“To free will,” I said finally, looking right into his eyes.

He laughed, like I’d made a joke, and chills broke out on both my arms. “To free will,” he repeated. “That most fabled of civil rights. May we all one day truly understand what we’ve lost.” He bumped his glass against mine with a clink, and my stomach clenched around my lobster dinner.

“You don’t know what real loss is,” I said through clenched teeth, refusing to drink. He couldn’t possibly.

Ian’s smile died and he lowered his glass, frowning at me over it. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means exactly what I said. You don’t know a thing about loss. If you did, you wouldn’t be sitting here in a suite paid for by a man who’s just waiting to teach you what that word really means.”

His gaze hardened and he set his drink on the coffee table. “You’re not the only one who’s ever lost someone, you know.”

“This isn’t about dead parents,” I snapped.

“Then what is it about? What did I say wrong this time?”

“Nothing. I wish you would say it. I wish you’d quit with the drinks, and the chitchat, and the deep eye contact. This doesn’t have to be so much work. I’m a sure thing, Ian. No seduction required. Didn’t you get the memo?” I turned my drink up and drained it in several long gulps, and when I finally set the glass down, he was frowning at me, his expression stuck somewhere between confusion and exasperation.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

I needed another drink. If he was playing the game Julia said he was playing, I’d just ruined the illusion of the hunt. And possibly tied a noose around my own neck.

“Nothing. I just… I’m sorry.” I stood and headed for the minibar. “I just can’t pretend anymore. Playing your game is one thing, but pretending it isn’t a game is too much.”

“What game, Kori?” The couch creaked at my back as he stood, but there were no footsteps.

“You. Me. Recruitment. Fringe benefits.” I plucked another tiny bottle from the minibar and cracked the lid without even glancing at the label. Then I turned and met his gaze from across the room. “I’m what you asked for. I can’t say no. So I wish you’d quit trying to make this feel like something it isn’t and just tell me what you want me to do, so I can get it over with.”

His eyes widened. Then his dark eyebrows sank low over green eyes and his hands curled into fists at his sides. I knew that look. Hell, I’d perfected that look. He was going to hit something.

Me? Was he going to hit me, because I’d ruined whatever fantasy he was playing out in his head? And if so, how many punches could I throw before the resistance pain kicked in again? Would this be like it was with Jonah, brutal and violent? Or would this be a civilized conquest, grown-ups playing pretend, polite until the last stroke?

In the basement, I’d been trapped by dead shadows and crippled by direct orders. Mentally fighting hands and teeth I couldn’t see, crushed by weight I couldn’t bear, pinned, humiliated, hurt. Wishing for death, but too scared to reach for it.

Would I have the guts to end it this time? To fight back until I couldn’t move, drawing death closer with every punch I threw, in spite of the pain…

“Kori, what are you saying? Whatever I tell you to do, you have to do?”

I rolled my eyes and drained half the tiny bottle, wincing at the burn. “You knew that. You’ve known it all along.”

“No, I… I hadn’t thought about it like that. I hadn’t realized…” He closed his eyes and sank onto the couch, his head in both hands. Then his hands fell away and his head snapped up. His gaze met mine and held it. And I realized I believed him.

Ian truly hadn’t known. There was no game, except the one Julia was playing.

His forehead wrinkled, and each breath he released sounded angry. “Tower told you to…?”

My stomach tried to revolt, and I held down my dinner with nothing but willpower. If he hadn’t known what I’d been ordered to do, then he hadn’t thought of me as a whore. Until now.

“He told me to do whatever you want. He said if I wasn’t the best you’ve ever had…” But I couldn’t finish that sentence. I couldn’t admit the consequences to him. Not with him looking at me like that. Not with disgust dripping from his words, revulsion written in every line on his face.

It was obvious what he thought of me now. I may as well have a red chain link tattooed on my arm.

“That soulless son of a bitch.” He stared at the floor, fists opening and closing. Then he looked up at me with something new shining through the surface of his obvious anger. Was that…disappointment?

And suddenly I understood that I wasn’t the only one hurt by this. If Ian’s jokes, and obvious desire, and genuine conversation weren’t part of some game he was playing, then…he’d meant them. He’d meant it all. And somehow that realization cut even deeper than the latest knife Jake had shoved into my back.

“So, this isn’t real?” Ian demanded, anger edging out whatever pain I’d glimpsed from him. “Dinner? Telling me about your family? Was any of that true? Did any of that mean anything to you?”

I inhaled deeply. Slowly. I could admit that in spite of my orders and my own common sense, everything I’d said and done with him was real. That I liked him, and that’s why I’d tried to paint an accurate picture of life in the syndicate, even as I roped him tighter with Jake’s noose. But that wouldn’t be fair to either of us. We couldn’t be together, ever, even if Jake hadn’t ruined anything we could have had by ordering me to sleep with Ian. Julia had been right about that much. Once Ian officially joined the syndicate, he would quickly outrank me. And even if my lower standing didn’t put him off, association with me would do him no favors.