For being a woman he couldn't let himself have, no matter how much he wanted her.

"Why would I do that?" he said flippantly. "Being angry about an excellent hand job is like getting pissed at your bank account for having a million dollars in it."

But she just looked at him and he knew she'd seen past his stupid response, just as she always did. "You are worried about this game." She didn't say it like it was a question. She said it like it was a fact, and shit, she was right, wasn't she?

He had his plan, it was true, but he wasn't relishing the shit Conrad would pull before the moment Alex would have the other man on his knees. And Conrad would pull some shit; of that Alex had no doubt.

Yet he didn't want to admit he was worried. Like her, he hated revealing weakness.

She had her hand on your cock. She made you come. What's more revealing than that?

Christ, yes. He knew how vulnerable sex could make you. How exposed you could be. It was why he chose the women he did. Why they never stayed for more than a night.

After Conrad had hurt him, it had taken him six months before he could even bear to touch himself. A whole year before he'd let anyone else touch him. On the night of his eighteenth birthday he'd gotten drunk at one of the Angels', Gabriel's motorcycle club's, parties and taken to bed one of the chicks who'd hung around the bikers. She'd been older, very experienced, knew her way around a man. And Alex was drunk enough that he hadn't had any flashbacks at all.

That was the night he'd actually lost his virginityor at least, that's what he liked to tell himself. Not with Conrad, never that.

From then on, that's what Alex had wanted. Women who knew what they were doing. Who knew what they wanted from him. And didn't mind if he was drunk out of his head or high or doing any of the other things he used to help him forget. Until sex had become what it should bea pleasurable, physical release, not something redolent with shame and guilt and a hundred other emotions that exhausted him.

But Katya ... She was different. She wasn't experienced, at least not in this. She was the innocent and all this was new to her. These feelings would be new to her too. This was special to her. This mattered.

A strange feeling curled inside him. A sense of yearning. As if he wanted to be able to experience that newness too. Have it be special, have it matter. Not ripped from him along with his innocence.

Christ, even just to have her know him, because no one else did. Not even Gabriel, possibly the only person on the planet he was close to. And sometimes ... God, sometimes it was so fucking tiring to be alone. To carry all these secrets around and not share them with anyone. To not share the pain with anyone. To know that the only person who could carry them, who could deal with them, was yourself.

Would it be so bad to let her know?

Well, but who the fuck was he anyway? The boy he'd been nineteen years ago was dead and he'd spent so long being Alex St. James, billionaire playboy, gambler, and club owner, he didn't even know if there was anyone else under all of that.

Perhaps there wasn't. Perhaps there was nothing there at all.

Alex made himself meet her steady gaze. "Yes," he said, speaking the truth. "You're right. I am worried about the game."

If she was surprised by the confession, she didn't show it. She only stared at him a long moment before taking a step toward him and holding out her hand. "If there's only one thing you take to the game, Alexei, then take this. You can trust me. With your life. With everything."

The sound of his name in Russian ... It went all the way down into the darkness that was his soul. He didn't like the vulnerable feeling it left in him, yet the way she'd said it and the word "everything" resonated even more deeply. And he found himself reaching for her hand and holding on to it, the warmth of her skin against his.

There was no guile to Katya Ivanova. She didn't play games or try to manipulate. She was straight up, honest. Honorable. And he could see in the green depths of her eyes that she meant every word she said.

If there was one person on earth he could trust it was probably going to be the woman standing in front of him.

Tell her your plan.

No, he couldn't. Not yet. It would reveal too much, his anger and his hate. It would reveal how much this mattered, and he wasn't ready for that. Besides, he'd spent too long trusting no one but himself to give that trust away so easily.

Still, he wanted to give her something. So he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. "You'll teach me those moves, won't you? The ones that had me on my back yesterday?"

She eyed him warily but didn't pull away. "Yes. Of course."

"Good." He lowered her hand and laced his fingers through hers. "Come, Katya mine. Let's go fuck a man up."

