Purchased For Revenge

Not looking for her.

And even as she realised that, she realised too that somewhere, buried deep inside, there had been a hope—frail, pathetic, but there all the same—that the man who had turned her limbs to water with a single glance from his dark, compelling eyes would not let her run from him. Would not let that single, momentary kiss be enough. The slow draining of that frail pathetic hope was complete.

He had not even seen her. Had not even registered her presence.

She was invisible to him.

He had kissed her so short a time ago, but now he did not know her. Did not see her.

But even as she let go of the last remnant of her futile hope, leaving a dry, drained emptiness inside her, she realised why he was not looking at her.

And as she did, a dark, ominous foreboding began to gel inside her.

He was not walking towards the roulette table. He was walking towards her father.

And something about the way he was walking sent a chill down her spine.

Controlled. Purposeful.

Deadly.

The word formed in her mind, and she could not unform it. It hung there, making her stomach pool with cold.

She tensed in every muscle.

Hawkwood had paused in his play. Alexei saw his hand still a moment, before continuing to position the next batch of chips he was pointlessly sacrificing to his own arrogant bluff—the bluff that said he could afford to lose, and go on losing, the way he was tonight.

Alexei knew better. Giles Hawkwood could not afford to lose a penny more. His yacht, his properties, every possible asset, had all been securitised to raise cash to buy up his own company shares wherever he could find them. But he was too late. As of this morning, AC International had agreed to acquire—in a very friendly and mutually profitable merger—an Australian company that just happened to possess a sufficient number of Hawkwood shares to give Alexei the undisputed majority holding.

Giles Hawkwood was—finally—in the palm of his hand.

Powerless, and broke.

He just didn’t know it yet.

And Alexei didn’t have any intention of letting him know it yet.

He wanted to savour the knowledge that he would be meeting his prey for the first—and last—time, and his prey did not even know that he was beaten.

He reached the roulette table, and stopped.

Waiting. Waiting for Giles Hawkwood to make his move.

‘Constantin.’

Eve heard her father say the name, but his reason for saying it did not register. All that registered was that the man whom she had thought a fantasy, whom she had kissed in the moonlight, by the sea’s edge, from whom she had run because there was nothing else for her to do, was now standing a handful of metres away from her, on the other side of the roulette table. The people sitting there had automatically, it seemed, made way for him, and now he stood looking across and down at her father.

For a moment he said nothing, yet Eve felt her stomach pool with cold again.

Then, with a slow welling of disbelief, the name her father had addressed him by registered.

Constantin.

Alexei Constantin.

This was Alexei Constantin.

Shock knifed through her. And hollowing disbelief. She felt herself sway, and grip the chair-back as if it alone kept her upright.

Then her father leant back. Instinctively, automatically, she pulled her hand away.

She never touched her father. Never let him touch her.

He was looking across at Alexei Constantin, who was looking back down at him. His face was unreadable, expressionless. But there was something in it, in the controlled stance of his body, that was completely, absolutely different from the man who had walked towards her on the terrace such a short time ago.

This was a different man.

Her father took a deep inhalation from his cigar, then rested it against the ashtray. His eyes never left the other man’s.

‘So,’ he said, ‘an opportune encounter, wouldn’t you say?’

His voice was grating.

Even, to Eve’s ears, baiting.

Alexei Constantin’s expression did not change. ‘Would I?’ he responded.

His voice was different. As different as the man who looked down at her father with that chill, expressionless face.

She realised, with a start of unease, that the play at the roulette table had halted. So had the conversation around the table. Everyone was focussing on the exchange taking place.

It must be obvious to her father as well. His eyes moved dismissively, then he nodded at Alexei Constantin.

‘Come to dinner tomorrow night. On my yacht.’ He lifted his cigar again, and took another leisurely puff from his cigar, relaxing more deeply into the chair carrying his bulk. ‘I’ll send the launch at, oh, say half-eight?’

His eyes, pouched from burgundy and cognac, were heavy.

For the briefest moment Alexei Constantin did not speak. Then he gave the very slightest nod.

‘Make it nine. I like to check the Asia Pacific opening prices. It’s always interesting to see what’s moved.’

Now it was his turn for his voice to be baiting. Eve saw the colour mount fleetingly in her father’s mottled cheeks, then subside again.

‘You do that,’ he contented himself with responding. Then, as if to regain the upper hand, he snapped his fingers at the croupier to resume play, and pushed some more chips onto the table. With a mix of relief and regret that the incident was over, the other guests around the table took their cue, and restarted their conversations.

Alexei Constantin did not move. For a long, oppressive moment Eve saw him continue to look down at her father. He was very still.

The stillness of a predator before it struck…