Because what he'd done for his father had, apparently, been for nothing.

Alex still couldn't get his head around it. That his father had known all along. That he had agreed to it beforehand. And it didn't matter that he'd perhaps changed his mind and tried to stop it from happening.

He'd known. He'd let it happen.

He'd let his son be raped by one of his friends.

"What I'm going to show you is going to be our secret, okay?" Alex's father had told him that first night as they'd sat in the car in the alley near the Lucky Seven. "You can't tell anyone, not a soul. You can do that, can't you, Alex? You can keep a secret?"

And he'd said yes. He'd do whatever his father wanted because he loved him. But in the end, that secret had cost Alex dearly. It had cost him everything. The only thing he'd had after his father had died had been the knowledge that at least Daniel St. James had never known what his son had had to do to clear his debts.

Now Alex didn't even have that.

No. You have revenge.

A feral smile pulled at his mouth. Oh yeah, that's right; he did.

A full house was good, but there were other hands that could beat it. And unless Conrad had been bluffing, those lousy odds were on him having something better.

But it didn't matter. Whatever Conrad had, Alex had an insurance policy sitting in Katya's purse.

The other man's eyes were glittering and a savage kind of smile began to turn his mouth. "That's a good hand, son. But I've got-"

Then all hell broke loose.

The elevator doors at the raised entrance of the room opened suddenly and one of Conrad's staff rushed forward. "I'm sorry, Mr. South. I tried to stop them, but they were most insistent."

Alex turned in time to see the doorman pushed roughly aside by a massively built guy in black. The dead-eyed, strangely familiar mercenary. He was flanked by two other men, both in black and both looking like they were ready to crush something with their bare hands.

Conrad shoved his chair back and rose. "What the hell is going on?"

"This game is over," the mercenary said, his voice flat and cold. He came down the steps that led from the elevator doors down into the room and came straight over to the poker table, reaching into his jacket as he did so.

There was a rustle of movement at his side. Alex whipped his head around to see Katya had also shoved her chair back, her Springfield in her hand, the barrel pointed directly at the mercenary's head.

But the guy didn't even glance in her direction. He simply took his hand from his jacket, revealing a pistol with a silencer on it. Then he pointed it at the laptop sitting in the center of the table and fired.

"What the fuck, Elijah?" Conrad demanded, his previous cool completely gone. "This is none of your concern. That was-"

"That wasn't your property to give away," Elijah said. "Still less at a poker game." Calmly, he lifted the gun and pointed it at Conrad's head. "Which is now over, Mr. South. You need to leave. I will deal with Mr. St. James here."

Conrad ignored the gun, staring at the man. "I won. And I want my fucking winnings." With a flick of his hand, he turned over his cards.

Four of a kind. Aces.

Alex had lost.

"Your winnings are of no interest to me." Elijah put his finger on the trigger. "You've made a few mistakes. And you know how he hates mistakes."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I'm not a poker player, Mr. South. I never bluff."

Conrad stared back at him, a muscle flicking in his jaw. Then he cursed, low and vicious. "This isn't over." His furious gaze met Alex's. "You owe me."

Alex stared back, his fury beginning to rise. "You're right, prick. It's not. And I do owe you. I owe you a bit of revenge." Because whatever Elijah was doing here, it looked like Alex's revenge plans were going to have to wait. There was no way he and Katya could fight three heavily armed men with one handgun.

"Revenge? You think that's the only-"

"Shut the fuck up, South," Elijah interrupted flatly. He made a gesture with his gun to the two men flanking him. "Please escort this piece of shit into his office. He needs a little reminder about the dangers of hubris."

Still cursing, Conrad was taken out of the back of the room by the two guards, the door closing behind him.

Elijah put his gun away, then went over to the bar at one end of the room, reaching up to get something behind one of the bottles. Then he began to move around the rest of the space, doing something to a picture on the wall, then a vase on a pedestal near the elevator door entrance.

Alex stayed where he was. Reaction had begun to set in, adrenaline pumping through him in a burst of thwarted rage. He wanted to punch the guy in the head, grab his gun, and tell him to fuck off. Leave Conrad to him.