This time when they entered the Four Horsemen casino, the doorman in the foyer betrayed no surprise at all, merely inclining his head as Alex and Katya approached. The doorman didn't take them through into the bar either, guiding them instead to the elevators.

The doorman, Alex, and Katya went up a couple of floors, the doors opening directly into a large room hung with glittering chandeliers, the walls papered white, thick white carpet on the floor. There was a lavishly appointed bar down the other end, chairs and couches scattered about. And in the center of the room was a large black poker table circled by a rail.

Various people either stood or sat, talking among themselves and quietly sipping their drinks. Hangers-on of the players, Alex guessed. There were a number of others who weren't, though, women mainly, beautiful and expensively dressed. For decorative purposes only.

There were already a number of men and women sitting around the poker table. Alex had met several of them that night at Conrad's little reception, but he hadn't paid much attention to them. Which was unlike him, since studying his opponents was usually a good idea.

You were distracted.

Yeah, he had been. But ultimately those other players didn't matter anyway. He wasn't here to beat them. There was only one player who mattered as far as Alex was concerned.

Several of the people at the table looked up as he and Katya stepped out of the elevator onto the raised landing just outside the elevator doors. There were stairs sweeping down into the room, but Alex ignored them for a moment, surveying the room from his vantage point, partly to get a good look around but also partly as a show of confidence.

There were four people already at the table. A much older Chinese woman dressed immaculately in vintage Chanel, her night black hair now mostly silver. Her face still held the vestiges of what must have been a compelling beauty, but the look in her black eyes was completely cold. The woman had only been introduced to him as Mrs. Lau, a powerful businesswoman who'd taken the reins of her husband's manufacturing empire after his death.

Next to her, closest to Alex, was a powerfully built Arab man in an exquisitely made custom suit. A sheikh from some tiny Middle Eastern country Alex had never heard of. The guy had looked uncomfortable back at the reception and he still did now, leaning back in his chair, a ferocious scowl on his face.

The chair next to the sheikh, at the end of the table closest to Alex, was vacant, but the next one along had a woman sitting at it. A blond American heiress called Christine. She'd introduced herself at the reception, though he hadn't paid much attention to her, his head too full of Katya to notice. Christine looked like she was in her thirties but could have been any age, since he was sure she'd had some work done. She gave him a measuring look from beneath her way too long to be natural eyelashes, her full red mouth pouty.

Next to her was the scarred mercenary who had also been at the reception. The man's dark eyes were as cold as Mrs. Lau's, his expression completely impenetrable. There was something familiar about him that Alex hadn't noticed before but nagged at him now. Weird.

The seat next to the mercenary was empty, but Alex could see the fifth player standing near the bar, talking on his cell phone. Jason August, a Texan oil baron and walking cliche in his Stetson, his loud voice with its broad vowels ringing out over the room.

Conrad himself seemed to be absent.

"Mr. St. James, if you would take a seat," the doorman urged, making gestures toward the poker table.

Alex kept his fingers laced through Katya's as he descended the stairs and approached the table. It wouldn't hurt to give them a show with his adoring lover, though most of them had already seen him with his arm around her at the Apocalypse reception anyway.

He kissed the back of her hand again, seating himself down one end of the table, in between the sheikh and Christine, the heiress. Katya gave him a brilliant smile before moving down toward the bar. She'd been to enough of his games in her traditional bodyguard capacity to know that spectators were not permitted past the rail that circled the table protecting the players.

Her role for the evening was to see what she could scope out of the game and of the other people in the room. Perhaps talk to the other hangers-on and see what else she could find out. He'd asked her to leave the private gaming room to see what kind of information she could get from the main gaming floor, but she'd refused. Her place was near him, she'd said. To protect him.

That wasn't going to be a problem of course. Not with what he'd already put on the table in front of Conrad. His clubs. Himself. Conrad wasn't going to risk losing either of those with an ill-advised attempt on his life.

Alex sat down, nodding at the other players.

"Nice to see you again, Alex," Christine purred from his right. "Your first time playing in the Apocalypse?"

