Reckless: A Dark Romance (The Masters Book 1) Read online

  That’s Evo Griekin, owner of Abar Pharmaceutical. That’s him, right there, accepting a stuffed mushroom from a nude brunette girl with her hands and neck locked in a yoke; the tray rests on a harness tied around her breasts and back. Should she lose her balance, the food will go flying.

  Holy shit.

  Prime Minister Merwin Locke is talking to Franco Silvestri, patriarch of the largest mafia family in all of Europe.

  Ingram wasn’t kidding. These really are the most powerful men in the world. Raking my eyes across the room I see heads of state, world-shaping corporate CEOs, industry magnates and…

  And that’s…

  No fucking way.

  That’s…

  It can’t be.

  It is. It can’t be, but it is.

  Victor Sovereign.

  It’s him. It’s only been a few weeks since I last saw him, I’d recognize him anywhere. He’s not dead. He’s supposed to be dead. But he’s not dead.

  How is that possible? No one survived the crash. Even if he really wasn’t on the helicopter, the mansion was surrounded by cops. He couldn’t have gotten away on foot…

  Unless the cops were on his payroll…

  Fucking hell. Do I owe my intern an apology?

  “Pretty incredible, isn’t it?” Ingram says as I stare, unabashed. “The twenty-one men who truly rule this planet, all in one place.”

  They notice me watching them. Many laugh and wave. I assume they know who I am.

  “Gentlemen, let’s begin.”

  I turn to the voice: Jamison Hardt! Owner of Hardt Farms, he turned his grandfather’s already thriving agricultural empire and expanded it into the world’s foremost agribusiness consortium. He’s the only nine-figure billionaire in the world who made his fortune in agriculture. His easy smile can be found on half the canned fruits and vegetables on store shelves around the world, and his subsidiary companies sell fast food in every town and city big enough to have more than one traffic light.

  LPN has run countless features on Hardt, a notorious bachelor who rarely deigns to speak about his private life, just his businesses. Now I know why. A middle-aged woman sits at his side, smiling despite her chained hands. Wearing a long, white gown, she’s the only fully-dressed woman I’ve seen on this island. Who is she, and why isn’t she working?

  “First, I’d like to welcome our new guest,” Jamison says. “Ms. Atwood, we hope you enjoy your stay in our enclave.”

  The men laugh; I keep my revulsion to myself.

  You’re all going down, motherfuckers. I’m going to get out of here, and I’ll expose all of them. I’ve already memorized everyone I recognize; the rest I’ll describe to a sketch artist if I have to.

  “On behalf of my colleagues, I thank Ingram for taking her out of play for us,” Jamison continues.

  Holy shit. They all came after me! Ingram did the dirty work, but my abduction was sanctioned by all of them.

  I suppose I’m lucky to be alive. If it wasn’t for Ingram, I might not be.

  “Yes, Ms. Atwood,” says Jamison. “We decided you were too dangerous to be left alone, after your report on Mr. Sovereign.”

  Victor glares daggers at me from across the room.

  “Please don’t take this personally. You were just too much of a liability to our organization. In some regards, this is the highest compliment one can pay to an investigator: you wounded a member of our organization and forced us to react. Few can say the same. Collectively, we have destroyed countries. We’ve bought kings. We’ve sold revolutions. We own the world. But one young journalist made us afraid. You should be proud, Ms. Atwood.”

  I don’t respond; I keep my face passive.

  Maybe it is a real accomplishment, but it’ll be of little comfort if I’m dead.

  “Now, to business.”

  For the next hour, Hardt leads the men through an entire agenda that would make me sound mentally unhinged should I try to report it: manipulating oil prices to destabilize war-torn regions, industrial collusion to bankrupt their competitors, TV networks they’ll buy to control the programming… Any one of these schemes would be the story of my career. I could win more Pulitzer prizes than everyone else at LPN combined. I would give anything right now for a tape recorder.

