Fighting Fate E-Book

Scarlett Finn

• Herausgeber: Moriona Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Snatched from her life as punishment for disrespecting Trystan Stark, Ivy will do anything to survive until the deadline.

Fighting off the coked-up playboy was instinct, but she could never have predicted that it may spell her demise.

Dax Harrow has spent his life fighting; both in and out of the ring. The Stark's taught him that disrespect was the greatest enemy. Adopted into the family, he owes them a debt, and takes his role as enforcer and bodyguard to a new level, proving that he'll cross any line in the name of loyalty.

Meeting Ivy Dune sets him up for the fight of his life.

Coerced into an arrangement that is bound to break them, Dax and Ivy must stand together against a force greater than themselves. As their enemies close in, Dax realizes this may be the one fight he's destined to lose.

Warning: Contains explicit language and imagery. Suitable only for ages 18 and over.
 

Leseprobe

Copyright © 2015 Scarlett Finn

Published by Moriona Press 2015

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

First published in 2015

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form on by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

www.scarlettfinn.com

HARROW DUET

Fighting Fate

Fighting Back

For other titles from Scarlett Finn, please read on after the story.

Click here if you’d like to leave a message for Scarlett.

Enjoy!

I thank my friends, the people I love, and everyone who knows what it is to submerge yourself in the adventure of fiction.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Idiots.

The word kept going around in Ivy Dune’s mind. Five men sat on velvet couches in the rounded window of the Vegas high-roller suite. Idiots.

Seven women danced and drank with the idiots. Either the females were stripper-hookers or hooker-strippers. With the fondling and oral on top of the floor show, they had to be one of the two.

When she took on the role of private attendant at the GoldSpring Hotel, she’d expected glamour. Those illusions were shattered pretty fast. er The physically demanding role required a lot of running around, lots of stairs, and ample heavy lifting. Anything the customer wanted, they got; that was her job.

This brand of idiot was more common than glamorous starlets or millionaire businessmen. Though, of all the idiots she’d pandered to, this gang took the cake. They snorted cocaine from the ample selection of fake boobs and took tequila shots from generous cleavages, leaving chaos and carpet stains in their wake without a care or consideration in the world.

Everything that happened there stayed there. It was Vegas after all. So long as no one was brandishing a weapon, anything went, that was the basic rule. At her post, by the door, inside the suite, she was on hand for client convenience. Her shift ended in less than an hour and she couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.

The idiots drank more and more, their intoxication increased by the second. All except one. The black-haired male closest to the window held a heavy crystal tumbler on the high arm of the couch with his fingertips. The Scotch in it had barely been touched. None of the others noticed his disinterest or cared he wasn’t indulging like they were.

The black-haired male had glanced her way a few times earlier and now openly stared. Yeah, keep dreaming, Hotshot. Ignoring him, her focus was supposed to stay straight ahead. Except her eyes insisted on sliding back to his. What was wrong with her?

His electric blue eyes were so crisp and clear, she could absorb their intensity from the other side of the room. Something about them was fascinating. What was their fascination with her?

The worst of the bunch, the sandy-haired idiot, next to the black-haired man, snapped his fingers at her. “You! Maid!”

Ivy crossed the room. “Yes, sir?”

“Have a drink,” he said, raising a bottle of tequila, sloshing it on her shoes.

“No, sir, thank you.”

“Coke then, come take a line.”

“No,” she said, maintaining her neutrality. “I’m still working.”

“What time do you finish?” he asked, then waved. “Doesn’t matter, I’m the guest, I’m always right. Take your shirt off.”

“No, sir.”

“Don’t be a drag,” he said, grabbing her arm, hauling her toward the couch. “I’ve always wanted a naked maid.”

She stumbled, landing on top of the sandy-haired idiot, her face in the lap of the black-haired man. The sandman smacked her ass, then grabbed the hem of her skirt.

Scrambling away before he could pull it up, she found her feet and started to retreat. “Hands off what doesn’t belong to you,” Ivy said.

The others laughed.

“Can you believe that shit?” Sandman declared to his posse before addressing her. “Do you know who I am? I’m Trystan Stark. I have more money in my wallet than you’ll make in a lifetime! I own anything I want to own!”

An angry, disrespected man, high on drugs, and with an audience, was volatile.

