Chapter 11
11
CHERISE
I ’m not staying behind.
I don’t care how commanding Nick sounds, how hard his gaze cuts through me like he’s already made the decision. I didn’t escape Hector, run for my life, land back in the orbit of the one man who could shatter me, just to sit on the sidelines while they plan to take down my ex-husband.
Leaning forward, I plant my hands on the table between us. “You need me on this mission.”
Nick doesn’t even blink. He just stares, unreadable, his body still as stone. The energy rolling off him is dangerous, coiled like a predator about to strike.
“No,” he says simply.
One word. That’s all I get. Like he thinks the matter is closed.
I grit my teeth. “You’re making a mistake.”
Logan enters the room and goes to stand near the window with his arms crossed, lets out a low whistle. “Gotta say, mate, she’s got balls.”
Nick’s head snaps toward Logan, and the look he gives would turn most men to dust. But not Logan—he just grins and rocks back on his heels.
I seize the opening. “You said Hector has a pattern, right? That he only moves when he’s certain he won’t get caught? Well, I know those patterns better than anyone. I lived with him. I can tell you what he’ll do if he thinks he’s being watched, what he’ll say if he’s onto you. If you take me with you, I can do that in real time.”
Nick exhales slowly, the sound measured, controlled. But the muscle ticking in his jaw tells me he’s anything but calm.
“I don’t normally take civilians on ops,” he says, voice low.
“That boat has sailed.”
Nick doesn’t answer right away. He just watches me, and I can feel him assessing, recalculating. I refuse to back down. He’s the one who said I wasn’t weak.
I lower my voice. “You keep saying you’ll protect me. That I need to trust you. But trust is a two-way street, Nick. You want me to follow orders? Fine. I’ll do it. But you need me as much as I need you. You want to bring these bastards down? You’re going to have to slip a knife in their ribs. Going in guns blazing is just going to get a lot of innocent people killed.”
“She has a point,” says Logan.
Nick growls, but I continue, “I’m safer with you than some place holed up where they can find me while you and Logan are out playing hero. If I’m not part of the solution, you’re not just keeping me safe—you’re keeping me trapped in a gilded cage, powerless. And regardless of how luxurious the surroundings are, I won’t do that again.”
A muscle ticks in his cheek. He glances at Logan, then back to me. I hold my breath.
Then he gives me the smallest nod. “You follow my orders without question.” His voice is sharp, final. “If I say run, you run. If I say hide, you disappear. If I say you don’t speak, you don’t make a fucking sound. Understood?”
The air between us crackles, something electric surging beneath the command in his voice. I should be nervous. Should feel boxed in by the absolute authority he just laid down.
Instead, I feel something very different—something hotter.
I swallow hard and nod. “Understood.”
Logan lets out a low whistle. “Bloody hell. This’ll be a right laugh, won’t it?”
Nick shoots him another look before returning his focus to me. “Gear up. We leave in twenty.”
He turns on his heel and stalks out, not looking back.
* * *
We enter the casino and Nick stops, surveying the room.
“Stop fidgeting.” His voice is low, a command wrapped in silk and steel, brushing against the shell of my ear from where he stands behind me.
I freeze, spine straightening under his gaze. His presence is heat at my back, steady and unmoving. Unshakable.
“We’re just gathering intel,” he murmurs, the words precise. “You’re here to be seen, not heard. A visual asset. Fortier doesn’t know Nick Ryeland and Nikolai Beaumont are the same man. They call me the Ghost for a reason.”
“But he’s met me before.”
“I know,” Nick says, his tone even. “It’s a calculated risk. But to someone like Fortier, you’re a detail. A polished ornament. If he recognizes you at all, it’ll be vague—pretty company, not a strategic threat.”
He steps closer, his fingers brushing the line of my bare shoulder, adjusting the drape of the green silk strap. “You belong to me tonight. Let him believe that. Let him look and see something he wants, and know it’s already claimed.”
My breath catches, and I let my hand fall to my side. The air between us hums—charged, electric, thick with a tension I don’t dare name. Not here. Not yet.
But I feel the truth settle between us like a live wire: I’m not just a pawn in this game. I’m the piece Nick intends to use very, very deliberately.
His fingers brush the back of my neck, adjusting the diamond collar he snapped around me five minutes ago. The diamonds are real, but not the sentiment. It’s not real, just an expensive prop, but the possessive weight of it feels all too real.
