Not that there was much in the way of information. Alex and Katya had stayed for another hour and a half after Conrad had left them, but they'd learned nothing of any interest. Katya had wanted to speak to the mercenary who had been standing beside the fire, but he'd gone by the time she and Alex were ready to mingle with the other people.

Don't think about that. Don't think about the softness of her breast beneath your hand or the heat between her legs. The heat you could feel through the fabric of that golden gown.

Don't think about the fact she's a virgin and no matter how badly you want to fuck her, you won't.

And most important of all, don't think about the way she trusted you at the end.

Of course he wouldn't think about it. Not thinking was what he did best, after all.

"I told Zac everything," he continued. "So don't even start asking me."

"Yeah, I'm not calling about what you told Zac."

Alex leaned back and took a sip of his vodka, relishing the burn of the alcohol in his throat. "Then what for?"

There was a silence down the other end of the line. "Conrad South," Gabriel said eventually. "I want to know about him."

"Why? He's probably not your father, if that's what you're worrying about." It was a stupid thing to say, since Alex really had no idea. Anything was possible.

"I don't give a shit about whether he's my father or not," Gabriel said. "Zac's done some investigation into the Seven Devils, your father's little group of buddies. Eva got him the names. Conrad South was one of them."

Alex tried to relax his tight muscles. The others were bound to find out at some point and in many ways it was a surprise that they'd taken this long. "And?"

"You knew."

He idly shook the ice cubes in his glass. "Yeah, I knew."

Another long silence.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Alex. You didn't think that this might be something you'd want to pass on maybe?" Gabriel sounded pissed, which was kind of understandable.

Alex should have told them that back in New York, but at that stage he'd been in avoidance mode. And that included all those bad memories. Not speaking about what went on in the casino, keeping everything secret, was an old habit anyway. A habit that died hard.

"I had my reasons." Alex tipped back his glass and drained it in one go.

"Which you're still not going to share."

The vodka warmed his gut, easing the tension. "Don't ask, don't tell, brother. I assume that's still good enough for you?"

Gabriel said nothing, not that there was an answer to that, as Alex well knew. The club rules were the club rules. Eventually his friend asked, "Got anything you do want to share?"

"What can I say? South was one of Dad's cronies and yeah, he's done very well for himself with the Four Horsemen."

"Too well, judging from the financial reports Zac managed to find. The bastard's raking it in."

Alex lifted a shoulder. "He's a big player. He knows how to make money. So what?"

"Zac thinks it's more than gambling going on there."

"What? Another setup like the Lucky Seven?" Alex thought back to the Four Horsemen's bar, where the Apocalypse reception had been. There hadn't been anything sketchy that either he or Katya had noticed, apart from the merc hanging around. Just another expensive bar with an expensive crowd. "Like I told Zac, I didn't see anything questionable a couple of nights ago. Then again, that was a special event and only in the bar. The gaming floor might be different."

"Did you see the gaming floor?"

"No. There was no opportunity." Because you were too busy making Katya come.

"What about South? Did you have any dealings with him?" The question was flat and direct, no implication whatsoever behind it.

Alex could feel himself tensing up again. "What? When I was at the Lucky Seven with Dad?"

"Yeah."

"No," he lied. "I didn't."

"You said once you never saw any of your dad's friends there."

Alex remembered. The day he punched his friend in the face when he'd found out Gabe was sleeping with Honor. What a fucking excellent day that had been. "Are you saying I lied?"

Gabriel let out a short breath. "No, Christ. Keep your fucking secrets if you want; I don't care. All I want to know is how deep this shit goes. Honor's life could be at stake and I will do anything, anything, to protect her, okay?"

Guilt shifted inside Alex at his sister's name. Gabriel was looking out for her now and nothing would get past him, but deliberately withholding information that might help was wrong.

A small hand in his, big blue eyes looking up at him as he'd taken her to school on her first day. He'd begged his parents to let him take her because she'd been scared and he'd wanted to show her there was nothing to be afraid of. He was her big brother. He'd protect her ...

The alcohol sitting in his gut burned like acid.