“Just take your shirt off,” one of the girls chirped as if it was no big deal

If she was going to take fashion advice, it wouldn’t be from a woman wearing only a trail of playboy jerk drool over her nipples.

The other girls began to jeer along.

Trystan turned to the black-haired man. “Can you believe her?” he asked. “Seriously?”

The black-haired man looked at the wristwatch under his shirt cuff. “Her shift ends in thirty-eight minutes. If you want me to do something about her attitude, it’ll have to wait until her colleagues think she’s gone home.”

Making a threat without using a single negative word was quite a feat. He’d achieved it without even bothering to look at her.

“No,” Trystan said. “No, Dax, I don’t need you to do a fucking thing. I’ll do it myself.”

Launching up, he snatched hold of her to wrestle her onto the couch. Flailing around, fighting for freedom, her efforts were futile. With his body, he pinned her down, and forced his mouth onto hers. Wailing in resistance, she turned her head to escape the kiss. The fucker took that as an excuse to give her a hickey.

His friend, at the end of the couch, was no help. He moved to immobilize her ankles, resorting to sitting on her feet, screwing her real good.

“You’re going to like me,” Trystan said. “Yeah, you are. No one says no to me and gets away with it.” Snatching the tequila bottle, he poured alcohol on her sealed mouth, soaking her in the potent liquid that burned when it ran up her nose. “You want a drink, don’t you?”

He held her nose for long enough to force her mouth open. The searing alcohol flooded her tongue, drenching her gullet until she choked, spraying it over them both.

By what she heard, the others, thought it was hilarious, and goaded him on.

“Now you’re in the party mood,” Trystan said.

Blinking alcohol diluted mascara from her eyes, she missed his action of switching both her wrists into one hand until it was too late. Her shirt was ripped open. Buttons flew. She screamed as white powder was scattered across her breasts. Burying his face in the mess, the fucker snorted the dispersed powder and laughed, looking to his friends on the opposite couch for approval.

Her shrieking was ignored. Her legs were still trapped. And everyone else laughed.

“You want some?” Trystan asked, rubbing a moist finger over her breasts then forcing her lip up to smear the grit over her gums. “Yeah, see, you like that. We’re going to be up all night you and me. You’re in for a real treat. Tonight is your lucky night. It’s time for some real fun. Want me to fuck you now?”

“No!” she spat out.

“Yeah?” he said. “You asking me to fuck you? You all heard that, right?”

His troupe chorused in agreement.

“No!” Ivy tried again.

“Open those legs for me, Lucky,” he said, lifting his hips to undo his belt.

His buddy, Dax, held her ankles apart for Trystan to settle between her thighs and grind himself on her. Her struggling didn’t make any difference. The strength at the end of the couch forced her to do its bidding.

“Got some roofies, want ‘em?” someone called.

Trystan licked her face. Sick fuck. “No,” he said, digging his teeth into the back of her jaw until pain fired through her. “I don’t need ‘em, she wants it. Oh, she’s going to want me bad.”

“No,” Ivy said, bucking and thrashing, trying to shove him off.

He whooped. “Oh, yeah! She’s riding.”

More shouting ensued. Everyone’s cheers motivated him to keep going. She wouldn’t give up fighting. No. Never. She wouldn’t let him take what she didn’t want to give. He got her skirt up, his friend still held her legs. This could be it. Her fight could be for nothing.

When Trystan’s attention switched to laughing with his friends, she jolted her head up, sinking her teeth into his cheekbone, biting down until she tasted blood. Skin came loose on her tongue, and he roared out, releasing her.

Not hesitating for a heartbeat, she scrambled away and ran at full speed for the door.

“You bitch! I’ll fucking kill you!”

Better dead than violated. She ran out of the suite to the employee elevator and headed straight for her manager’s office.

CHAPTER TWO

Her manager listened and then left her alone, without calling the cops, to talk to the people in the suite. The frown he wore on his return couldn’t be a good sign. He came to sit at her side on the couch, without meeting her eye.

“Are the cops on their way?” she asked.

“Ivy,” he said. “I saw what you did to him.”

“In defense of myself! I don’t care about him, I was assaulted!”

“They say nothing happened you didn’t instigate; that it was you who got rough with him.”

“That’s crazy! That’s a lie!”

“That may be, or not, but he says he’s going to the police.”

“He’s not going to the police,” she scoffed. “Did you see the drugs up there? Guys like him don’t go to the police for retribution.”

