Page 4 of Capturing Victory

“Of course, had you been a man, you would be dead,” he said easily, as if he’d been informing her of the time.

She bit her lip to stifle the whimper that threatened to break free. “And why is that?” she asked, attempting to infuse strength into her husky voice. She didn’t speak often, preferring her own company.

His lip lifted in a cold smirk. His face looked like it was sculpted from granite, hard and masculine, with barely any emotion except what he allowed. His body was built from the same rock as his face, all sharp planes and hard muscles with long, masculine limbs. She’d thought he was a handsome man when she saw him at the Athens ball. Now?… now that he held her fragile life in his ruthless hands, she wasn’t convinced.

“You refused to work for me,” he said simply, his eyes never leaving her face.

“And no one has ever refused you before?” she asked sharply. “I somehow doubt that.”

His brow lifted in surprise, as though reminding her of her precarious position. A small shudder rippled down her back. She needed to remember who she was dealing with and somehow rein in her impulsive tongue. There was a reason she was a hacker. She preferred not to develop the social skills necessary in dealing with the masses. She didn’t like interacting with people or giving them the required responses to their inane conversation.

“No one refuses me for long, little Miss Source,” he drawled her nickname out as though teasing her with it. “And you withheld services from me repeatedly. Refusing my advances, despite my ever more lucrative offers.”

He stepped closer to her as he spoke, purposefully using provocative language. He lifted a finger and ran it over her cheek, testing the softness of her skin. Her eyes flared wide and the breath strangled in her throat. She stumbled back a step, but her legs hit the edge of the bed. He stepped closer, trapping her against the high bed she’d been sleeping on for the last two days.

“P-please,” she whispered, terrified of the big man. She’d heard so many horrific stories of the international arms dealer over the years. He worked in and out of the shadows. The one story she should have listened to when he first started pursuing her a year ago was that Ivan always got what he wanted. “I’m sorry.”

He looked down at her, lifting his hand again and touching it to her cheek before drifting it down her throat and then her arm. He lifted her hand and brought it to his face, caressing the back with his lips. Her skin was only a few shades darker than his. Her hand looked so small and delicate in his much larger hand. His tongue darted out to touch the back of her fingers.

“You are sorry you didn’t come to work for me?” he asked against her hand, pressing the soft skin against his hard jaw and then rubbing his rough cheek against her. “A little late for apologies, don’t you think?” His sardonic gaze flickered around her prison before settling back on her face.

She could barely breathe, let alone keep her thoughts straight when he touched her like that, yet she knew she had to force her brain to work. This man was brutal, intelligent and deadly. She was way out of her depth and almost completely alone in the world. There was no one who would miss her if she disappeared forever. Except, perhaps, for her friend Katie, now in the clutches of the Mexican cartel. She needed to use her head and get out of this with her principles intact.

She raised her chin and said in as clear a voice as she could manage, “No. I don’t work for organizations, only for myself. What I’m sorry about is that you’re the kind of guy who won’t take no for an answer.”

His fingers tightened painfully around hers. She tried to jerk her hand away, but he refused to let her go. His eyes blazed down into hers for a moment and she feared he would just give into the fury and get rid of her. She knew Ivan wasn’t used to denial of any kind. He could buy, bully and steal anything he wanted. He was one of the most powerful men in the world.

Well, he couldn’t have her.

He reached for her so quickly, she thought a blow was coming and cried out. Instead, he sank his hand into her hair and jerked her head back until her face tipped up toward his. She gritted her teeth against the pain. His eyes flashed in cruel approval. Her chest lifted and dropped as she breathed rapidly, standing stiffly against him.

“What’s your name?” he demanded, his cold, dark eyes searching her face as though he could pull the answer from her.

She wouldn’t give him anything. She would lie to him, give him one of her aliases. She hadn’t said her real name in years, preferring to bury herself under layers of false identities. When the last of her family had died, so had her real identity along with any sense of belonging. She opened her mouth to give him one of her most used false identities, Pari, but she must have hesitated too long. Or maybe he saw the flash of dishonesty in her eyes.

Suddenly, he seized her by the throat, lifted her off the floor and slammed her down on the bed. The fluffy quilts softened the blow to her back. He came down heavy on top of her, straddling her flailing limbs. She would have screamed, except he was choking the breath from her body. His actions were so swift and precise she didn’t stand a chance. He had her arms and legs completely pinned and her throat in a tight grip that she knew would leave bruises later.

Tears rushed to her eyes as she stared up at her cruel captor. He didn’t even look angry that she had been about to lie to him, just slightly irritated, as though he expected it and was put out at having to mete out discipline.

“You don’t want to lie to me,” he said, his deep voice glacial.

A tear escaped from her eye and ran into her hairline. She nodded. She could feel his erection pressing into her belly where he was straddling her. He wasn’t completely unaffected by their little struggle, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. Neither his actions nor his expression indicated he was about to ravish her. Or maybe that was wishful thinking?

He eased his grip on her throat and gave her an expectant look.

She licked her lips and whispered the name she hadn’t spoken in six years, “Jaya.”

Genuine satisfaction suffused his features, giving his angular features a softer cast. “Victory,” he said.

He didn’t mean that he was victorious over her. Her name meant victory in Hindi. And somehow he knew that. Though she hated him with every fibre of her being, a small part of her couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Yes,” she whispered.

His eyes cut to hers. “You think you will be victorious, little hacker?”

She glared up at him, hating the way he played with her. She was ill-equipped to deal with a man like him. He was sophisticated, a world traveller. An international criminal and an arms dealer. She might be international in her own way, but she lived in basements and cellars in small towns, in places no one ever heard of, so she could stay off the grid, hiding from people like this psychotic villain.

“You tell me,” she snapped, arching her back in an attempt to dislodge him. He was so much bigger, all she managed to do was buck her body up into his and show him the curve of her full breasts against her T-shirt. “You’re keeping me in this dungeon for no good reason. Either let me the fuck go or let’s get on with whatever this is! Because I’m telling you right now, I won’t be working for a criminal like you.”

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