"Okay," he said thickly. "I hear you. Look, what I know about South is that he's a prick. And he's ruthless. Loves power games. If he's swimming in cash and it's looking sketchy as fuck then your instincts are probably right." He put the empty glass back down on the table. "I'm going to get Katya to look around while I play." He paused. "I'm also in the process of getting South to participate in the game too."

"He doesn't play?"

"No, and he's famous for it. There are only ever seven players and he's never one of them."

There was a silence down the end of the line. Then Gabriel said, "Seven?"

"Yeah. Funny how that number keeps turning up, isn't it? Makes me wonder about Tremain and why he had a pair of Apocalypse dice when he wasn't a poker player." Another thought struck Alex. "The invites are always anonymous too. No one knows who sends them out; the dice just apparently turn up. It's assumed the invites come from South, but maybe they don't."

"Your father had six friends," Gabriel murmured. "That's too much of a coincidence."

"What? So the invites come from each of them? Could be, I guess, but why? What's the intention of the game? Especially when there isn't a prize pool. Is it entirely for fun or for other reasons?"

"Good point. You sent the names of the players to Zac? We need to figure out who these people are and why they were invited, see if there's any pattern."

"Yeah, I sent them on to him." Jesus, he really needed another vodka.

"What about the rest of your dad's friends? Not including South, Tremain, and your father, there were four others. Patrick Mantel, Will Elliot, Benjamin Jordan, and Evelyn Fitzgerald."

Alex knew the names. Knew the faces. All rich, privileged middle-aged men, just like his father. All of them powerful and arrogant as hell. He'd seen a couple of them at the Lucky Seven, but all they'd done was play a few idle games of poker, then retreat to his father's offices behind the bar. They'd always seemed much more comfortable sitting around in his family's lounge talking about their golfing games and their business successes.

"Elliot and Jordan are dead." Alex shifted on the couch, gesturing to the bartender to fill up his tumbler again. "They died some years ago if I remember. The others ... They're just old men with God complexes and too much time on their hands if you ask me."

"So you never knew any of them?"

"No." And that wasn't a lie. He hadn't actually known them. "They were just Dad's friends as far as I was concerned."

"Right, well, Zac's already digging into their pasts. And we have the player names too. That's a start."

The bartender came over, poured Alex another tumbler of Grey Goose. He picked it up, stared at it. The words were there in his mouth and he wanted to say them. How's Honor? Is she okay? Tell her I'm sorry.... But he didn't say anything. Instead he raised his glass and took a sip.

At that moment, his phone chimed, indicating he had a text. He glanced at the screen, reading the notification. It was from Conrad and all it said was: Your bet is on.

How the guy had gotten his number Alex didn't know, but a bolt of triumph went through him. Fucking finally. A chance to get even. A chance for revenge.

He smiled, turning his attention back to the conversation with Gabriel. "If you've got anything else to ask do it now, because I've got shit to do."

After Gabriel had ended the call, Alex found he couldn't sit still, restlessness pumping through him. He wanted to get up and beat that fucker right now, but of course that was going to have to wait until the first game tomorrow night.

Perhaps he could work out instead. Let off some steam punching a bag or practicing a few forms.

Getting up from the couch and taking his vodka with him, he stalked through the bar, heading for the private gym in the basement of the building. The door was closed and locked when he got there, but he could hear the sound of feet moving on the sprung wooden floor.

He'd only given one other person the code to get in. Katya.

Heat swept through him, thick and hot. He'd kept away from her the past couple of days, hadn't even let himself think about what had happened between them at Conrad's reception. Mainly because it wasn't the feel of her against him or even the sight of her coming under his hand that was seared into his head.

No, the thing that kept replaying over and over in his brain was the unthinking fear in her face as she'd stilled his hand. Then her obedience as he'd ordered her to let go. As he'd told her to close her eyes.

Her trust as he'd told her he'd keep her safe.

That, especially, he did not want to think about. Because there was no way he deserved her trust.