“All the more reason you shouldn’t visit that on yourself,” her manager said, examining her and the concealing towel over her chest. “You took those drugs yourself, and you stink of alcohol. Who would you believe, Ivy? He’s a good customer. He comes back a couple of times a year and spends a fortune. We all answer to someone, and my supervisor wouldn’t—”

“What? Who cares about money? I wasn’t partying, he did this to me! I demand that you call the cops!”

“He says he’ll press charges against you, and sue the hotel, unless…”

“Unless what?”

“I’m sorry, Ivy. You’re fired.”

“What?”

How the hell could he be taking the pervert’s side instead of hers?

“It’s his word against yours, and I’m sorry but a man with that kind of influence and charisma… You’ve only been here for a month. Take my advice, don’t pursue this, go home and forget about it.”

“Forget?”

“No one will believe—”

“Not after my boss fires me and takes that bastard’s side,” Ivy said, standing up, tossing the towel at him. “You’re as bad as him! Fucking men!”

Marching away, she cleared out her small locker of her jacket and purse. Talk about the night from hell. Unless she got another job pronto, she’d struggle to make rent. Least things couldn’t get any worse.

Getting out of there, fast, was her first goal. Shoving out of the staff exit into the alleyway, she started thinking about where could be hiring.

“You should be more careful.”

She stopped. The disembodied voice came from the other side of the alley. As she peered through the darkness, a figure emerged from the shadows.

The black-haired man.

The one Trystan called Dax.

“You should take your own advice, stranger. Hanging around in dark alleys to beat on single women could get you in trouble.”

“If I was here to beat on you, you wouldn’t have seen me coming.”

“Said the voice of experience,” she said, folding her arms. “Are you proud of tonight?”

“Heard you got yourself fired.”

“No, your buddy got me fired. He’s a bully with an overinflated sense of entitlement. One day he’ll get what’s coming to him.”

“Not while I’m around to stand in the way,” he said. “You should watch yourself. You pissed off a very influential guy tonight.”

“So I’ve already been told,” she muttered.

“Mr. Stark doesn’t like to be disrespected, and he’s been known to hold a grudge.”

“Doesn’t have anything better to do?”

“You better hope he finds something. If he gets tonight stuck in his craw, you’re gonna be a very sorry little girl.”

“I can take care of myself.”

She turned to go, but he got in her way. “Not against me. You’d have no defense if I came for you.”

“I see that gratuitous ego syndrome is contagious, or at least common in your circle of friends. Just how close are you and your buddy?” She pouted. “Does someone have a little crush?”

His intimidating height came closer. Despite the wall at her back, she didn’t shrink in the shadow he cast over her.

“Do you think you’re a tough girl?” he asked. “You have no idea what you did tonight; no idea what I’m capable of. Never piss off a man with no conscience.”

“Is that why your buddy Trystan keeps you around?” she said. “I don’t know who you are or your connection to each other. But threatening me won’t win you points with him. If you’re hoping this little intervention will get you between his sheets—”

“You don’t know when to quit,” he sneered, bearing down on her. “You couldn’t keep your eyes off me tonight. Is that why you’re obsessing about my bedroom?”

“Obsessing—”

Urging her back to the wall, he blocked her in with his forearms on either side of her head. “Is that why you fought Tryst so hard? Were you disappointed I wasn’t the man above you?”

With what little space she had, she managed to bring her hand across his face in a half-force slap. His lip curled to betray perverted satisfaction.

Jerking forward, he snatched her hands and slammed them to the concrete at her back. “You want to get physical with me, Minx, you better be damn sure about it.”

“Get off of me,” she protested, trying to wrench herself free.

“Mr. Stark likes a show,” he said, her feeble struggling doing nothing. “Should I take you back upstairs and show him how compliant you are when you’re getting what you want?”

“What I want is for you to let me go,” she spat.

“You’re lucky you’re not my type.”

“Oh yeah? And who is? The only women you probably get near are the unconscious ones your buddy is through with after about thirty-five seconds.”

“Women like you deserve every damn thing they get,” he said, pressing himself against her, making no secret of his arousal that imprinted itself on her belly.

The disgust upstairs at Trystan’s violation wasn’t replicated with this guy. He should repulse her… yet the verbal sparring and earlier’s lingering glances provoked her curious hormones, sending them into overdrive. Angry and intimidated? Yeah, maybe. But afraid? No.

