Chapter 21
LOCKE
I had to force myself to concentrate on the game when my brain was intent on wondering what the fuck Santi Alvarado was playing at by flirting with Jett.
Santi was a playboy. He had a history of fucking anyone and everyone—which was, of course, none of my business. Unless he attempted to fuck with what was mine.
And right now, Jett Davis was mine.
“Locke, your move,” Ted said, nudging me with his elbow.
My grandfather’s words came unbidden. If you’re reacting, you’re already losing.
I cleared my throat and reached for my requesting pawn before touching my negative pawn.
The game moved quickly after that, the moves coming from muscle memory. Unlike the straightforward version of the game I’d taught Jett, each piece and hand movement, each feint and counter, meant something extra when the Paxis Council played.
I wondered idly what Jett thought of the assortment of players gathered here. Had he recognized Esteban Alvarado’s name? Did he think it strange that Nanda, the spiritual healer, was keeping company with a supposed cartel leader? Or that I was keeping company with either of them?
When the council had first formed centuries ago, it hadn’t been with the intention of becoming peacekeepers. A spirit of competition and a desire to prove themselves against other elite Paxis players from around the world had driven them together.
But meeting one another had opened their eyes to the problems outside their spheres of influence.
They’d realized that where governments failed, they could use their private resources to affect change on a global scale.
And where overt diplomacy was impossible, they could strategize through silent negotiation on a Paxis board.
No one who sat on the Paxis Council was a saint—not even Nanda, though he was probably the closest. We were all wealthy, influential people in our own right.
Most of us had a tendency to be ruthless in our day-to-day lives and businesses.
Some did things that weren’t altogether legal.
And from time to time, council members clashed in the real world.
But when we came together for a tournament, it was an opportunity for us to put all of that aside. To balance the scales and do some good.
The primary rule was that while we were convened, we would use our power to help others, with no thought of personal gain. To do otherwise was to betray the council… which never ended well.
As I watched the board now, information flowed out through a system of taps and game moves, making it clear that Russia was planning something big.
From what we could tell from our combined intel, they were smuggling sanctioned chips, autonomous underwater drones, loitering munitions, and nerve agent antidote.
All of this painted a dangerous picture.
Our best guess was that they were planning an attack on undersea communications cables or LNG terminals critical to European natural gas supplies. And by the time we broke for lunch, we had agreed on a course of action in which each of us played to our strengths.
Emil intended to run down the source of the nerve agent through his pharmaceutical contacts.
Al-Qadiri would trace the movement of Drakovi?’s missing weapons.
Selene would seek updated tracking information on the lost chips.
Esteban would get intel from pirate groups in the North Sea.
And Drakovi? would reach out to his Russian contacts.
Meanwhile, I was tasked with locating the smuggled cargo.
A few shipping containers on an unknown ship in a vast ocean.
Needles in haystacks were easier to find. And that was if the contraband was being moved on a vessel.
As we exited the game room, my head was pounding, and I could feel my own body vibrating with stress. There was no room for errors here.
Jett was waiting in the hallway as I exited the room, along with a few other assistants. Just seeing him there made my shoulders drop a fraction… which felt dangerous. I had no time for distractions.
I nodded at him and tilted my head toward our suite without saying anything. Thankfully, he took the hint and followed me silently.
“Get me something to eat,” I said, yanking off the button-down shirt that felt like it was strangling me.
I moved into my bedroom and dropped the shirt on the floor of the closet before grabbing a clean T-shirt and pulling it on.
I looked at the bed longingly, wishing I could have just ten minutes to lie down, but there was too much to be done.
Responsibility chooses the worthy, not the willing.
When I turned back to the main room, I found Jett still staring at me. He quickly blinked and nodded.
“Yes, sir,” he muttered before turning to go.
“Wait,” I called.
He turned back to me, eyebrows raised in question.
The last thing I needed was an attitude problem in my space, but I could hardly blame him for his pique after the way I’d been acting. Being stressed didn’t excuse rudeness.
