmine.”
“Including me,” I say the words, hating them. Hating him in this moment for reminding me of my role in all this. Not an active participant. Never that.
“Including you,” he says softly. Again, I hear more than see his smile. “However, I’m feeling remarkably charitable tonight. This is your chance at that freedom you claim to want so badly. Say the word and walk out the door. None of my men will touch you. No one will chase you down. You’ll never hear from me or mine again.”
My breath stalls in my lungs. Freedom. It’s a trap. It must be a trap. I am Jasmine Sarraf, and I am as close to royalty as there comes in this city. I have an inheritance waiting for my thirtieth birthday—or my marriage—that would make kings weep with envy.
My inheritance.
The door of the trap springs shut behind me with a click I can almost hear. “If I leave, you’ll take my money.”
“On the contrary. It’s my money now.”
“Thief.”
“I can hardly steal what I won by might. Your father made his choices. They were the wrong ones, and he’s lost everything as a result.” He leans closer, bringing with him the scent of his spicy aftershave. “Choose, Jasmine.”
As if there is a real choice. I am a twenty-five-year-old woman who’s never left my father’s extensive grounds. My only real-world experience centers around throwing parties and playing to expectations, allowing people to see my pretty face without concerning themselves with my mind, my ambitions, me. I’ve never had a job. I have a diploma, but I let my father put off my arguments for attending college. Just like I let him shout down my ambitions and plans to carve out a space for my plans to make our organization stronger. Every single connection I have will turn their back on me if I can no longer wield the money and power the Sarraf name means.
Or used to mean.
Jafar’s coup will ensure my father’s allies turn their backs on me even if I have access to my trust fund.
It takes every bit of courage I have to lift my chin, to banish any quiver from my tone. “Give me my money, Jafar. I won’t challenge you. I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again.”
He laughs. The bastard laughs at me, the sound filling the room and taking up far too much space. “You want to have it all without consequences. That’s not how this works, and you know it.” Another of those laughs that has me fighting not to curl my toes against the thick carpet beneath my feet. Jafar releases me so quickly, I almost fall without his touch to fight against. “I’ll make you a deal, Jasmine.”
Another trap.
That’s why my heartbeat kicks into high gear, a stampede of one in my chest. Fear. Understandable and justifiable, considering my circumstances. It’s certainly not something akin to delight at the opportunity to pick up whatever gauntlet he’s about to throw at my feet.
Jafar moves away, his features still hidden from me in the darkness. As if I don’t have them memorized, from his close-cropped black curling hair, to his medium brown skin that darkens over the summer months, to his perfectly groomed beard. And those eyes. Those dark eyes haunt me.
He stops near my bed, and I would give a fortune to know his thoughts as he looks down at the tangled sheets where I spend every night. Finally, he turns to face me. “Run, Jasmine. If you make it to the front door, I’ll release you, trust fund intact.”
Run.
I plant my feet. “And if I don’t?”
Another of those sinful chuckles. “Then you’re mine, body and soul.”
A thrill cascades through me, intense enough to steal my breath. His.
No. I give myself a shake. No, no, no.
I’ve fought a losing battle from the time I first realized my place in my father’s business, fought to be considered an actual person instead of an asset. Since I realized that my body and looks are more important than anything my brain can accomplish. If my father truly is gone, that means I have a chance to set a new course.
But only if I make the right move tonight.
I part my lips, the word that would set me free tingling against my tongue. Rajah. That’s what I should want, isn’t it? To be gone from this place and this man and all the strings attached to what he’s offering me. Just another kind of ownership.
You’re mine, body and soul.
No misunderstanding his meaning.
If he catches me …
With a shaking breath, I put away my desires. They betray me the same way this man betrayed my father. Deserving or not, it is a betrayal. I pull my robe more firmly around me, a laughably worthless action considering how short and silky it is. The slick fabric reveals more than it conceals, and if I wonder if the shadows blind Jafar the same way they do to me, his nearly soundless inhale at my movement tells me—he can see me enough to want me.
But then, he’s always watched me with a hot gaze beneath those hooded eyes.
And me? I enjoyed the attention. The thrill of it, of how forbidden it was to be desired by this man.
More the fool I was. He’s just as bad as my father. Worse, in some ways, because while my father had many faults, breaking his word was never one of them. For better or worse, when he said he’d do a thing, he followed through on it.
Jafar promised my father his loyalty.
Look where that’s left us.
I take a step back, and then another. A third brings me flush with the door. “I will walk out that door with my money and my freedom.”
“Then run, Jasmine. I’m feeling generous, so I’ll even give you to the count of ten.”
Generous? Never. More like he wants to draw this out, to give me a moment where I can actually taste victory before he snatches it away. This is all a game to him. Everything seems to be a game to Jafar.
I don’t hesitate this time. I throw open the door and flee down the hall, my bare feet slapping the cold tile in time with my racing heart. The front door never felt so far away. Three staircases, half a dozen halls, more rooms than I care to count. All of it stands between me and my freedom.