Lap of Luxury (Love Don't Cost a Thing Book 2) Read online

  Captive. Pet. Lover. Pawn…

  Darkness lives inside Damir Ravnikar, and that darkness craves one thing: me. Rich, ruthless, and handsome as sin, Damir’s promised me the world to make up for my life’s myriad disappointments.

  But his promise comes with a price.

  Damir intends to use me to hunt down his double-crossing brother. With every jewel, every kiss, I can feel myself losing my morals, my freedom and even my sanity. Because darkness lives inside me, too. He’s laying my deepest secrets bare, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.

  My name is Bethany, and I’ve fallen into the lap of luxury.

  AUTHOR'S NOTE: Contains dark romantic themes. This book is NOT a standalone and is intended to be read after COME TO DADDY. No cliffhanger.

  LAP OF LUXURY (LOVE DON’T COST A THING, 2) by BRIANNA HALE

  Copyright © 2019 Brianna Hale

  | All Rights Reserved |

  Cover design by Brianna Hale

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except brief quotations for reviews. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any similarities between persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Bad Guy—Billie Eilish

  Fetish—Selena Gomez

  Ultraviolence—Lana Del Rey

  Come First—Terror Jr

  Plug-in Baby—Muse

  365—Katy Perry (Jonas Aden remix)

  Song to Say Goodbye—Placebo

  Homemade Dynamite—Lorde feat. Khalid, Post Malone, SZA

  Search “Lap of Luxury” on Spotify or copy this URL: https://spoti.fi/324oI7g

  I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

  in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

  PABLO NERUDA

  Prologue

  Damir

  “You fucker. You’re alive.”

  I spread my arms wide and grin at Mikhail. “In the flesh.”

  He glares at me, eyes groggy with sleep and his black curls tousled. My big brother has smiled about three times in his twenty-four years on this earth and he’s not about to bestow one of those rare jewels on me now.

  “It’s three o’clock in the goddamn morning, Damir.” He turns abruptly, disappearing into his apartment but leaving the door open for me.

  I follow, taking in the bare walls, the minimalist furniture. The only personal items are a laptop on the dining table next to a briefcase with documents spilling out. The Ravnikar men always did prefer working to living.

  Mikhail yanks a bottle of Polish vodka out of the freezer and slops two measures into glasses. Beyond the plate glass windows is London, a jumble of shining lights and the dark, sinuous ribbon of the Thames. The view is the reason Mikhail chose this penthouse apartment, about a year before I disappeared. He might not be much into décor, but he loves to watch the city. I give the vista a dispassionate glance. I’m not into views.

  You could say I’m more of a people person.

  Glancing at Mikhail as he hands me a vodka, I wonder how hard I’m going to have to work to make him do what I want.

  “Na zdravje,” I say, toasting him. “My flight got in after midnight. I couldn’t think where else to go.”

  “Ever heard of a hotel?”

  My instincts tell me to grin boyishly at him. “But I’ve missed you.”

  Mikhail takes a swallow of vodka. His eyes are filled with flat antipathy. “Go fuck yourself, Damir.”

  I drop the smile. That’s fair, after what I did. I examine my big brother carefully. He’s changed in the years I’ve been gone. He never used to drink like this. His complexion is dull with unhappiness and he looks far older than his years. “How’s father?”

  Mikhail takes another swallow of vodka, and his big shoulders tense. “The same.”

  “Shame,” I say lightly. “I was hoping he’d be dead.”

  Mikhail grimaces, and I know him well enough to read the I wish in his eyes. Things must really be bad if even good little Misha is wishing bodily harm on another person. Excitement blazes through me. This is my in.

  I casually swirl the vodka in my glass. “Been going well, the two of you working together?”

  Mikhail pinches the bridge of his nose and slumps onto the sofa. “Nothing I do is good enough for him. I’m not good enough.” He levels a bleak gaze at me. “I’m not you. Why the fuck did you leave?”

  “You think anything I did was ever good enough for him?” I snarl.

  “Yes. Everything. He’s always telling me I’ll never measure up to you. That I don’t have the killer instinct.”

  Father never said such things to me, apart from the killer instinct thing. That he told me often. Our parents have pitted Mikhail and I against each other our whole lives, one out of love, and the other out of spite. “Then quit. Our father is a relic from another time. We know more about property development in this country and age than he does. Let’s make our own company.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Mikhail mutters into his glass.

