The plan starts to unravel as we stand on the tarmac awaiting Edward Krakov’s plane.

Ridge is two feet from me, doing absolutely nothing to respect my personal space. The plane is taxiing into the private hangar, but his eyes aren’t observing the client’s safe landing. Nor is he doing anything remotely security-like, as is his job description. In fact, he’s barely even glanced around since we arrived.

No, those flint-colored eyes are as firmly fixed on me as they have been since we left the Villa. God only knows how he managed to drive and keep his eyes on my tits and bare legs without crashing into a tree and killing us.

I tug at the disgustingly short ice blue tube dress I’m wearing, and barely stop myself from reaching up and ripping off the pearl choker. Even in March, the California sun throws off enough heat to piss off an armadillo, and I’m no different.

Toss in Clayton’s parting words in his office this morning, and the sight of the vile Russian exchanging last words with his pilot on the steps of the private plane a few dozen feet away, and my nerves are shot to pieces.

I don’t have room for the ominous look lurking in Ridge’s eyes or the waves of creep bouncing off him.

My attempt to step away from him backfires when he immediately shadows my move.

I should be scared of him. I am on some self-preserving level. But my temper has been known to give reason a finger at the worst possible times.

“For fuck’s sake, Ridge. If you come any closer, I’ll become intimately familiar with what you ate last week.”

“Watch your mouth, little girl,” he growls. But he reaches into his pocket and pops a mint into his mouth. Then moves even closer.

“Look, Ridge, I don’t want to give Krakov another excuse to report me to Clay. You know how possessive he gets. You practically breathing down my neck isn’t going to go down well.”

“Fuck the commie asshole. He doesn’t deserve to touch you.”

My breath hitches, both at the blistering possessiveness in his voice and the waves of animosity pulsing from his massive frame. My shocked stare makes the mistake of catching his, and I glimpse blatant intent in his gaze.

A ball of trepidation knots in my gut. From the corner of my eye I see Edward Krakov approach. Ridge takes a half-step away from me, but he counteracts that move by folding his thick arms and staring with cold, dead eyes at Krakov.

My brain reels with the extra problem just dumped in my lap, but I shove a thin lid over it and produce a blinding smile for the man I’m supposed to make feel like a king.

“Eddie, I’m so happy to see you again.”

He takes the hands I hold out and kisses me twice on each cheek, even as his small arctic grey eyes slide to Ridge.

“As am I to see you, babushka. I hope you’re fully recovered from your little…ailment?”

I nod and smile brighter. “I am, and it’s so sweet of you to ask.”

The snake-like gleam that always sends chills down my spine enters his eyes. “I am sweet only for you, ’bushka. Because you’re my special one.”

“And I appreciate you all the more for it.”

We false-banter all the way to the car. Behind us, Ridge’s mountainous presence hulks ominously. I can’t shake the feeling that something’s about to go down. Something that involves me.

In the limo on the way back, I do my best to entertain Krakov. Bile rises up my throat when his hand slips underneath my dress. Swallowing it down, I blank my mind and let my gaze wander. Unfortunately, it wanders to the rearview mirror, and I catch Ridge’s impenetrable gaze. He locks on me for uncomfortably long seconds before his attention switches back to the road.

The knot of fear in my belly expands.

Definitely something going on.

We arrive at The Villa and enter the large boldly decorated foyer. A handful of guests are mingling in the space that doubles as a selection area, and Entertainers are busy chatting up clients. A server carrying a tray of champagne approaches and Krakov helps himself to a glass. I select a watered down mimosa and try not to tense when I see Clay approaching.

Greetings are exchanged before he says to Krakov, “I’ve reserved a room at the casino in town for a few selected guests. It’ll be an honor to have you as my special guest.”

Krakov’s mouth twists and he shrugs. “I may be too busy with my babushka, tonight. I’ll let you know.”

It’s a poorly-kept secret that Clayton part-owns Getty Casinos and likes nothing better than to help The Villa’s guests offload even more of their money at his gaming tables. I can almost see the dollar signs in his eyes as he attempts to reel in Krakov. “Of course. And naturally, Lucky will accompany you if you do decide to join us.”

I will my stomach not to turn as I smile at both men. “If you’ll excuse me for a second, I’ll just go a take a quick peek at the schedule.” Edward Krakov, like most men, have their Villa favorites—in his case, me—but he also likes to sample other wares during his three-day stays. Remi, Clayton’s long-time PA, who also doubles as a receptionist, keeps an electronic schedule on her discreet mini tablet. If I’m lucky, Krakov will have booked two or three other girls, leaving me free of his vile attention for five or six hours per day.