“Get yourself something, too. And please find me some headache medicine. Then I want you to stay with me while I get some work done. I might need your help.”
Instead of cracking a joke or bouncing his eyebrows, he frowned in concern and nodded. “Okay. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I sat down at the small table by the open doors overlooking the pool terrace below and the sea beyond. The air was sun-warm and smelled faintly of flowers. It was a strange contrast with the dangerous waters of the North Sea that might be hiding a war’s worth of tech en route to a criminal nation.
The council had agreed the smugglers were likely going to transport their cargo to Russia via sea using one of two likely routes—Skagerrak Strait in the North Sea or the Kiel Canal.
Though Maris Holdings had been working on technology that could scan ships for certain electronic signatures—including the signatures embedded into Selene’s missing chips and Drakovi?’s stolen weapons—those scanners only worked within a very short range.
We’d need some intelligence to point us in the right direction, so I already had my people running CCTV footage from nearby ports to figure out which ship or ships could potentially be carrying the cargo.
In the meantime, we’d try to get as many vessels as possible to come through the canal, making them easier to scan. All we had to do was set up somewhere along the banks in an isolated area.
The first email I shot off was to my contact at a NATO inspection agency, reassuring him that the rumors of Maris ships moving contraband via North Sea routes were unequivocally false.
I want to assure you that we at Maris are diligent about pre-inspecting our cargo. There is no need for an increase in inspection activity involving Maris ships in the North Sea. This will only serve to negatively impact global commerce, as you know.
International inspection agencies had no love for shipping companies and saw all of us as enemies. If I asked for fewer inspections, they’d give me more. And more inspections for Maris meant more for everyone.
The second email was to my counterpart at Bakker Logistiek in Amsterdam, baiting him into rerouting his own ships. The man had loose lips. If I told him, I might as well have told the entire Baltic shipping industry.
Are you experiencing the uptick in inspections on North Sea routes? How’s a man supposed to do business like this? I’m diverting most of my ships through the Kiel Canal for now.
I continued implementing my part of the action plan until Jett returned with a staff member pushing a cart with our meal on it.
Jett instructed the placement of everything and quickly brought me a bottle of water, along with a dose of ibuprofen from his own room. “Or I have coffee. The caffeine might help.”
Once the attendant was gone, Jett nodded toward the pills in my hand. “I didn’t know if you trusted the people here to provide you medicine. There are quite a few… interesting characters among the guests.”
I threw the pills back and swallowed them with a gulp of water. “Who said I trusted you more?”
His eyes blazed up at me for half a second before he realized I was joking. Then he rolled his eyes. “You’d be way less fun to fuck while sedated than you are fully aware. What would my goal be? To steal your fancy chess set that probably has your family crest all over it? Hardly.”
“I do not have a family crest,” I said. “Only a business logo. And I assure you that isn’t carved anywhere on the board.”
Jett’s eyes flicked to the ink on my arm. The company logo I’d caught him tracing with a finger in the middle of the night the other night when he’d thought I was asleep.
The thought reminded me of just how cold my own bed had been last night without him in it.
When my work calls had finally ended, I’d considered waking him up and talking it out.
Even confessing that I’d almost told him after the vengeful blow job in the shower—when the disappointment in his eyes had nearly brought me to my knees—that I’d wanted him in my bed.
Instead, I’d left him alone. And now I regretted it.
My stress had only grown with the first game session. Playing the game had made it real. Had reminded me there were actual lives at stake.
More of my grandfather’s sayings rolled through my head on repeat.
If you falter, someone else dies for it.
Jett brought over a plate with a very large salad on it.
“What’s this?” I demanded.
The edge of Jett’s lip curved up. “So the bit about grad school was a lie, right? This is a… sal… ad. Say it with me. Sal… ad. Salad!”
I glared at him. This would never get me through the next game session. “Bring me a real lunch.”
He shook his head. “Your actual assistant sent along dietary restrictions for you based on recent bloodwork. Since the evening meals are so rich, you’re expected to eat healthy at lunch.”
Jett looked tickled by my weakness.