Tension gathered in his shoulders, but he ignored it, leaning his arms on the table and smiling at the woman as if he were sitting down to a relaxing dinner with friends. "Aren't we all Apocalypse virgins? I didn't think you got invited twice."

"Sure. Ordinarily." Christine's blue eyes flicked toward the Chinese woman. "Except if you're Mrs. Lau of course."

Mrs. Lau was talking in Mandarin to a man standing at her back, but obviously she heard her name, because she flashed both Alex and Christine an enigmatic look.

"In fact," Christine said, leaning in close, the plunging neckline of her blue gown giving him an excellent view of very round, fake breasts. "I heard that it's not really poker that goes on here."

Alex was careful not to let any reaction show. Instead he kept the smile on his face. "If it's not poker, then what?"

Christine flashed him a naughty look she must have practiced a hundred times in the mirror. "Could be anything. I know Conrad gets bored. He likes to mix it up a little."

Oh yeah. He certainly did.

A waiter paused beside Alex and put down a tray containing a crystal tumbler full of clear liquid on the small side table next to his chair. Grey Goose probably. Another of Conrad's power games. Showing that he knew you and your preferences without being asked.

Alex was tempted to wave away the drink, but that wouldn't convey the right message. That he didn't give a fuck.

Instead he leaned back in his chair and raised the tumbler in Christine's direction. "Here's to mixing it up then, darling."

At that moment a door near the bar opened and Conrad walked in.

He was immaculate as always, in a white tuxedo, the black bow of his tie perfectly centered, the red handkerchief he had folded in his breast pocket bright as a spot of blood against the white fabric.

The tension in the room suddenly hiked up, stretching thin and taut.

Alex didn't move, continued to take a sip from his glass, watching as the other man greeted a few people as he made his way over to the table.

The other players straightened in their chairs while Jason August finally made his way over too, sitting down with a grunt as Conrad stood at one end of the table. Conrad didn't focus on Alex in particular, his gaze meeting Alex's for a moment before passing on to the next person. As if Alex wasn't special in any way.

"Friends," Conrad said, smiling like he knew things other people didn't. "Welcome to the Apocalypse. You will find it less of a game and more an ... experience." The smile on his face did not reach his eyes. "This year's tournament is going to be slightly different in that Mr. St. James down there has convinced me to join the players instead of sitting out like I normally do." He gave a chuckle, encouraging everyone to smile with him. "He knows I can never resist a bet."

The tension around the table loosened, the other players smiling along with Conrad and looking his way.

But Alex could feel the muscles in his shoulders and neck getting tight. He had to fight down the urge to launch himself across the table and strangle the other man with his perfect black bow tie.

Remember the plan.

Good fucking point.

Alex inclined his head as if acknowledging a joke, raising his glass in another token toast. Keeping his "I don't give a shit" smile pasted there.

Conrad gave a bit more speechifying, which Alex ignored, checking on Katya down near the bar before sweeping a glance over the rest of the players, noting their reactions. Mrs. Lau betrayed nothing, like the mercenary. Jason was handing his phone to an aide while Christine sipped at her champagne and fiddled with her poker chips. The sheikh stared at Conrad, his brow furrowed.

Alex dismissed him as a threat. The guy appeared inexperienced and Alex had never seen him at a poker table before, so what he was doing here was anyone's guess. As to the other players, Alex knew for a fact that Jason August liked to play fairly often and when he played he liked to win. Mrs. Lau was another unknown quantity and the fact that her poker face was pretty much perfect made her an opponent to be wary of. Christine seemed as inexperienced as the sheikh, but then she didn't have that unconscious discomfort that the sheikh radiated. Perhaps she was projecting inexperience as a cover.

The mercenary, though ... Shit, there was that nagging familiarity Alex couldn't quite put his finger on. Yet he was sure he would have remembered a guy with a scar like that from other games....

"Thank you for bearing with me, friends," Conrad was saying. "And that's enough of me talking. Now we get to the fun part of the evening." He brought his hands together in a sharp clap. "Let the end of the world begin."