Long ago she’d learned how to quash ineffectual fear and channel useful adrenaline into fight rather than flight. Bullies only won if victims lost their wits, and she never would, not again.

“And men like you eventually lose their power. When your physical strength fades, you’ll be left with nothing. That vulnerability will ruin you, you’ll self-destruct.”

“Said the voice of experience,” he said, then shoved away. “Think twice before you insult people more important than you.”

“Thanks for the advice,” she said without concealing her disdain.

“You better hope you never hear of the Starks again. If Trystan decides to come after you, to punish you, nothing’ll save you.”

“Like I said, I can take care of myself.”

“Hope so, because on my side of the fence, there’s no mercy.”

“I’m shaking with fear,” she said with no sincerity.

“You will be.”

The liquid ocean of his eyes coated her figure, sending a shiver through her. He turned and stalked away. A few seconds later, he was out of sight.

Men rarely intrigued her anymore, not in the way Dax had. The fantasy of mystery surrounding him would never live up to the reality. Nothing ever did. Just the company he kept was evidence enough he wasn’t sane or reliable. At twenty-nine, she was too old for adventures of the heart with bad boys. For a while, that had been her life. The sheen came off the adolescent illusion of romance a long time ago.

Facing her roommate wasn’t going to be fun. If she could skip it, she would. Unfortunately, it was unavoidable. Their one-bedroom apartment was in a rough area not too far from The Strip. It smelled of mold and sweat. The windows were covered with lengths of material pinned to the wall in their corners. It had been the same since she’d moved in. The rent was cheap, and the neighbors kept to themselves. The streets were filled with gangs, and hookers, and drugs, sure, but she was used to it.

The tension of the day expelled from her lungs as she sank onto the couch.

Trudi bounced out of the doorless bedroom, hooking a shoe onto her foot. “That was quick,” she said. “How’d you get home so fast?”

Her head dropped onto the back of the couch. “I got fired,” Ivy said, spreading her hands.

“Oh, shit,” Trudi said. “You wanna take a shower and come out with me?”

“No.”

“I know a guy who’ll look after you.”

“How many times have I told you not to tie yourself to a pimp?”

“You don’t know what it’s like out there,” Trudi said. “It’s dangerous these days.”

“I know it’s dangerous,” Ivy said. “But you don’t need anyone taking your money away from you.”

“Not now that my roommate has lost her job. You think you can live straight, but you can’t. It’s no way as easy as that. You held onto that job for a month; the one before that was two weeks. You’ve lived here nine months, and you’ve never had a job for more than two months.”

“Not your problem,” Ivy said. “I’ve never missed rent, have I?”

“We’re in Vegas. Girls like us, from the streets, we make money one way. You’re no better than the rest of us, Ivy. I know you try to stay legit, but…”

“I am not walking the street, Trud. Things haven’t got that bad.”

“Maybe not yet,” Trudi said, scooping condoms out of the drawer under the coffee table. “You know where I’ll be if you change your mind.”

Trudi was a pretty girl who’d made some bad life choices. Her drug habit was moderated by the various men who came and went from her life. Despite her chaotic existence, Trudi was upbeat and was already singing as she headed out the door. How could the beauty be so happy going out to sell her body?

In her own life, Ivy had travelled from city to city and done just about every job there was. Streetwalking was a last resort she’d managed to avoid so far.

Just once she’d like to catch a break. Her private concierge role at the GoldSpring had been a great job with great tips. Without it, she was back to square one. She didn’t need fame and fortune; she just wanted to belong, to know that she would be okay and that she wasn’t alone. That dream got more distant every day.

CHAPTER THREE

Being Trystan’s minder wasn’t a job Dax requested. Despite his efforts to delegate the babysitting, somehow the role fell to him way too often.

Trystan, the youngest Stark son, lived at the Stark mansion with his father and brother. Plenty of staff ran around pandering to him, which was probably why he’d never grown up.

For most of the night, he’d been in Trystan’s private drawing room, listening to him go on about Vegas being a bust.

Dax glanced toward the window. “You’re letting it get to you,” he said. “It’s been a week, forget about it.”

“No,” Trystan said, refilling his Scotch. “That’s what she wants. It snowballs, you know that. My father always taught us—”

“Disrespect is the greatest enemy,” Dax muttered.

