Page 16 of Captive Ruin

It’s comforting and familiar, in the way this office is not. But then, I don’t belong to Northbridge Capital, whatever my official employment says. I go wherever Bastien wants me to, do whatever Bastien tells me to. I’m his man, through and through, out of loyalty. And he pays me very well.

Yet of late, I’ve only been going through the motions, every day a trudge. My heart hasn’t been in it, like a piece of me died along with Juliette. No enjoyment in anything, just getting the job done.

But now that spark has reawakened, and I know why.

Last night, I felt alive for the first time in… too long.

I may have fucked her over a table on the terrace, but I was halfway home before I could recall her name.

Amelia.

Her pale complexion, raven hair, a quietly striking combination. That intelligent face, high cheekbones, her firm jaw.

Who is she?

My pulse picks up and my cock twitches, images assailing me, never far from my thoughts. The vulnerability and heat in her expressive, green eyes. The reluctance that she tried so hard to cling to. Her whimpers of pain and pleasure. The way she came around my cock, back arching, breasts gleaming in the night.

The feel of her ass beneath my hand.

I went too far. I know I did.

All I intended to do was chastise her, but there she stood pinned against the wall, her arousal obvious even as she fought it, and the next thing I know, I’m giving her ultimatums and slicing open her dress.

Because she responded.

I couldn’t help myself, and that’s not like me at all.

She tested my control like no one ever has.

She’s the reason the world has more color this morning. She’s the reason I find myself caring again.

A knock on my door announces the arrival of Haynes. Was that half an hour already?

She’s taking over my thoughts, too. A distraction I can’t afford.

I sit back down. “Enter.”

The man who walks in is in his late twenties with an athletic build, and crosses the room with the grace of a killer. I may have been the one to recruit him, but I’ve never liked him. His gaze is flat and totally empty of emotion, save when he’s indulging in his particular pleasure: torture. Edward Haynes is a consummate sadist.

He is, however, very effective at his job.

“I have a few tasks for you,” I tell him, as he crosses to the window and leans nonchalantly against it.

“Shoot.”

“Liaise with Richard Cross. He’s running a job for Sentinel Risk and I want you to take over.”

“I’m not surprised,” Haynes drawls. He sounds American, most of the time, but hints of his clipped British accent occasionally leak through. “Cross is an imbecile. Who do I need to kill?”

“I’ll handle that myself,” I say, ignoring the way his thin lips press thinner with disappointment. “Get me a progress report on Origin Engineering.”

“Anything else?”

“Get that done fast, because next we have to go probe the Volkovs.”

Haynes’s interest sharpens. “Russian mafia? Have they started something, or are we planning to?”

“Our job is to make sure neither happens, and to be prepared in case it does.”