  “Finally, we have one more item: introducing a new member to our ranks,” says Hardt. “I’d like to introduce Anton Ford.”

  Like Ingram, Anton is fairly young compared to the rest of the men. Handsome and light-complexioned, he smiles brightly as he bows his head. Of course, everyone here must know who he is: a self-made tech entrepreneur, founder of Innovative AF, he’s been on the cover of Wired nearly every other month throughout the last two years. He’s considered to be the next titan coming out of Silicon Valley, a star on a meteoric rise.

  He comes off as so human and relatable in interviews — if people knew he was part of a group like this it would crush millions of hearts. Apparently he’s not an actual member of the group yet — but he will be? That’s just as bad… unless he could be convinced to help me. And considering his company specializes in advanced telecommunications equipment, if anyone here could get a message out to the authorities, it would be him.

  “You will all evaluate Mr. Ford,” Hardt says. “I am confident you will see him as I do: a cunning operator, a powerful potential asset and a congenial companion.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hardt,” Anton says. “I look forward to meeting all of you and collaborating. I’m sure we can do great things together. To show my appreciation for this opportunity, I’ve brought you a gift.”

  He gestures at the stone path leading here from the airstrip: a pair of guards escort three gorgeous, bikini-clad women. I recognize at least two from perfume, fashion and department store ads ubiquitous in New York buses and subways. Two more guards follow them, pulling a pallet of wrapped packages.

  “In addition to your new courtesans, I have brought something unique for everyone,” says Anton, personally delivering one of the packages to Ingram.

  The guards hand out the rest, and soon everyone gets busy opening theirs. Some find themselves with priceless rarities: ultra-limited edition wines and liquors, sporting memorabilia that would sell for millions on auction — golden and jeweled treasures that may as well have come from a pirate ship. Ingram in particular finds himself the owner of a wicked dagger, its blade curved and shining while the hilt glimmers from encrusted gemstones.

  “From one cutthroat businessman to another,” Anton says, watching Ingram.

  “It’s beautiful,” he replies. “Thank you.”

  The rest of the Masters applaud as Ford takes his seat, mouthing his thanks to everyone.

  “That will be all for this meeting,” says Jamison. “Thank you for coming.”

  Standing up in unison, cutting off their conversations to produce a sudden silence, the men all bow to each other. Then they resume the festivities. Several make their way toward Anton’s gifted women, none too subtle about their intent. I wish I could talk to the women, find out who they are and how they got here. Are they captives too? Did Ford pay them? Do they know they’re never getting off this island? That might tell me if Ford is someone who will help, or a dead end.

  “Come on,” Ingram says, taking my leash. “Let’s go home.”

  I’m never going to call this place home, you piece of shit.

  With no choice, though, I follow him. My mind works overtime, trying to imagine how I could possibly get free if I’m going to be kept in a cage. Even if I could somehow out-think Ingram and get the upper hand, there are numerous cameras and scores of security guards. As we walk down the shore toward his residence, I even see guards on patrol boats circling the island. There’s no escaping this place without help.

  Once we’re inside, bathing in the air conditioning, Ingram takes out my gag and sits me down on the couch.

  “It was this or killing you,” he says.

  “Fuck off. You could have gone to the FBI.”

  “We
have seventy-two of their agents on our payroll. That’s not an option.”

  Goddamnit. Of course they do. Tears well up; I look away so Ingram doesn’t see.

  “What are you going to do with me?” I ask, not wanting to know the answer. I’m going to end up like the other women here: a courtesan, put to work doing unthinkable things with evil men.

  “I’d like to make you an offer, Kate,” he says, getting up to stand in front of me. He crouches down, meting me at eye level. “You don’t deserve to be a slave here. I’d like to convince Hardt to make you one of us — a Master.”

  There’s no trace of humor on his face. He looks at me without wavering. Unless he’s a complete sociopath, he isn’t joking — this is real.

  “How?” I ask. “I’m not a billionaire like them, I’m not a president of anything. I’m just a journalist. Why would they accept me?”