Over the years of cleaning up Trystan’s messes, he’d gotten used to the brat fixating. Usually, his obsessions were linked to getting his own way. Trystan just couldn’t keep his nose clean. He didn’t realize the attention he brought on the family affected the business. The last thing they needed was anyone in law enforcement looking too closely into how the family made their money.

Owing the Starks like he did, making sure Trystan didn’t get himself into too much trouble, obvious trouble at least, had become second nature. Seemed like the least he could do given he wasn’t blood, but Maurice Stark treated him as family.

“Women don’t say no to me. Do you know how long it’s been since one turned me down?”

Did it fall to him to point out that most of the women in Trystan’s life wanted to use him for his family connections, or were paid to enjoy his company? Sometimes both. No way those women were going to say no to him.

“You should think about settling down,” Dax said, though he was a year older than Trystan and it was the furthest thing from his own mind.

Trystan snorted and collapsed into the wingback chair opposite his. “You sound like Mauri. He said the same thing last night.”

“It’s not a bad plan,” Dax said. “You get yourself hitched then you’ve got a woman who’ll never say no to you, or disrespect you.”

“Yeah right, a wife would probably be worse!”

“Not if you get the right one,” Dax said, allowing a smile to twist one corner of his lips. “And train her right.”

Trystan swirled his drink then took a long gulp. “The only woman I’ll marry is one who’ll let me keep partying.”

“Who will let you screw around and sample the Stark family product? There are a bunch of women who would put up with that to get a taste of the high life.”

“I don’t want a cheap whore,” Trystan objected. “She’d have to be faithful and obedient. I don’t want some whiny bitch on me all the time. She’d have to keep her mouth shut while I treat her like shit but serve me and put out when I’m on a come down.”

Was that too much to ask? Geez. He tried not to shake his head or roll his eyes. “Mauri could hook you up.”

“An arranged marriage? I don’t think so,” Trystan said. “But it would get the old man off my back for a while if I knocked-up some girl and left her at home to bring up the kids. Dad thinks that kids will straighten me out.”

Trystan with children was difficult to imagine; he didn’t have much wise, worldly wisdom to pass on.

“Maybe it will, Mauri knows how to solve every kind of problem.”

“Think I’m a problem?” Trystan asked, teasing.

The way the playboy gazed out of the window betrayed he was cooking up a scheme.

“What are you planning?” Dax asked.

“To kill two birds with one stone,” Trystan said, knocking back the rest of the liquor and pouncing to his feet. “Wait here, I’m going to talk to Mauri, then we’ll hit the clubs.”

Great. Trystan left the room and Dax closed his eyes. He couldn’t be bothered with nightclubs and had hoped for a night off. He should’ve known better. Trystan had a way of sensing when he was getting fed up with him and, at that point, he’d push to have him around more often. The guy just couldn’t take a hint.

To say Tryst held a grudge was a massive understatement. Making others unhappy for his own benefit was Trystan Stark’s greatest pleasure and achievement.

CHAPTER FOUR

After doing the rounds, the only job offers on the table were the usual ones… in strip joints. Vegas attracted young, beautiful women like a magnet. Every day the airport and bus station spawned new hopefuls. In the world-famous city, there was no shortage of spritely females in need of money, and that meant there weren’t always enough jobs to go around.

Strip joints offered good money, but she left that circuit years ago. Being there meant basically admitting you were only as good as the breasts on your body. She didn’t want to be employed simply because God had graced her with a generous pair.

After paying what was due, her savings were gone. If she didn’t find employment, next week’s bills wouldn’t be paid.

Poring over the newspaper on the coffee table, she circled possibilities and would trek to the payphone on the corner after checking all the ads. Exercise didn’t scare her, anywhere within walking distance would get a personal visit.

Trudi burst into the apartment waving a flyer, which she came over and slapped down on the coffee table.

“What’s this?” Ivy asked, picking up the yellow paper to read the advert for a swinger’s club. “Uh, there’s no way—”

“Not that. On the back,” Trudi said, sitting on the couch to tug off her boots.

An address, phone number, and another number were handwritten on the back.

“What is this?”

“I had a client last night and—”

“I’m not interested in hooking, Trud—”

“I know,” Trudi said and tsked. “His boss is looking for a live-in housekeeper. It’s the real deal. I could never put up with that kind of crap, the ‘yes, sir, no, sir,’ stuff. But you could and look at the starting salary!”