“Remember the rules,” Nick murmurs, his lips just inches from my ear. “You’re here as my submissive, which means you act like it. You speak when spoken to. You let me lead. And if anything goes sideways, you let me handle it.”
I meet his gaze in the mirror, my reflection a study in defiance despite the glittering collar at my throat. “I don’t need you to handle me.”
His grip tightens slightly, enough to make my pulse race. “You will follow my orders, Cherise. If you can’t do that, I’m pulling you out now.”
Heat flashes through me—not just from his dominance, but from the raw energy radiating off him. I know this isn’t about the role we’re playing tonight. This is about him trying to control the one thing he can’t—me.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to relax against him. “I’ll follow your orders,” I say, my voice softer.
His fingers linger at the nape of my neck for a moment before he lets go. “Good girl.”
Damn him for how much that praise affects me.
Nick straightens, stepping back as he adjusts the cuffs of his black suit. The dark fabric molds to his body, every inch of him exuding power and control. No one would doubt that he belongs in a place like this—Cerberus has prepped him well for this world. He looks like a king stepping into his domain.
And me? I look like the woman who belongs to him.
* * *
The casino’s private lounge is dimly lit, the glow of chandeliers casting golden reflections over the polished marble floors. This isn’t the bustling floor where tourists throw away their fortunes at blackjack tables. This is the domain of Monaco’s elite—billionaires, criminals, and power brokers who strike deals worth millions over aged scotch and a well-placed bet.
And tonight, one of those deals involves René Vallois.
Nick’s hand is firm on the small of my back as he guides me through the space, his touch a silent warning to play my role.
I lower my gaze, my lashes sweeping down as I lean slightly into his touch. It’s not hard—I feel the heat of his body, the possessive way he maneuvers me through the crowd, keeping me close enough that no one doubts exactly what I am to him.
His.
I shiver.
From the corner of my eye, I spot two men seated at a private table near the back of the lounge. One of them, a tall man with silver at his temples and a sharp European cut to his suit, lifts his glass to his lips as he surveys the room. His gaze lingers on me for a beat too long.
Nick notices. His fingers tighten slightly at my waist, his thumb pressing against my hipbone in a silent command.
Ignore him.
I let my body relax into Nick’s, letting him shield me from view as he leads me deeper into the club.
A hostess dressed in a slinky black dress intercepts us near the entrance to the private rooms. “Monsieur,” she purrs in a thick accent, obviously recognizing him. “Your room is ready and has been prepared to your specifications.” Her gaze flickers to me, then back to him, a knowing smile curling her lips. “Shall I send in the staff?”
“No.” His grip on me tightens. “We won’t be needing an audience.”
A flush creeps up my neck. The way he says it, so cool and commanding, sends a shiver through me.
The hostess leads us toward the back, where a hidden doorway opens into a suite that looks more like a high-end private dungeon than a casino lounge. The lighting is moody, the furniture sleek, the walls adorned with implements designed for pleasure and pain.
Nick doesn’t hesitate. He strides inside, pulling me with him, and the door clicks shut behind us.
I whirl to face him the second we’re alone. “You didn’t mention we’d be doing this in a damn sex dungeon.”
His lips twitch, but he says nothing as he unbuttons his jacket. “It’s the safest place to talk. René’s men won’t bat an eye at what happens in here, but if they hear anything that sounds like business? That’s a problem.”
I fold my arms. “So what now?”
Nick doesn’t answer. He just steps toward me, closing the space between us in a slow, deliberate movement. His fingers trail up my bare arm, making my breath catch.
“Now,” he murmurs, “we put on a show.”
I swallow hard.
Nick’s touch drags down, fingers skimming the side of my ribs before settling at my waist. His grip is firm—possessive—his body heat bleeding into mine.
“What kind of show?” I whisper.
His lips tilt at the corner, his breath brushing against my temple. “Nothing you can’t handle, sweetheart.”
I suck in a breath as he lifts my wrist and guides it behind my back. My other wrist follows, and before I can react, the cool bite of leather cuffs circles them, locking together in a way that steals the air from my lungs.
He tilts my chin up with two fingers. “You trust me?”
The question shouldn’t make me weak. But it does.
“Yes.”
His gaze darkens. “Then let go.”
His hands are on me, adjusting my stance, pressing me flush against him so that my bound arms press against the sharp lines of his suit.
I feel the moment the door opens. The shift in the air, the faintest creak of wood, another person stepping into the room.