  “Because you have power, Kate. You have an audience. You have the trust of millions of people. That’s worth a lot, and if you were willing to use it to help us, then I believe you could have a place among us.”

  I don’t have to even think about this.

  “No,” I reply. “You’d want me to lie to people, to hide the truth from them — to use my connections to make people like you richer and more powerful, instead of destroying you like I should. Fuck that, Ingram, and fuck you.”

  I half expect him to slap me, but he doesn’t. He gets up and shows me his back, clasping his hands together behind his hips.

  “I met with Hardt before the meeting,” he says. “He’s looking to retire and wants me to take over. If that happens, I can shape what we do here to benefit the world. You could be a part of that.”

  What an offer — a nebulous promise that he can in no way guarantee. I’m not falling for it.

  “You don’t need me for that,” I say. “And I assume you don’t do anything without a good reason.”

  “That’s true,” he replies, turning back around. “I don’t need you. But I could use your help.”

  I snort.

  “Really? How is an imprisoned reporter supposed to help you?”

  Ingram takes his new dagger out of its box and holds it up to the light to examine the blade. He says, “By finding out which of the Masters is trying to kill me.”

  Ingram leaves me in my cage to consider his offer. It’s easy to imagine a man like him making enemies, but why he can’t figure out who it is? If he doesn’t know, how should I? Does he expect the killer to try and recruit me? Maybe that’s not the craziest idea — perhaps I’d even agree to it if it meant I could escape.

  Of course, I don’t have to solve the case like I’m Nancy goddamn Drew — I just have to help Ingram figure it out. Perhaps there’s one Master in particular who’d really like to lead the group after Jamison and is willing to murder to do it? Maybe it’s not any of the Masters at all, but someone else altogether? It’s not a terrible assumption that his would-be killer is a member of his group, but what evidence does he have? None.

  Is there a chance I could uncover some connection between Ingram’s operations and one of the Masters that he hasn’t thought of, that he’s too close to the matter to see? Sure, but he has plenty of people working for him who might see it before me. And what are the odds it isn’t one of Ingram’s own men trying to kill him?

  “If it is, they’d have killed me by now,” he says. “I trust them.”

  He promises to get me access to research files — Eyal can provide whatever I need. They can’t let me use the Internet for obvious reasons.

  I spend much of the afternoon giving him a list of what I’d like — financial records, property records, the usual paper trails that tell an investigator much of what they need to know.

  “Remember, we’re an international spy agency,” he says. “We have phone logs, surveillance footage — tell me what you would want if you were asking the head of the CIA.”

  Where to start?

  Before I know it, hours have gone by. We only stop when a visitor arrives: Jamison’s woman.

  “Kate, this is Colette,” Ingram says, cuffing my hands behind my back. “She’ll be giving you a bit of orientation into the Enclave. Behave yourself while you’re with her. She will tell me.”

  “Fine,” I mumble.

  “Is that how she speaks to you?” Colette asks Ingram.

  He laughs.

  “Should she be calling me sir? I haven’t asked her to.”

  “Showing respect breeds respect,” she argues.

  “I don’t think Ms. Atwood will show me respect unless she really wants to, but it’s worth a shot. Kate, from now on, say ‘sir’ when you answer me. And fix your tone.”

  I almost tell him to fuck himself, but I think better of it.

  “Yes, sir,” I say, trying not to sound sarcastic.

  “Go with Colette. I’ll see you later.”

  The older woman takes my leash and leads me away. Outside the heat has subsided, and sunset stains the sky purple. Wind blows in from offshore, carrying the scent of ocean spray.

  “The first thing you need to know about the Enclave is that the air here is fifty percent testosterone,” says Colette. “The men here will all have their way with you, if Ingram allows it. If you’d rather not be the plaything of the Masters, convince Ingram to keep you to himself.”

  “If any of them fucking touch me, they’ll pay. I’ll bite their damn cocks off if I have to.”