Edward Krakov holds the dubious honor of having been my first client at The Villa. To date, I’m not sure how much he paid Clayton for me, but judging by Clayton’s smile as I was delivered to Krakov’s room the night of my seventeenth birthday, it had to be a small fortune. For his part, Krakov took pleasure in using my body to satisfy every sick perversion, the Russian’s proclivity for pain-edged sex a rough and shocking introduction to a world far removed from the fumbling teenage efforts that robbed me of my virginity two months before Ma died.

His only saving grace is that Krakov has a pencil thin dick, which causes discomfort but not lasting hurt. Of course, what he lacks in the cock department, he more than makes up for with his hands, his mouth, and a copious amount of sex toys.

I suppress a shudder and start to turn away.

Clayton catches my arm. “Did I not mention it earlier? Edward has booked you for the whole three days.”

This time, I don’t quite manage to keep my horror from showing. A cold look enters Krakov’s eyes. I need to appease or I’ll pay for it later.

I return to his side and slide my hand down his arm. “In that case, I’ll just go powder my nose. You must also be getting hungry. Shall I have the chef prepare you some borscht? Or would you prefer pelmeni this evening?”

His beady gaze slides over me and he licks his lower lip. “You can help me decide a little later, myshka.”

“Okay. Let me pop into the little girls’ room and I’ll be right back.”

My smile stays on my face until I enter the lavatory. Then I cling weakly to the sink and struggle to keep from throwing up.

Three days with Krakov. I can barely stand him for three minutes, never mind three days. My feigned illness during his last visit was because he wanted to fuck me without a condom. For an extra five thousand, Clayton allows that. The thought of him inside me with no barrier caused me enough distress to become physically ill, a fact that didn’t please him.

Today, I know both he and Clayton are on board. That I can’t stop it from happening without causing serious issues with Clayton. Issues I can’t afford to bring down on top of my head with suspicion already aimed at me.

I stumble into the bathroom and try to calm my racing mind. Five minutes pass without a clear resolution as to how I can avoid being bare-backed by Edward Krakov.

I flush the toilet and exit the stall.

To find Ridge leaning against the vanity, arms crossed.

Naked fear freezes me for precious seconds. Then I step back into the stall and slam the door. Or I attempt to. He blocks me easily, his superior strength making a joke of my efforts. And he’s not even expending much energy.

“Easy, girl. I’m not here to hurt you,” he rasps.

“Then let go of the door,” I reply, fear making my voice and body shake.

“I’m just here to talk, but I’m not talking to a fucking closed door, Lucky. You come out, or I come in.” The sick relish in his voice is at variance with the just talk line.

I kick myself for picking the rarely used, less posh toilet nearest the kitchen, instead of the snazzy one the girls prefer nearer reception. I wanted to put a bit of distance between myself and Krakov, totally forgetting Ridge and the loaded looks he’s been sending me all day.

“I can hear you just fine from here,” I say, injecting as much power into my voice as my shaking will allow.

“Not happening. Come out and let’s get this over with. Clay’s gonna come looking for you soon.”

“Yeah? And what do you think he’s going to say when he finds you in here?” I challenge.

“I heard you in here, crying. Came to investigate.” I hear the shrug in his voice. “You locked yourself in here because you don’t want to fuck that asshole. I’m trying to talk you out.”

The answer sounds pat. Well thought through. My heart lurches as I wonder how long he’s been planning this.

“Come out, Lucky. You can’t stay in there forever.”

My arms quiver from the strain of trying to keep him out. Mild terror threatens to scramble my brain. I tell myself he could’ve entered by now if he wanted to.

Slowly I release the door and step out. The look on his face hasn’t changed. I don’t know how to accurately describe it. It’s a cross between lust, possession, pity and anger. The first two I understand. The last two baffle me.

I quickly measure the distance between the door and me. He spots and intercepts any move I might try to make.

My fists ball and I force my gaze to meet this. “You want to talk. Well, talk.”

He doesn’t speak immediately. Those flint eyes rake me from head to toe, lingering on my bare legs and my tits. “Christ, you’re so fucking pretty.” His voice is thick with hunger.

My terror mounts. “Ridge—”

He clears his throat and gives a single shake of his head, as if he’s clearing his thoughts. I sure as fuck don’t want to know what those thoughts are, so I remain silent. Vigilant.