Nick doesn’t acknowledge them right away. He keeps his attention on me, his fingers brushing the nape of my neck, his lips grazing my temple in an intimate display of ownership.
Then, casually, he glances up.
“Fortier.” His voice is smooth. Cool.
I force myself to stay still, my pulse thudding in my throat as I listen.
“I was told you wanted a private moment,” Fortier says, his voice accented and sharp. “Seems I was right.”
Nick’s fingers stroke my spine, just enough to make me shiver against him. “You know me. I like to mix business with pleasure.”
Fortier chuckles. “And the pleasure?”
Nick’s lips hover near my ear. “Mine.”
My knees nearly buckle.
“Is that what you wanted to discuss?” Nick drawls, finally pulling back enough to look at Fortier. “Or are we getting to the part where you tell me what Vallois is up to?”
The conversation shifts. I don’t move. I can’t. I play my part, my body flush against Nick’s, my wrists bound, my breath unsteady. And as I listen, I realize something terrifying.
I don’t know what’s more dangerous—the game we’re playing right now… or how much I never want it to end.
* * *
Nick’s fingers tighten around my nape, keeping me exactly where he wants me—pressed against him, my bound wrists resting against the small of my back. His body is a solid wall of heat, his scent wrapping around me like a dangerous lure. The room isn’t silent, but it might as well be. I barely hear Fortier’s response over the blood rushing in my ears.
I should be focusing on the mission. On gathering intel. On remembering that this is all for show.
Instead, all I can think about is the way Nick’s touch ignites something deep inside me, something I don’t know how to control.
“Convince me she belongs to you,” Fortier murmurs, a smirk evident in his tone.
A flicker of something dark passes through Nick’s expression. His hold on me tightens ever so slightly, a warning I don’t entirely understand until he speaks.
“You doubt me?” His voice is smooth, unshaken, but there’s an edge beneath the words.
Fortier lifts a shoulder. “Vallois never trusts a man who doesn’t know how to keep a woman in line.”
My stomach clenches.
Nick exhales slowly, his breath feathering over my cheek. “Then watch carefully.”
Before I can react, he spins me, pressing me against the padded bench behind us. My wrists are still bound, my breath catching as his hands bracket my hips, his broad frame caging me in.
I don’t get a chance to protest.
His lips find my throat, a slow, deliberate drag of heat and possession that has me sucking in a breath. His teeth scrape my pulse point, sending a shudder through me.
He’s playing a role.
We’re putting on a show.
I repeat the words in my mind, but my body doesn’t get the message.
Nick’s hands skim the slit of my dress, parting the fabric and exposing my thigh. His palm skates over my bare skin, moving higher, teasing, but never giving me what I suddenly, desperately need.
"This one has a smart mouth," he murmurs for Fortier's benefit, his voice a low, gravelly drawl. "But she knows who she belongs to."
With a deliberate slowness, he reaches into his pocket and produces a small, sleek ball gag I hadn’t realized he possessed. It's in my mouth and secured in place with deft fingers before I can even muster a thought. The combination of his words and the gag sends a jolt of heat coursing through me, a sensation both foreign and electrifying.
Nick shifts, his muscular thigh pressing firmly between mine, forcing them apart just enough to remind me of the fragility of my control. My breathing becomes ragged and uneven, and I can't suppress the way my body instinctively responds to him—to the raw dominance in his touch, the unspoken promise woven into the way he holds me immobile.
My pulse pounds like a relentless drumbeat in my chest.
Nick’s breath is hot against my skin as his lips trail up to my ear. "You want to keep playing with fire, sweetheart?" His voice is a deep, intimate rumble that only I can hear.
I don't answer. I can't.
His fingers tighten possessively at my waist, sending a thrilling shiver down my spine. "Then burn," he whispers, a challenge wrapped in seduction.
His hand glides up, up, until his palm cups me through the delicate, whisper-thin lace of my panties. A startled gasp escapes my lips, and my body jerks instinctively, but his hold is unyielding. He brushes his fingers over the lace, his touch a featherlight caress, while his body remains a solid anchor against mine.
A shiver cascades through me, the heat pooling low in my belly turning molten, threatening to consume me.
Nick’s lips graze the shell of my ear, the faintest touch that sends a thrill through my entire being. "Be still or I’ll strip you naked, put a butterfly on you and put those pretty nipples of yours in alligator clamps."