The dealer approached the table and began to deal out the cards.

Alex sat back and sipped at his vodka, aware of the gazes of the other players on him, measuring him in the same way as he'd measured them. He gave them nothing.

But there was something odd about this game. The reputation of the Apocalypse was legendary, the rumors about only the best of the best being invited. The mysterious way the invitations turned up in the first place and the fact that no one was ever asked to participate twice.

Yet the people sitting around this table ... They weren't the best of the best. They were rich and powerful certainly, but as poker players Alex was betting they were hardly the cream of the crop.

"I heard that it's not really poker that goes on here," Christine had told him.

So, if it wasn't poker, then what was it?

He settled back to observe the game as it progressed, going through a couple of early rounds with chips representing thousands of dollars being exchanged. Not that the money was important, or even the winning or losing at this stage. No, what was important was the chance to watch the other players, take note of their playing styles.

Christine tended to talk loudly and laugh when she had a crappy hand, sipping her champagne moodily when it was good. The sheikh drummed his fingers on the side of the table when his hand was bad, his fingers going still when it wasn't. Mrs. Lau and the mercenary were more difficult to read. Both kept their expressions completely blank, though the Chinese businesswoman's mouth went tight when her cards weren't what she wanted. August, on the other hand, was famous for taking a poker chip and tapping it on the side of the table regardless of his hand, usually in an effort to irritate other players. But after a couple of rounds, Alex found that the rhythm of the tapping changed slightly depending on August's cards. Faster indicated a good hand, slower not so much.

Conrad was a different story. His tells were almost impossible to discern. The guy had been playing too long and was too good at hiding to give himself away so easily. He seemed to shift in his seat a lot and would touch his hair every so often, but they were obvious and Alex was pretty certain he put them on for the benefit of the rest of the players.

Clearly Alex was going to have to pay more attention.

Another couple of rounds passed, the stakes getting slowly higher, the pile of poker chips collecting in front of Mrs. Lau getting larger.

Alex kept himself out of the majority of the rounds, losing a bit to keep everyone else feeling smug, then winning a couple of hands so he didn't look like an amateur.

Conrad seemed to be doing the same, letting the early glory go to Mrs. Lau more often than not. He was probably doing the same thing Alex was, saving himself for the later rounds.

About an hour later, Conrad announced a short break for refreshment purposes and Alex got up from the table to join Katya by the bar.

"Are you bored yet?" He leaned an elbow on the bar top.

She was sitting on a stool, elegant legs crossed, her purse in her lap. "I'm used to waiting. It doesn't bother me."

"What about intel then? Zac'll have my balls if I don't have information to pass on to him."

She frowned. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"

He wasn't surprised she'd picked up on his unease, and this time he didn't even try to hide it. "There's something off about this game. The players aren't prosespecially that sheikhand the blonde is telling me that there's a rumor that poker isn't even the aim of it."

"That does seem strange. Do you need me to do anything?"

He thought about it a moment. "Get in touch with Zac. They've been trying to get some info about the players. Ask him if he's found anything on them yet."

"Okay, I can do that. You'll have to give me his number."

Alex left her to it while he collected another vodka for himself, mainly to hold rather than drink, since he never allowed himself too much while he was playing. Then he went back to the table, leaning on the rail that kept distance between the table and the spectators.

Christine approached him, leaning back against it. "You're quiet tonight, Mr. St. James. I thought you were supposed to be good. Or is that just to lull us into a false sense of security?"

Alex lifted a shoulder. He knew exactly what the point of this little interchange was, since she was telegraphing it loud and clear. Unluckily for her, he had no interest in her whatsoever. Which was weird, since he usually had some appreciation for a beautiful woman at least. "Perhaps my luck is off tonight."

"Oh, I don't think that's it. I think you're saving yourself."

"I don't save myself for anything, or haven't you guessed?"

Her blue eyes were guileless. "Aren't you? Not even for your blonde over there?"