“I know what you did.”

Tension roars up my spine. “Excuse me?”

“You went into Clay’s office two nights ago. Took something. I know it was you.”

“I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

“Watch that mouth.”

I bite back another curse and try to keep my voice even. “I don’t know what you think you know, but I didn’t go into Clay’s office.”

 He ambles over to my side, crowding me again. I breathe in his excessively applied aftershave and try not to gag. “I did two tours in Fallujah. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t. Thank you for your service.”

He smirks for a second before his features return to their gut-freezing intensity. “You know what my specialty was?”

I shake my head.

“Computers. Electronics. Anything with a chip or a motherboard, I can dismantle and put together.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an electronic card. It looks like the security pass we use to get between buildings. Only it’s the wrong color. “Clay had me design this special baby for him. It records everyone’s movements between the buildings, including his, and it’s also connected to face recognition software on his laptop. Clever thing about this card is, it also flags discrepancies. For instance, if the camera spots you say, in the North Wing, but your card is swiped at the front gate two minutes later, it sends an alert. Do you get where I’m going with this, Lucky?”

My heart climbs into my throat. “If…if that belongs to Clay, why do you have it?”

“Good question. He thinks he’s misplaced it.”

“And?”

“I have until tomorrow to find it or I make another one for him. Either way, we both know what he’ll find once he gets a hold of this card again.”

I swallow hard. “What do you want, Ridge?”

His features twist with a blend of anticipation and triumph. He slips the card back in his pocket and takes out something else. It’s a tiny pouch, containing about three pinches of white powder.

Oh shit.

He steps forward and holds out the pouch to me. “Slip this into the asshole’s drink tonight.”

I step back. “No.”

He closes the gap between us. “I’m not giving you much of a choice here.”

“What is it?”

“It’s not poison. Much as I want to wipe him off the face of the fucking planet, for one thing I won’t put you in that position.”

I eye the white powder. “So what position is this, then?”

He shrugs. “It’ll knock him out till morning. He’ll wake up with a mild headache and no recollection of the night before. But not much else.” He shakes the baggie. “We both know you hate fucking him, Lucky. I’m giving you a way out.”

“But you’re not, though, are you, Ridge? You want something.”

He attempts a smile that doesn’t make it past the naked hunger cleaving his features. He reaches forward with the hand holding the bag and runs his forefinger down my cheek. “I dream of you when I go to sleep. Every single night. You know that?”

When I don’t answer, he removes his hand.

“I know you took something from Clay’s office. He hasn’t worked out what it is yet. He’s leaving for the casino at eight-thirty. Make sure you spike Krakov’s drink before then. I’ll make sure Clay knows the asshole’s not coming. Once Clay leaves for the casino, come to his office. Bring whatever you took, and I’ll make all your little sins go away.”

“In return for…?”

His gaze lands on my mouth. His Adam’s apple bobs. “You know what I want. What I’ve wanted since Clay hired me two years ago. You’ve denied me for long enough, Lucky.” He holds out the bag. “Make it happen.”

He doesn’t need to add anything else. I know I’m caught between the proverbial fucked rock and a fucking hard place. I take the baggie, tuck it into the tiny zipper compartment of my clutch.

I return to the foyer with profuse apologies and my best acting skills firmly in place. But Clay still stabs me with a hard, speculative stare. That stare strays to me with alarming frequency for the rest of the time Krakov stays in the lounge and cocktail bar. Contrary to what I thought was coming my way, Krakov draws out the moment he takes me to his suite. My relief is palpable when he requests dinner at seven. I pander to his every wish, while inside I’m a sticky hot mess.

My instincts warn me that climbing into bed with Ridge to save myself from Clay is the worst possible solution to my problems.

But when Krakov takes my hand after dinner and starts to lead me away from the dining room, I’m out of options. Clay raises his glass to Krakov as we pass his seat. The Russian, alarmingly sober despite the premium vodka he’s been knocking back for the better part of four hours, slaps him on the back.

Clay’s gaze meets mine, and my heart somersaults at the peculiar look in his eyes. Earl, who’s also lurking nearby, sends me a scathing look as I leave the room. I want to tell myself it’s my imagination, but the voice in my head won’t allow me.

When Krakov stops in the bar for a nightcap, I take my chance and drag him to a dark booth. While his head is buried between my breasts, I slip the powder into his drink. My heart stops beating in the time it takes for the white powder to dissolve, and I’m a whisper from fainting when he accepts the vodka and knocks it back.