But he couldn't win this round, not against this guy. The only consolation was that if he let it play out, he might get something that could be useful for Zac, Eva, and Gabriel.

Beside him, Katya stood with her own weapon trained on Elijah. Tall and strong and deadly. Stubborn. Beautiful.

Christ, he wished she hadn't had to see that tape. Telling her was one thing, but having her see it was quite another. Having her know that his father had sold him, pimped him to a friend ...

A wave of humiliation washed through him, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

At that point, Elijah finished what he was doing and came back to the poker table, his scarred face expressionless. "You need to leave, Mr. St. James."

He had to force himself to speak. "Excellent timing. I was just about to."

"A word of advice first."

Alex pushed the chair back and stood up. "And what would that be?"

A flicker gleamed in the other man's black eyes. "Leave Monte Carlo. Go back to New York. There's nothing for you here."

And what the hell did that mean? Alex studied him. "What makes you think I'm here for anything other than a poker game?"

"Do you really think Mr. Rutherford's attempts at being Sherlock Holmes have gone unnoticed?" Elijah's voice was cold. "Or that setting free Mr. South's little gift to you, the one who arrived back in the States not too long ago, wouldn't be spotted? You and your friends are making nuisances of themselves and have attracted the wrong kind of attention. I would advise that when you get back to New York, you tell them to go and find something else to do."

Shock coursed down Alex's spine. "What the fuck do you mean by that? And who the fuck are you anyway?"

"Someone who's looking to minimize civilian casualties."

"Casualties? Since when do mercenaries give a shit about casualties? 'Kill 'em all; let God sort 'em out.' Isn't that the code?"

But the man was already turning away. "Take my advice, Mr. St. James. At least if you don't want the people you care about to get hurt. Because they will get hurt, believe me."

Alex took a step toward him. "Who are you? I know you, don't I?"

Elijah stopped halfway up the steps to the elevator doors and looked at him for a long moment. "No," he said flatly. "You don't." Then without waiting for a response, he continued up the stairs to the elevator. The doors swept open and he was gone.

A hand touched Alex's arm.

He turned to find Katya standing next to him, frowning in the direction of the elevator. "What's going on? What was that about?"

"I don't know. But he's familiar in some way-" He stopped. There was no point thinking about that now. Not when there were more important things to worry about. Like alerting Zac and Eva to the fact that their investigations and the release of the woman had been discovered. Like telling Gabriel to make sure Honor was okay.

Jesus ... Who was Elijah? And how the hell could he just walk into Conrad's casino and put a gun to his head like he owned the place? Holy shit, did he own the place? Perhaps Conrad wasn't acting on his own after all? There was a connection here. A connection they were all missing- "Alex?" Katya's hand on his arm again.

A shiver went through him, and through it all hunger beginning to gather. Even now, even with his revenge plans in ruins, all he could think about was having her.

No more distance.

He'd told her that earlier and he'd meant it. But now everything had changed.

What would she think, this general's daughter, of a man whose own father hadn't valued him enough to protect him? Actually, he didn't want to know. Handling it himself was enough to bear without wondering what Katya was thinking too.

And anyway, he had to think about what he was going to do now, where he was going to go. Because he couldn't follow up on his revenge plans for Conrad if he had to leave town like Elijah had said. Which left him back at square one.

Her hand on his arm was suddenly too much. He shook it off, ignoring her sharp look. "Come on. We have to get back. I have people to talk to."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

Katya didn't expect him to vanish when they returned to the Fourth Circle, but the moment they stepped into the foyer he strode off toward the bar without a word, leaving her standing there alone.

She stared after him, not knowing what to do, a dull hurt settling down inside her. He'd said no more distance. No more secrets. And yet he was escaping again, running again. Protecting himself.

Her throat closed, the hurt moving through her, unexpectedly sharp.

She hadn't realized until now how much it had meant to her to be the one he told his secrets to. To be the one he let close. And now he'd changed his mind.