“I don’t know,” Ivy said, tempted by the number at the bottom. “What kind of place is it? Maybe they’ll expect extras, you know? If his employees use your services…”

“Please,” Trudi scoffed. “Have you ever met a guy in Vegas who doesn’t use sex services? I don’t think so. This is just perfect for you. You should be grateful I thought of you.”

She and Trudi hadn’t seen eye-to-eye much, especially recently, but she hadn’t thought the woman was eager to kick her out.

“I guess I could call and see what it’s about. The address isn’t too far so I’d still be in Vegas.”

“Right,” Trudi said, standing to begin shedding her clothes as she headed for the bathroom. “And Carlos says I could start seeing clients here at home, that would help with the rent. I mean there’s only one bedroom, so it would be cool to live alone, right?”

Trudi didn’t wait for an answer and went into the bathroom to turn on the shower.

Reading the newspaper ads and the back of the flyer side-by side, she considered both. There wouldn’t be any harm in calling and finding out more about the housekeeping role. She gathered everything and headed out to use the payphone.

Getting a job and more importantly, getting paid, was her only priority. Unless it was linked to something sinister, she’d happily take a job with a salary and somewhere to sleep into the bargain. If it was as good a deal as Trudi said, a bunch of people would apply. Hopefully, Trudi had given her an inside edge, she had a personal connection, and maybe got the tip before the job was available everywhere.

In the blazing heat, she picked up the pace. The housekeeper job would be her first call. Could this be the lucky break she’d been waiting for?

CHAPTER FIVE

Trystan had gone off to Europe. For around two months, he’d be on another continent. The news bred a sigh of relief.

Vegas hadn’t provided the rest and recuperation Trystan felt that he deserved. His vacation time was valuable, the jerk took it seriously.

So two weeks after Vegas, a week after their conversation in Trystan’s drawing room, the playboy was on a plane over the Atlantic on his way to party across another land mass.

Dax wasn’t going to Europe. Maybe without Trystan around, he could get back to the serious work.

Maurice Stark had two living sons, Trystan and Brad. Brad, the eldest, followed in daddy’s footsteps and was a chip off the old block when it came to the family business. All Trystan wanted to do was spend the money his father and brother made. He was spoiled, but they seemed okay with that—as long as he stayed out of trouble and didn’t draw attention to them.

At thirteen years old, Dax had been caught stealing from Mauri. He’d been forgiven the slight on the condition he start working for the Starks. Twenty years later, he was still part of Mauri’s crew.

As was usual at the start of the month, he and a dozen privileged guys sat in Mauri’s office at the mansion, waiting for updates and instructions. Bruno came in to spout assignments, getting rid of half a dozen guys, who went off to do as told. In his late fifties, Bruno, Mauri’s right-hand man, had worked with the Starks since his grandfather ran the operation.

Brad was next to appear. He updated them on the expected shipment and handed out jobs.

Eventually, Dax was the only one left with Bruno and Brad. “What’s going on?” he asked from the high back chair near the double doors of Mauri’s office.

“We’ve got a special assignment for you, Dax,” Bruno said, finishing up something at the desk.

Being the unofficial third son, Dax had done everything the old man had ever asked of him and knew more family secrets than Trystan could dream of.

Whatever was about to be asked of him, he’d do it. “What is it?”

“We’re going away together,” Bruno said. “Alone.”

He never worked alone with Bruno, this had to be big. “Keep going,” Dax said.

“It’s Tryst,” Brad said, coming over to pull up a chair opposite him. “Dad wants him married and straightened out. He’s getting messed up in too much shit.”

“Tryst told me. Do you think there’s a woman alive capable or that would put up with him? I heard his demands.”

“We came to a compromise,” Brad said. “He’ll get married if we make sure his pick won’t give him an earache.”

“He wants to party, sleep around, and carry on as usual,” Dax said, recalling their conversation.

“My father thinks having kids will teach him responsibility,” Brad said, his tone conveying he wasn’t convinced.

“Where will you find a woman to do that? Put up with a cheater who’ll abuse her? Have his kids and toe the family line? You’ll have to pay her a fortune.”

“Not pay, train,” Bruno said. Leaving the desk, he came over and rested a hand on the back of Brad’s chair. “Trystan said you put the idea in his head. Him and Mauri made a deal. Trystan will get married like Mauri wants him to, if the wife will do what she’s told without a fight.”