It’s not a threat. It's a test—one I know I’m on the brink of failing.
He applies the slightest pressure, just enough to make me squirm, to make my body yearn for his touch, and I swear I can hear the wicked grin in the silence. My head falls back against his shoulder, my breath escaping in soft, uneven gasps as his fingers toy with the lace, teasing the very edge of my resolve.
"Perfect," Fortier murmurs approvingly, his voice a smooth purr of satisfaction. "Now I believe you."
Nick stills, his presence shifting in an instant to something more controlled, more composed, the moment snapping like a taut thread. I come undone with a muffled cry; the sound trapped behind the gag.
He gently strokes my sex one last time before his hand withdraws, leaving my entire body thrumming with an unfulfilled need, my pulse hammering wildly in my throat. I don't even realize I've made a sound until Nick's thumb brushes tenderly across my bottom lip, a silent acknowledgment of the charged moment we've shared.
He turns me slowly, keeping one possessive hand on my waist as he faces Fortier. “Satisfied?”
Fortier chuckles. “I should’ve known better than to question you.”
Nick doesn’t smile. He never does. Instead, he lifts his chin, his presence effortlessly commanding. “Then let’s talk business.”
* * *
The operation is a success—at least, that’s what the intel says. Nick gets Fortier to hand over everything: shipment manifests, encrypted contact chains, secure drop locations. No threats, no weapons, no blood spilled. Just quiet pressure, a low voice, and the brutal calm of a man who knows how to take control without raising his hand.
By the time Nick leads me out of the club, the mission’s over. The job is done. And I still don’t know exactly why it worked. He didn’t flash credentials or twist an arm. All he did was show Fortier what true dominance looks like—and somehow, that was enough to make a man like Fortier fold.
Nothing feels finished. Not the heat still coursing through me. Not the way my skin hums with the memory of his touch. Not the unspoken question that lingers between us.
He says nothing as the valet brings the Range Rover around. Nick’s movements are clipped, controlled, but I feel it in the way he grips the wheel, the way his jaw ticks as he stares straight ahead as he pulls away from the entrance.
He’s just as affected as I am. The realization makes something reckless twist inside me.
“Nick…”
“Not now,” he says, driving us into a dark corner of the casino’s parking lot and parking.
I cross my arms, heat prickling over my skin. “You can’t just ignore what happened in there.”
His knuckles tighten on the wheel. “Watch me.”
My body still feels branded by his touch, and now he wants to pretend it didn’t happen? Like I didn’t nearly fall apart in his hands?
Anger and something deeper curl inside me. “You crossed a line.”
His hazel eyes snap to mine, dark and dangerous. “I did exactly what needed to be done.”
I don’t know if I want to slap him or straddle him. I opt to straddle him.
My pulse pounds. My body hums. And then I do something reckless—I unbuckle my seatbelt and crawl across the center console, shoving into his space, my breath uneven.
“Then finish it.”
His breath stills. “What?”
I grip the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer. “You want to play games, Nick? Fine. But I’m not walking away from this, pretending you didn’t just make me come undone in front of another man.”
His pupils dilate. “And pretty spectacularly, sweetheart. You soaked my hand through your panties. By the way, from now on, those are not allowed unless I specifically request them.”
Without warning, he grabs my hips, pulling me onto his lap in a fluid, controlled movement that steals the air from my lungs as he fists my hair and brings my face down to his. Nick’s mouth crashes over mine.
It’s not a kiss. It’s a war.
Teeth. Tongue. Heat.
I whimper against him, my fingers diving into his hair as he grips my ass—squeezing my cheeks—and dragging me against him so I feel every inch of how what he did to me affected him tonight.
“Be careful what you ask for,” he growls against my lips. “You might not survive it.”
I bite his bottom lip in response, dragging my nails down his chest. “What if I don’t want to survive?”
He starts to say something, stops and then groans, his hands sliding beneath the fabric of my dress, hiking it up until my lace-covered center is pressed directly against the hard ridge of his cock. He grasps the delicate panties and yanks them off, bringing them to his nose as he inhales deeply. The rough feel of the metal zipper on his fly drags against my aching core, making me gasp.
Nick grips my jaw, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“This changes nothing,” he says, his voice rough.
I arch against him. “Then stop.”
His fingers tighten. “I can’t.”
His lips crush mine again, his hands leaving bruising trails of possession over my skin. The mission might be over. But whatever this is between us is only just beginning.