Glorious Rivals (The Grandest Game, #2) (100)

Ruthless.

Those lips of hers parted once more. “Good-bye, Rohan.”

And soon enough, he was alone.





Chapter 86





ROHAN


Power came, always, at a cost. The only question was what the price was—and who was going to pay it. Fortunately for Rohan, there was clarity in pain.

And even more fortunately for Rohan, Jameson Hawthorne was a desperate man. He tracked Rohan down, the way Rohan had very much hoped that he would.

“I have an offer for you,” Jameson said, his jaw hard.

The human body told stories, if you knew how to listen. Rohan assessed Jameson for a moment. The muscles in Jameson’s jaw were just the beginning. And there’s my safety net. Rohan had not pieced together exactly what was going on here—yet.

But he would.

“I need ten million pounds, and I need it in the next seven weeks,” he told Jameson. “You appear to be down an heiress. You should have taken me up on my offer sooner.”

Like power, Rohan’s assistance would come at a price.

“I have money of my own.” The story that Jameson Hawthorne’s body was telling right now was a story of a dangerous, brutal, almost inhuman thing barely leashed. The man was broken. And Rohan had always had a certain fascination for broken things.

Putting them back together—or scavenging them for parts.

“Help me find Avery,” Jameson said fiercely, “and the money is yours—what you need and more, every dime I have, no strings attached.”

Yes, Rohan thought, the words a low, vibrating hum in his mind. Yes. That will do.

“And how precisely do you believe that I can be of assistance?” Rohan asked. Information, in times like these, was priceless.

“The duchess.” Jameson’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Zella. She knows something.”

Of course she does, Rohan thought. His rival was a master of the long game—in all likelihood, more than one.

Taking her down would be a pleasure. His pleasure.

“I’ll need the money before I can go back to London,” Rohan told Jameson. “Technicalities. You understand.”

“You’ll get the money when I get Avery back.”

Well, that could be a problem—but then, Rohan had always excelled at taking care of problems.

Without waiting for Rohan’s assent, Jameson turned, walking away—stalking, really, like a desperate, broken, dangerous man with somewhere to be.

“Where are you going?” Rohan called. “Where will I find you, once I have the information you need?”

Jameson’s stride never even broke. “Prague.”





Chapter 87





GIGI


In the time it took Gigi’s beloved-against-his-will former teammate to deliver her to Alisa Ortega on what appeared to be a yacht the size of a sprawling sportsball field, Gigi ascertained three things from He of the Grumpiest and Most Inscrutable of Pants.

One: Knox had looked for her. He’d been looking for her for more than a day.

Two: He’d been paid to do it.

And three: Even though Knox had heard every word Gigi had told Jameson and Alisa about the Woman in Red, even though Knox was the one who’d placed the call to Alisa in the first place, he clearly wasn’t going to ask.

About Calla.

Gigi just kept thinking about the scar at the base of Knox’s neck, the one he’d called a Calla Thorp good-bye. She kept thinking about the way the Woman in Red had insisted there was no Calla Thorp anymore.

“It appears our business arrangement is at an end,” Knox told Alisa, handing Gigi over.

“Yes, yes,” Alisa replied curtly, “you’re heartless and driven only by greed and weren’t worried about Gigi here in the least. Ridiculous premise accepted. I have another job for you, Mr. Landry.”

“Not interested, Ortega.”

“You will be.”

Gigi felt a bit like she was watching two sexually repressed mountain lions playing Ping-Pong.

“I was just notified by security,” Alisa continued, “that Brady Daniels has disappeared from Hawthorne Island without a trace. I can’t help but wonder if he had help.”

Knox scowled. “You think he’s with Calla—or the other one.”

Zella, Gigi thought.

“I think,” Alisa told Knox, “that our business arrangement is not at its end.”





Chapter 88





GIGI


Gigi found Savannah standing on one of the yacht’s open decks between a hot tub and a pool. She stood with her back to Gigi, who still wasn’t used to her twin’s haircut, wasn’t used to being able to see the back of her sister’s neck—the tension in it.

“You won, didn’t you?” Gigi said. That was such a nonsensical way for her to start, but she couldn’t take it back now. “The Grandest Game.”

“Winning rarely matters as much as I think it will.” Savannah did not so much as turn. Gigi could tell just by the tone in her sister’s voice that Savannah’s walls were all the way up.

Solid ice.

Gigi was not without discretion or the ability to take a hint, but Savannah’s walls were always highest when she was hurting most.