“If Mauri can’t promise the girl will capitulate, Trystan gets out of the marriage?”

“It’s win-win for Trystan,” Brad said. “I guarantee that’s what my brother is thinking. He doesn’t think dad can pull it off.”

“He wants to humiliate Mauri?” Dax asked.

Mauri didn’t take being made a fool of lightly. Trystan would be on shaky ground if he set the old man up.

“No,” Brad said. “He just doesn’t want to settle down. If the girl does what she’s told, then he gets to order her around and give her shit. If she doesn’t, he doesn’t have to marry her.”

“Win-win,” Dax muttered. “If Trystan is sure he won’t have to do it, why is Mauri pushing for it?”

“Dad is sure that having kids will change Trystan’s outlook.”

Both father and son were as arrogant as each other.

“Each is sure of their own position,” Dax said.

“Trystan’s been pissed off for a couple of weeks,” Bruno said. “You know why.”

“Because Vegas didn’t end how he wanted it to,” Dax said.

“My father had to call in favors to pull Trystan out of a sticky situation… again. If that girl had gone to the cops—”

“I spoke to her,” Dax said. “She wasn’t going to the cops.”

“Maybe not. But dad likes the reputation he has at GoldSpring. He likes the treatment we get; it’s why he insists on all of us using the place whenever we’re in Vegas.”

That and Mauri had done some business with the owner in years gone by.

“It’s a decent place.”

“Yeah, but Tryst once again drew attention to the family and dad is sick of it.”

“He told Trystan if it happens again then he’s out, that Mauri will cut him off,” Bruno said.

Mauri was renowned for never making hollow threats; it was one of the first things Dax had been taught by the old man. Never bluff in life. If you’re playing a hand, then you’re either in or out. He would never say anything he didn’t mean.

“Trystan wouldn’t go quietly,” Dax said.

“Dad obviously doesn’t want to do that, which is why they came to the agreement. Trystan will get married.”

“It was that or start working for a living,” Bruno said, he was privy to all the family’s comings and goings. “That was never gonna happen.”

There wasn’t a person alive Mauri trusted, or valued, more than Bruno.

“If he can be something other than a shallow playboy fuck up, maybe we can go a day without diverting cops or paying off witnesses.”

More often than not, it was the other way around. He’d done his share of scaring witnesses into amnesia where Trystan was concerned.

“He gets married, makes a good show, and the world thinks he’s a decent guy… who doesn’t need to do a hard day’s graft—”

“Because he’s so busy providing the family with heirs.”

Not only was he expected to marry, but he was expected to reproduce right away. “And you think you can find a woman to train into putting up with Trystan?” Dax asked, wanting to end the statement with the phrase, “good luck with that.”

“We’ve already found her. Trystan picked her out himself, it was another of his terms,” Bruno said, going to a side door to haul out a blindfolded, gagged, and bound woman. “Meet the newest member of the Stark family.”

The dirty, shaking woman wasn’t a stranger. Now faced with her, he wasn’t surprised. Typical that Trystan should make his demands and fuck off to another country to have fun while everyone else did the hard work. If he and Bruno were going away, this woman had to be coming with them, because someone had to teach her how to stay in line.

He’d recognized her immediately. Trystan had been told to pick a woman and he’d picked her. He should’ve predicted this. Trystan hated to be disrespected more than anything. By refusing and embarrassing Trystan, she’d disrespected him in the worst way. Their altercation left him making excuses to his father, causing him more embarrassment. Now the woman would pay by dedicating the rest of her life to the man she’d disrespected.

Dax drove and Bruno rode in the passenger seat. Their packed bags were in the backseat because the female was in the trunk. She’d been silent for most of the journey. Whenever she started kicking and moaning Bruno turned up the radio.

Conversation hadn’t been flowing. Bruno was happy to talk to himself, he didn’t really care what was said in return, so Dax didn’t say much. Being away from the city might be good for him. Maybe. He wasn’t used to doing nothing and didn’t know how he would enjoy spending his days at the beach house with no possible end in sight. His days were usually filled with checking on operations and following up leads for Mauri with those who needed some extra special persuasion. On his rare night off, he did what he enjoyed most. Though his favorite hobby was something few people understood, it made perfect sense to him.