  “I’ve heard that one before,” Colette says, shaking her head. “It doesn’t end well. The Masters all believe they’re an alpha. They expect their toys to be compliant at all times.”

  Bastards. All of them. They’re fucking bastards.

  What does Jamison have on this woman? Has he threatened to hurt the rest of her family? Or has she simply been brainwashed? How can she live like this, knowing who these people are and what they do?

  She leads us to a building that could pass for a small, luxury hotel. The guards buzz us in only after they frisk and scan us both — quick, but thorough. I’ve been felt up a lot worse by the TSA.

  Glass walls allow ample daylight into the lobby, which consists mainly of high-quality couches, love seats and a catering table. As we enter I spot a clear fridge holding plastic bottles of wine, soft drinks and water. Next to it, another table holds platters of fruit, cheese and finger sandwiches in what looks to be a delightful spread. Vases of fresh flowers produce a sweet, subtle scent that saturates the area.

  Twin exits to the lobby lead down short corridors lined with doors: individual rooms, no doubt, but for what? Guests? Do the Masters bring people here — families, business partners? That’s hard to believe — how would it stay a secret? The more people know about something, the more impossible it becomes to keep the world from finding out.

  “Welcome to the harem,” says Colette. “Come, I’ll show you around. Whenever Mr. Dent and his associates are away from the Enclave, this is where you’ll stay.”

  She’s got to be kidding. These women would be my… what? Friends? Roommates? How are they going to treat me? I’ve experienced sorority life, and it’s not all fun and games. Is there an etiquette I should know? Will they pity me for being abducted, or try to take out their grief and fury on me?

  What will it take for them to accept me as one of their own?

  And is that what I’m really going to become? Have I surrendered to inevitability so soon?

  Colette takes me further into the facility, showing me the gym where I’ll be expected to exercise daily. There’s also a recreation center with cards, board games, a TV, stereo and table tennis. I note the paddles as a potential weapon — although not a very good one.

  Lastly, the facility boasts a full-service salon, which gives me a little more hope. If I’m deft, I could steal a pair of scissors. Maybe I could use some nail polish remover as a poison. However, the premises have cameras covering every angle — no doubt someone is watching us at all times. If I try to take something, guards at the door will easi
ly stop me before I have a chance. I can only imagine who will punish me and how they’ll do it if Ingram isn’t here — I definitely don’t want to find out.

  The guards eye me every time Colette takes me somewhere new. Their stares linger, getting a good look at the new girl. Do they get to enjoy the courtesans on this island? There are so many men here; do the women get any rest?

  We head back to the salon, where Colette draws a bath for me. As it fills, she takes out a pair of handcuff keys.

  “Are you going to make trouble?” she asks. “You can wash yourself, or I can have a guard come in and do it for you.”

  “I’ll be good,” I grunt.

  “Good.”

  She uncuffs me, then bids me to undress and get in the tub. Grateful for the chance, I do as she asks as soon as the water feels right.

  “Life here won’t be all torture and humiliation if you do as you’re told. But I hear that’s not something you’re accustomed to.”

  “Is there that much talk already?” I ask.

  Colette smiles.

  “Word gets around quick, especially considering you’re not some random girl. We get LPN here, we know who you are.”

  Fantastic.

  As I bathe, Colette prepares for me a new outfit: a black thong swimsuit.

  “Where’s the rest?” I ask.

  “If Ingram wants you wearing more, he’ll give you more.”

  Unbelievable.

  “Does it have to be a thong? I hate thongs.”

  Colette nods.

  “Yes, it does. Get used to it.”

  Fucking great.

  “Come on,” she says. “Dry off. It’s almost dinner time.”

  I do as she says, using one of the softest towels I’ve ever felt. I scowl.

  “What?” asks Colette.

  “It’s a golden cage. Everything is fancy and nice, but we’re slaves. How have the lot of you not killed these men in their sleep?”