I don’t know how long I have before the drug takes effect, so I stand, put on my best pout, and bend over so my cleavage is on full display. He takes the bait. I hurry to the elevator, grateful when he dismisses his two bodyguards.

His gait starts to weave as we reach his suite. I slip my arm around him and almost frog march him inside. The bed is within easy distance. Krakov is out before his head hits the pillow. The part of me that’s grateful I don’t have to endure his touch tonight is woefully feeble against the greater evil lurking in my future.

Heart racing, I undress him, scatter his clothes around the room, then with a quick prayer, take out my travel size perfume and spray two puffs over his body. I don’t know what will happen when I go to meet Ridge, but on the off chance Krakov wakes up, my scent in his bed might buy me some credibility.

I hurry out of the room and head for the North Wing. I have ten minutes to grab the encrypted thumb drive I took from Clayton’s safe before Ridge’s eight-thirty deadline.

My heart is racing out of control by the time I make it to my room. I sit on my bed and take a minute to control my shaking. My gaze lands on my closet. I’m not sure why I stand and head for it. Not sure why I drag out the backpack containing my sacred-things-not-to-leave-behind.

I want to believe that a higher power is looking out for me, prompting me in this direction. But I’ve been crapped on too many times for the hollow belief to sustain me. Nevertheless, I shove my purse and smaller backpack into the larger one. I know it’s unlikely any of the girls will be up here at this time of night, but I still make my way cautiously along the corridor and breathe in relief when I make it to the elevator without encountering anyone.

I swipe my card for the basement and peer out cautiously when the doors open. Most of the area is shut down for the night, but the small corridor leading to Clay’s office is lit. I stash the backpack under the desk nearest the elevator and make my way to Clay’s office.

As I near it, I smell cigar smoke. My heart stops.

Clay.

He’s the only one who smokes the Cubans. But Clay left for the casino. No, wait, I didn’t actually see him leave.

I’m rooted on the spot, unsure whether to flee or confront my fate.

The office door opens and Ridge walks through. “I thought I heard the elevator.” He attempts a smile and holds up a lit Cuban. “I hope you don’t mind the smell. When the boss is away, and all that, right?”

“C—Clay’s not here?”

He frowns. “No. I told you, he’s gone to the casino.” He stands back and beckons me in.

My feet unfreeze and I enter.

Ridge shuts the door and I hear a distinct click. I whirl to face him, and he shrugs. “No one’s going to come down here, but I don’t want us to be disturbed. Is that okay?”

I jerk out a nod, because what the fuck else can I do?

He takes a long pull from the cigar, blows dirty rings toward the ceiling before he walks to where I’m standing in the middle of the office. “First things first. What you took from Clay’s safe. Let’s have it.” He holds out his hand.

Slowly I take out the thumb drive. It’s the same drive I stole from the safe earlier in the week, replacing it with a blank one. The one I’m handing back is the real thing containing details Clay’s PI dug up on Petra’s whereabouts, but I’ve had the hacker put a virus on it. Should Clay or anyone not too tech-savvy try to access the information, the drive would corrupt. I thought of destroying it, but something held me back. Maybe that higher power that foresaw this moment?

I mentally shrug.

Ridge takes the drive from me and goes to the safe. He inputs the code, but instead of placing the drive in, he removes the blank one and places them both on the desk. He walks back without shutting the safe and perches on the edge of Clay’s desk. “Take your hair down,” he murmurs through another cloud of cigar smoke. “I hate it when you wear it up like that.”

I try to blank my mind, the way I do when I’m with a client. But this situation is different. Petra’s safety is on the line.

Hands shaking, I remove the clips holding my hair up. He murmurs his approval when my hair cascades down around my face. He props the cigar on the edge of an ashtray and approaches me.

For a long moment, he stares down at me. “Sweet heaven, you’re gorgeous.”

He picks me up and walks me to the wall. I feel the suppressed strength in his arms. I can tell he’s trying to be gentle, but gentle isn’t in his nature. I look into his eyes and I’m amazed he’s held back the torrid hunger for this long.

He props me up with his body and runs his hands over me. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

“Uh…no. Ridge?”

“Hmm?” he murmurs, but his attention is absorbed in the hands molding my breasts.

“Clay. Are you sure he doesn’t know?”

His gaze doesn’t lift from my chest. He pulls my dress down and cups me again through my lace bra. “Let me worry about Clay.”

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly that. If you give me what I want…if you keep giving me what I want, he’ll never find out what you did.” His head descends and he delivers open-mouthed kisses across the tops of my breasts.