Are you surprised? After what happened in that casino?

Alex had thought his father hadn't known what Conrad had done to him. Yet his father had known about it from the start. Had even agreed to let his son be payment for his own debts. That knowledge must have been like a knife slashing an old wound, leaving a ragged, bleeding hole.

Katya looked toward the doorway that went through to the bar, where Alex had disappeared off to.

She couldn't let him do this, not again. Yes, he was a selfish, debauched playboy with no God and no soul. But he was also a man. A flawed man. A man with demons. Who was fighting them as best he was able.

And he was losing.

Katya headed through the doors and toward the bar. The place was once again packed full of people and it appeared some kind of masquerade party was going on, because most of them were in some kind of costume, wearing glittering masks.

People called to her as she strode through the crowd, and some of them reached out as if to draw her in, absorb her into the revelry. But she ignored the calls, shook off the touches, not caring whether she seemed rude or not. Those people didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the man she had to get to.

He would see her approach through the privacy glass, of course. And maybe he'd keep the door locked so she couldn't get in. Then again, a locked door wouldn't keep her out, not when she had a gun in her purse and a silencer. That keypad wouldn't last two seconds once it had a bullet through it.

Threading through a knot of people, Katya came to a stop in front of the office door. The heavy red velvet curtain had been pulled back from the glass, no doubt giving him a clear view of her standing there. She knocked anyway.

Nothing happened for a long time and she began to reach for her Springfield, ready to shoot the lock. Then the door was abruptly pulled open and Alex was standing there, his mobile pressed to his ear. "Just a minute," he said to the person on the other end of the call. "What do you want, Katya? I'm busy."

"I want to talk to you."

"Can't it wait? I'm on the phone."

"No," she said. "It can't." And she pushed past him, striding into his office before he could stop her.

Behind her, Alex muttered a curse. "Shit. Sorry, Zac. I'm going to have to call you back."

The door closed, the sound of the party going on outside fading into a low hum of background noise.

Katya turned around.

Alex was still standing by the door, his blue eyes gone diamond hard. "What the fuck do you want?" He chucked his phone onto the red velvet sofa positioned in the middle of the office, at right angles to his desk. On the low table in front of it was a tumbler full of clear liquid. So he was hitting the vodka already, was he?

"You said no more distance," Katya said, ignoring the fury glittering in his gaze. "You said no more secrets."

He pushed his hands into the pockets of his pants. "And?"

"So why are you walking away from me? Why are you shutting me out? Did you not mean it?"

"I don't have to tell you everything, Katya."

"No, I know you don't. But what happened in that casino hurt you. And I ... I don't like it. I want to help. I want to make it better."

His mouth twisted. "Well, Mommy's kisses always make it better. You could try that."

"No," she said fiercely, closing the gap between them. "Don't do that. Don't play it down. Don't make it mean nothing. You told me what happened to you, Alex. You said you were mine. You can't do that and then push me away."

He'd gone still, watching her, motionless apart from the sharp rise and fall of his chest. "And what if I don't want that? Are you going to respect my right to tell you to fuck off? Or are you going to force me like Conrad?"

The words were hard, like stones. And she felt them hit home. Every one.

She swallowed, staring into his shadowed face. He'd had everything taken from him and it must feel to him like she was trying to take from him too.

So no wonder he was hurt. No wonder he was protecting himself.

"My mother died when I was ten," she said hoarsely, wanting to give him something, a secret in exchange for his. "She was a ballerina with the Bolshoi. She was ... so beautiful. But emotionally very fragile. I came home from school one day to find her floating in the bath. She'd cut her wrists and there was blood everywhere, in the water, in her hair. I couldn't save her." She stopped all of a sudden, her throat constricting.

Alex was silent, his jaw tight, every part of him rigid. His eyes had gone dark, the expression in them opaque as the privacy glass shielding them from the bar outside. "I'm sorry for your loss, Katya," he said, his voice cold, hard. "But I'm not your mother and it's not your job to save me."

"But it is my job. Who else is going to do it? Especially when you don't seem to want to save yourself."