2

ALEXANDER

The club was quiet. That was the only reason I tolerated The Sanctum. It wasn't like the chaotic gambling floors of my casinos or the loud, desperate energy of the Strip. It was dark, smelled of leather and people knew better than to speak to me.

I sat in the private suite, swirling a glass of amber bourbon.

I was tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix. It was a bone-deep exhaustion that came from twenty years of cleaning up messes. My empire was spotless on the surface—real estate, hotels, shipping but the foundation was built on blood, and keeping it clean took everything I had.

And then there was David.

My son. My greatest failure.

I checked my watch. 10:00 PM. The girl was late.

Usually, I requested a specific woman—Diamond, I think she called herself. Vivian.

She was sharp, professional, and didn't ask questions.

I didn't come here for sex, mostly. I came here because for one hour, I could let go of the control I had to maintain every second of every day. I could hand the reins to my base instincts and just… exist.

The door clicked open.

I didn't look up immediately. "You’re late."

"I… I’m sorry, Sir."

The voice stopped me.

It wasn't Vivian. Vivian had a rasp, a smoker’s edge. This voice was soft, like smoke over velvet. It trembled slightly, but not with fear. With anticipation.

I set my glass down and looked up.

She stood by the door, wrapped in a black silk robe that fell to her feet. She wore a Venetian masquerade mask, white lace over her eyes, hiding the upper half of her face. But her mouth… her lips were full, painted a deep crimson, and currently parted in a sharp intake of breath.

Dark hair was pulled back, exposing a long, elegant neck.

"You aren't Diamond," I said. My voice dropped an octave, an automatic response.

"No," she whispered. She took a step forward, the silk shifting around her. "She… couldn't make it. She sent me."

I should have sent her away. I didn't do surprises. In my line of work, a surprise usually meant a bullet or a wiretap.

But she took another step, and the light caught her eyes behind the mask. They were a striking blue-green, wide and searching. She looked like a deer that had walked into a lion’s den and decided to stay.

"Come here," I commanded.

She hesitated, then walked toward the leather armchair where I sat. She moved with a grace that couldn't be taught. A dancer? A model?

She stopped right between my spread knees. The scent of her hit me—vanilla and something floral. Jasmine. It was intoxicating.

" what do I call you?" I asked, looking up at her.

"Elle," she said.

"Kneel, Elle."

She sank to the floor without a sound, the robe pooling around her. She looked up at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Why are you here?" I asked. "You’re nervous. You’re shaking."

"I… I needed to know," she breathed.

"Know what?"

"If I’m… broken."

The raw honesty of it hit me in the chest. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, bringing my face inches from hers. I saw the pain in those eyes.

Someone had hurt her. Badly.

"Who told you that you were broken?" I asked softly.

"Someone who doesn't matter anymore," she lied. It mattered. I could see it.

I reached out, trailing a finger down the side of her jaw. Her skin was incredibly soft. She leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering shut, a small sound escaping her throat.

That sound—so needy, so desperate for contact snapped the last of my restraint.

"Stand up," I said.

She stood.

"Drop the robe."

She pulled the sash. The silk slid off her shoulders and hit the floor.

I stopped breathing for a second.

She was stunning.

High breasts, a narrow waist, legs that went on for days. She was wearing nothing but black lace panties. She was perfection, but her body language was all wrong. She hunched slightly, arms trying to cover her stomach, as if she were ashamed.

I stood up, towering over her. I grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms away from her body, pinning them to her sides.

"Look at me," I ordered.

She looked up, her pupils blown wide.

"You are exquisite," I growled. "Do not hide from me."

I kissed her.

It wasn't gentle. I didn't have it in me to be gentle tonight. I claimed her mouth, my tongue sweeping in, tasting the shock and the sudden flare of heat from her. She tasted like peppermint and sin.

She made a whimper that drove me insane, her hands gripping the lapels of my suit jacket, pulling me closer.

I spun her around, pressing her back against the cool wall. My hands roamed over her curves, memorizing the dip of her spine, the flare of her hips. Every inch of her responded to me.

She wasn't stiff. She was...everything.

"Please," she gasped against my neck. "Please, don't stop."

I lifted her, her legs wrapping instinctively around my waist. I carried her to the large bed in the center of the room and laid her down.

"Confess," I whispered, hovering over her. "Tell me what you want."

"I want to feel everything," she said, her voice breaking. "Make me forget him. Make me forget everything."

I stripped off my jacket, my tie, my shirt. I watched her eyes trace the tattoos on my chest and arm. She didn't flinch. She looked hungry.

When I settled between her legs, she gasped.

"I’m not going to be nice, Elle," I warned her.

She reached up, her fingers grazing the scar on my chest. "I don't want nice."

We moved together like a collision. There was no awkward fumbling. It was instinctual, primal. She met every thrust, her nails digging into my shoulders, her head thrown back.

"Look at me," I commanded again.

She locked eyes with me.

"You are mine tonight," I told her, my voice rough. "You don't belong to whoever hurt you. You belong to me."

"Yes," she sobbed out. "Yes."

When the release came, it was violent. She shattered beneath me, crying out my name—or at least, the title she knew. Sir.

I followed her over the edge seconds later, groaning as I poured myself into her.

We lay there in the silence for a long time. Her head rested on my chest, my arm wrapped around her.

I ran my hand down her back, tracing the line of her spine.

I should have felt empty. I usually did. But instead, I felt… grounded.

I reached for her mask.

She stiffened, her hand flying up to stop me. "No. Please. The rules."

I stopped. I respected the code.

"Fine," I murmured, kissing her forehead. "But tell me one thing."

"What?"

"Why does a woman like you think she’s broken?"

She was silent for a moment then she sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, looking away from me.

"Because I was told that I’m average," she whispered. "That I’m dull."

I laughed. It was a dark, dry sound. "Then the man who told you that is a fool. And he doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you."

She looked at me then, and for a second, I wanted to rip the mask off and see the rest of her face. I wanted to find this man and tear his world apart.

But she stood up, gathering her robe.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Will I see you again?" I asked. I surprised myself. I never asked that.

She paused at the door. "I don't think so. This was… a one-time thing."

Then she was gone.

I lay back on the bed, the scent of jasmine lingering on my skin. I stared at the ceiling.

For the first time in years, I didn't want to leave. I wanted to chase her.