Something is wrong. I know it in my gut. I recall Clay’s stare as I left the dining room earlier, and my breath strangles. Ridge hooks his fingers beneath my bra. A livid eagerness sparks his features. I close my eyes and brace myself.

His cell phone rings.

“Fuck!” He looks from my chest to my face and for a second I fear he’s going to ignore the call.

But he sets me down. “Hold that thought.” He pulls out his phone. “Yes, boss.”

I stop in the act of adjusting my dress and hold my breath.

Ridge paces to the end of the office and turns to face me. “Yes, I have both drives.”

My eyes widen in alarm.

He smirks. “No, I haven’t had a chance to check them yet. It’ll need careful handling if there’s a worm on it.”

I’m aware my heart has stopped beating, that my fear is naked and raw.

“Yes, boss. I should have the information for you by morning. No problem. And Clay? Thanks for giving her to me tonight.” His gaze locks on mine. “I know how special she is to you.”

My vision blurs. I sway against the wall and I know I’m going to pass out. But I can’t.

Petra. Have to save my sister.

I lurch toward the door. I make it, but it won’t budge. I recall Ridge locking it. He must have the key in his pocket. I yank at it again, desperate and consumed with terror.

Strong arms lift me clean off the floor and yank me toward the desk. “Wrong move, little girl.”

“Why?” I hate the fear ripping through my voice but my mind is spinning from the sheer deadliness of the trap I’ve walked into.

“Ask yourself the same question. You’re trying to keep a father from his child! You know how the care system fucks you up?” He tosses me on the desk and holds me down with one large hand. The gentleness is gone. “No child deserves that.”

I open my mouth to refute the claim, but stop just in time. I’m not going to tell him that Petra is with a loving family. A family, who agreed to relocate, go into hiding just to protect her.

“We came real close last month, Clay and I. That shit farm in Idaho where she was stashed? We missed her. But you know why I love working for Clayton Getty? ’Cuz he’s fucking relentless. He was only my CO for a year, but he’s the leader I dreamed of serving.”

Clay served for a spell in the Army before his father’s death brought him back to Getty Falls. The bond between the two men finally makes sense. My fear triples.

“You don’t know anything about her! Why would you want to bring her here, to this place?” I scream.

“You want her mucking out horse shit, rather than be treated like a fucking queen?”

He’s delusional.

“We’re whores. I’d die before I let you or Clay lay a finger on her!”

“It’s not really up to you, princess. I’ve seen pictures of her. You’re fucking stunning. But your sister…she’s something else. She could own this place.” The light in his eyes sickens me to my soul.

I struggle against the hand pressing me down. But he restrains me easily. Slowly, he bends down. My legs flail as I try to find purchase. His mouth lands on mine and he moans. Against my belly, I feel the thick ridge of his erection.

I fight harder, but he raises his head and laughs. “I’m going to have you tonight, little girl. Tonight and every night until your sister gets here. Then I’m going to have her too.”

The thick roar that erupts from my throat blinds me for a second. But it’s not just the roar. Smoke drifts into the air and enters my lungs. The cigar. It’s set alight papers on Clay’s desk.

I search blindly for something, anything to defend myself with. My fingers find the thick ashtray made of solid glass. I grab and swing.

Ridge staggers off me. Rage fills his eyes. I scramble off the desk and race away from him. He lurches toward me, retribution and lust burning in his face.

Fear threatens to paralyze me, but I can’t afford to let it. I search the room and my gaze lands on the open safe.

Inside it is a black, gleaming piece. Clay’s gun.

I grab hold of it. Point it at him. “Stop. Please.”

He laughs. “The only way you’re going to stop me, little girl, is to shoot me.”

My mind blanks.

Then it refocuses on one thing.

Petra.

I lift the gun.

I shoot.

I stare down at the money.

I remind myself again why I’m doing this.

My beautiful, innocent sister. The only one who matters in all this.

I’m doing it so Clayton doesn’t turn another daughter into a whore.

Yes, Clayton Getty is my biological father. Finding out I was his and not Earl’s is partly why he spared Earl’s life.

But he’s also the man who took bids from strangers as to who would be the first man to defile his seventeen-year-old daughter.

I shot Ridge Mathews to keep him from going after my sister. I’m going to offer Clayton Getty one million dollars to forget Petra exists.

If he doesn’t accept, I will shoot him too. Because there’s no way I’m allowing him to do to Petra what he’s done to me.