Dealing Her Final Card(11)
CHAPTER TWO
BREE’S heart stopped in her chest.
As Vladimir turned away, she struggled to wake up from this bad dream. She looked down at her overturned card on the table. The king of hearts looked back at her. Bree should have won. She was supposed to win. Her brain whirled in confusion.
“Wake up,” she whispered to herself. But it wasn’t a dream.
She’d just sold herself. Forever. To the only man she hated.
Blinking, she looked up tearfully at the young dealer, who she’d thought was her ally. Chris just shook his head. “Wow,” he said in awe. “That was a really stupid bet.”
Bree gripped the edge of the table with trembling hands. Staggering to her feet, she turned on Vladimir savagely. “You cheated!”
From the doorway, he whirled back to face her. “Cheated?”
He went straight toward her, and the crowds parted for him, falling back from his powerful presence and his expression of fury. He looked as cold as a marble statue, like an ancient tsar of perfect masculine beauty, of despotic strength and ruthless cruelty. He reached for her, and she backed away, terrified of the look in his eyes.
Vladimir dropped his hands. His posture relaxed and his voice became a sardonic drawl. “You are the one who cheats, my dear. And you’d best hurry.” He glanced at his platinum watch. “You now only have—nine minutes to pack before I collect my prize.”
She gasped aloud. His prize?
Her body—her soul!
Turning without another word, Vladimir stalked out the door with a warrior’s easy, deadly grace. Everyone in the room, Bree included, remained silent until the door closed behind him. Then the crowd around her burst into noise, and Bree’s knees went weak. She leaned her trembling hands against the table. Her ex-boss was yelling something in her ear: “Nine minutes is too long. I want you out of the Hale Ka’nani in five!”
Greg Hudson looked as if he were dying to slap her across the face. But she knew he couldn’t touch her. Not now. Not ever.
She was Vladimir Xendzov’s property now.
How could she have been so stupid? How?
Bree had never hated herself so much as she did in that moment. She rubbed her eyes, hard. She’d thought she could save her hapless baby sister from the perils of gambling. Instead, she’d proved herself more stupidly naive than Josie had ever been.
The warm, close air in the red-curtained, windowless room suddenly choked her. Pushing past the annoyed blonde who’d stood behind Vladimir’s chair, Bree ran for the exit, past a startled Kai who was guarding the door. She rushed down the hall, past the deserted outdoor bar, into the dark night.
She ran up the hill, trying to focus on the feel of the path beneath her feet, on the hard rhythm of her breathing. But she was counting down her freedom in minutes. Eight. Seven and a half. Seven.
Her right foot stumbled and she slowed to a walk, her breath a rasp in her throat. The moon glowed above her as she reached the apartment building she shared with her sister.
Bree shivered as a warm breeze blew against her clammy skin. Rushing up the open-air stairs of the aged, moss-covered structure, she shook with fear. He would take everything from her. Everything.
She’d been stupid. So stupid. He’d set his trap and she’d walked right into it. And now Josie would be left alone, with no one to watch out for her.
Bree started to reach for the doorknob, then stopped. Her body shook as she remembered the poker chips she’d been so proud to win—all of which she’d left behind. With a choked sob, she covered her face with her hands. How would she ever explain this disaster to Josie?
The door abruptly opened.
“There you are,” Josie said. “I saw you come up the path. Did you manage to...?” But her sister’s hopeful voice choked off when she saw Bree’s face. “Oh,” she whispered. “You...you lost?”
Josie spoke the words as if they were impossible. As if she’d never once thought such a thing could happen. Bree had never lost big like this before—ever. Even tonight, she would have won, if she hadn’t allowed Vladimir to tempt her into one last game. Her hands clenched at her sides. She didn’t know who she hated more at this moment—him or herself.
Him. Definitely him.
“What happened?” Josie breathed.
“The stranger was Vladimir,” Bree said through dry lips. “The man who kicked you out of the game was Vladimir Xendzov.”
Josie stared at her blankly. But of course—she’d been only twelve when their father had died, and Bree had set her sights on the twenty-five-year-old businessman with a small mining company, who’d returned to Alaska to try to buy back his family’s land. She’d hoped to con him out of enough cash to pay off the dangerous men who’d tracked them down and were demanding repayment of the money Black Jack and Bree had once stolen.