She may not have been an innocent, but she was a virgin nonetheless and he'd touched her up in a room full of people. Made her obey his commands, made her come in public just to satisfy his own selfish needs. It didn't matter that they had been sheltered by the screens shielding them. It didn't matter that she'd wanted it. It didn't matter that she'd argued him into it.

He should never have done it in the first place. He should never have crossed the line.

Sex was supposed to be physical only and he'd made damn sure over the years to dissociate it from emotions like shame. Like guilt. Any emotions at all in fact. There were too many bad memories tied up in it.

Yet somehow, those heated minutes in the chair with Katya had hit him in a place he wasn't expecting. A vulnerable place, bringing back feelings he hadn't experienced for years. And that wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to feel.

It was sure as shit why it wouldn't happen again.

Alex punched in his code and pushed open the door, stepping into the gym, then kicking the door shut behind him.

Ahead of him was a large, open, brightly lit space. There were mirrors along one wall and various different sets of fitness equipment. A treadmill. A stationary bike. Weight benches and cross-trainers. A punching bag.

Yet none of them were in use at the moment.

Katya was in the middle of the room, rising up from a low, sweeping kick. She wore a tight black tank top and black yoga pants, her bare arms and neck gleaming with sweat. Her hair was tied in a tight braid, the small blond wisps that had escaped sticking damply to her neck.

She didn't look at him as he entered, continuing on with her martial arts workout. He couldn't tell what it was, perhaps a mixture of styles, but it was fast, brutal, and absolutely beautiful to watch.

Or maybe that was just her. She was so graceful and yet at the same time incredibly powerful. Strong and sure. She moved fluidly, different stances morphing from one into another without a break. A stunning show of female strength, revealing the warrior beneath all the form-fitting gowns and high heels he'd forced her to wear.

Shit, he'd known those muscles he'd felt beneath her clothing weren't there for show. But what he hadn't realized until now was how extremely attractive it was to watch her move.

She was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen.

I wanted to be a dancer ...

But her father had told her dancers were weak, or at least that's what she'd revealed at Conrad's reception. A strange thing to think when dancers were the very opposite.

She came to a stop down Alex's end of the room, her back to him. She was breathing fast and hard, the lights gleaming on her skin. "Good afternoon, sir." She turned around, passing a hand across her forehead. "I hope you don't mind me using your gym."

"Not at all."

"I was careful, I kept the door closed and locked."

"So people don't see my delicate lover delivering killing blows to imaginary opponents?"

"Yes." Her gaze was flat, which meant she was hiding something.

Automatically he wanted to know what it was, but the time for that kind of thing was over. He had to put distance between them, not close it.

"So is that a special form of martial arts then?" He knew he should let her go, get on with his own workout, but for some reason he just stood there, staring at her.

"It's a mixture of different styles, yes. Adapted for the special forces unit I was part of."

"It's beautiful," he said honestly.

She blinked a little at that, her expressionless mask wavering. "Thank you. I should let you get on with your own workout."

God help him, he didn't want her to go. "You could join me if you wanted. Show me a few moves."

Her forehead creased. "You know martial arts?"

"Kenpo. I learned from an old guy in a studio in New York years ago. I actually pay him to come and spar with me at least once a week when I'm there." He'd told himself it was because every man should know how to defend himself from attack. But of course, that wasn't the real reason. In the years after Conrad, after his father's death, he'd felt perpetually unsafe and learning how to kill someone with his bare hands had helped.

She eyed him and this time the look she gave him was very much that of a fighter measuring up an opponent. He found it almost unbearably sexy. "I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Why not?" The combination of restlessness and vodka was making feel wild and a little reckless, not the best of combinations. "Scared I'll beat you?"

"I don't think so." The look in her eyes was derisive and he liked that too.

Weren't you supposed to be keeping her at a distance?

Yeah, well, he had. Two days of distance. And this was only working out, nothing more, right? Besides, he just ... couldn't let her go quite yet. He wanted to see her move again.

He stepped back, rolling up the sleeves of the business shirt he wore. "Come on. I promise I won't hurt you."

A familiar spark glowed briefly in her eyes. "With all due respect, I wouldn't let you. And in fact it's you who should be worried about getting hurt."