At least this job gave him the chance to get closer to Bruno. They’d done jobs together before, but Dax had never warmed to the guy. Bruno was too hasty; he preferred a more patient approach. This time together could teach him more about Bruno and give them the chance to see things from each other’s perspective.

Back in the day, Bruno had advised Mauri against trusting Dax, he knew that, though he wasn’t supposed to. A quiet, unspoken animosity existed between the two of them. In recent years, Bruno seemed to have lightened up but was prone to bouts of rage. That would need monitoring, though it wasn’t like he was worried. If he had to defend himself, he’d own the guy without breaking a sweat. The only concern was how he’d explain the mess to Mauri.

The Stark California beach house was perfect for their requirements. Set on an isolated clifftop peninsula with the sea on three sides, the land boundary was walled off, gated, covered by cameras and half a mile from the house. They weren’t visible from the road.

He parked and set to work taking the bags from the backseat while Bruno dealt with the difficult cargo. Bruno’s reputation was ironclad. The legend was a man to be feared, and he made no secret of the lives he’d taken.

Another part of that reputation? Bruno wasn’t known for treating women well. His long line of girlfriends ended up bloodied and bruised at some point. Probably why he’d never been married, the women never stuck around for long. Stories of illegitimate children flared every once in a while, in various corners of the world, but he’d never met any of them to verify their existence.

The true glory days of Bruno’s heyday were gone. Years of drug and alcohol abuse left the geezer impotent and slow. Not that anyone would say that to his face; not unless they had a death wish.

While dumping the luggage in the bedrooms upstairs, noise of scuffling and muffled screams came from downstairs, accompanied by Bruno’s rumbling deep voice. Dax went into his shower room and stripped to step under the cool spray. He’d wash off the day, then go for a swim and maybe barbeque afterwards. Bruno loved the grill and Mauri had his crew stock the house before they arrived. They’d be living in luxury for a while.

Trystan’s European excursion gave them sixty days to whip this woman into shape. Having never trained a woman before, Dax would follow Bruno’s lead. No sweat, Bruno had experience in everything.

They grilled steaks, drank Scotch, and smoked cigars as the sun went down. As a kid who grew up on the streets, fighting other street kids in a ring for money, access to opulence still didn’t feel real. He’d earned it and reminded himself of that all the time.

After the sun was gone, they went to bed.

Neither of them were small talk types. So the next day they pursued their own shit until they eventually ended up on the couch watching television.

Twenty-four hours after arriving at the beach house, Bruno turned off the TV and sat up. “Okay, let’s get started.”

“What’s the play?” Dax asked.

“You just watch and learn, son,” Bruno said and slapped his knee then headed to the basement door.

The three-bedroom property had a basement gym. Despite it being dark down there and basically underground, it was a favorite spot. That morning he’d gone down and discovered a corner had been walled off. A cell for their captive? Convenient, but he hadn’t been interested enough to check it out.

He stayed on the couch, waiting for Bruno to retrieve the woman. From the basement stairs, a gasping scream, obscured by a gag, got louder when Bruno dragged her into the living room. Her hands were bound, and a blindfold blocked her view.

Her hands were secured at her back. Tied tight too because her jugs were thrust forward. With her blindfolded, he could examine her figure as much as he liked, she would never know it. Her skinny jeans were ripped, her grey top had probably once been white, yeah, she was a mess. Grease, muck, blood, on her clothes, on her skin. Dried blood cracked on her hairline, neck and around her nostrils, but the injuries were superficial, cuts and bruises. She’d taken a beating somewhere, but no serious or permanent damage.

Bruno threw her down onto the rug in front of the TV and went around behind her. Chipped red nail polish on the toenails of her bare feet was almost the color of the blood. She had a tattoo on her foot above her arch. Interesting.

“I’m going to take this off and give you some answers, okay?” Bruno said into her ear. She nodded, huffing out sharp breaths through her nose, her only available airway. “Keep quiet or it goes back on.”

He took off the blindfold, bindings, and the gag, then came around to sit down. Dax remained static in the corner of the couch, one ankle propped up on his knee and his arms spread along the back and arm.

“Where am I?” she croaked, blinking into the bright sun shining through from the floor to ceiling windows behind them.

“Here’s what’s going on,” Bruno said, the epitome of cool. “All you have to do is what you’re told. Don’t ask questions, just follow our orders and you’ll be treated well, very well.”