  This is the difference between Mikhail and me. He’s always been darkly fatalistic, whereas I prefer to drive my own destiny. He’s not stupid by any means, despite what our father has told him. He’s smarter than I am in terms of figures and deals.

  This is why I need him. I just have to make him believe he needs me, too.

  “I’m serious. The right investments. The best projects. We can start small and make something huge together, I know we can. You always wanted to build a skyscraper in London. Let’s do it. Let’s build twenty.”

  Mikhail scrubs his hand over his face. “I’m too tired for this. Go to a hotel or something and leave me alone.”

  “Just because you’re on one path right now doesn’t mean you can’t change tracks. Kristus, you’re so stubborn.”

  “And you’re always so fast to throw everyone who loves you under a fucking bus!” he roars.

  “I left because I had to!”

  Mikhail and I glare at each other, breathing hard. It’s the truth. I was going to kill our father, but now I wonder why I ever thought that would be so terrible. Panic rolls through me because I spoke from pure emotion, and I never do that. I quickly go over what I said, wondering if I need to do any damage control. But Mikhail nods slowly, and I see that the truth was far more convincing than anything else I could have said. He drains his glass and puts it down onto the coffee table, turning it thoughtfully as if s
crewing it into the tabletop.

  When he speaks it’s through gritted teeth. “I hate that you’re able to turn up here in the middle of the night and reorganize my whole life just because it suits you.”

  I sink down beside him on the sofa and clap a hand on his shoulder. “It’s for both of us. If you don’t want this, just tell me so.” And I’ll find another way of getting you onto my side. There are dozens of possibilities. Lies. Murder. Blackmail. Coercion. Really, the list is endless. People give up far too quickly on their dreams.

  He sighs. “How are we going to tell father?”

  “You really mean it?”

  Mikhail meets my eyes bleakly. “I have to get out, because he’s going to kill me, one way or another. That man is poison.”

  I put my vodka down and wrap my arms around him. You’ve got to be a bit soft with Mikhail to get what you want out of him. He’s a big bastard, but he needs a bit of affection. As he clasps me back I think that, maybe, in this moment, I might feel something close to what people call love.

  “How am I going to tell father?” he asks.

  I pull back and rest my hands on his shoulders. “Just don’t show up tomorrow. You owe him nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing.”

  I don’t plan on setting eyes on that piece of shit ever again. If his funeral was tomorrow, I’d go to a strip club instead and blow ten grand on girls and champagne.

  Mikhail thinks this through, and I watch him in impatient silence. Everything always takes so long with him. Can’t he see that I’m offering him freedom from everything that’s plaguing his life? When it’s the two of us against the world, everything is better and brighter. He needs to be at my side while I devise schemes and plans for us, and we’ll never need anyone else ever again.

  Mikhail stands up and gets the vodka out of the freezer again. “Where have you been all this time, anyway?”

  I make a dismissive gesture, watching him pour two more measures into our glasses. “Just hanging out with some nobodies. What’s important is what happens now. A new road for us, without our parents’ poison.”

  Mikhail looks up sharply at that. I know he loved our mother and she loved him, but that bitch was just as much of a wedge between us as our psychopath father is.

  “Come on, Mikhail. What have you got to lose? We’ll be partners, just you and me.”

  Mikhail’s mouth twitches, and I see the beginnings of a smile. Three years under our father’s thumb must have been a nightmare for him, and I’m saving him from all that. With his brains and patience and my instincts and hunger, we’re both going to become very, very rich, and he knows it.

  “Partners,” he insists, quashing the smile, though his eyes are still glimmering with excitement. “Equal partners. Equal risks and rewards. I’m not living under anyone’s fucking rule anymore.”

  I hold out my hand to him and say, “Partners,” meaning it with every fiber of my being. I’m not my father.

  I’m not.

  We shake firmly and it feels, not like a business deal, but like coming home.

  Mikhail slaps his thigh hard and goes back to the freezer. “More vodka. Let’s finish the bottle. After this, I’m done drinking. You see what our father has driven me to?”

  I grin, because he’s changed so much since he first opened the door. He’s standing straight now and fire burns in his eyes. He pours the last inch of vodka into our glasses and throws the bottle into the trash.

  “What are we going to call this company?” he asks.

  I think for a moment. “How about Ravnikar Enterprises?”

  Mikhail nods. “I like it. To Ravnikar Enterprises,” he says, holding his glass aloft.

  I tap my glass against his and drain the vodka in one swallow. It burns down my throat, clear and bright.

  “In the morning I’ll tell father that it’s over between us, forever.” Mikhail’s eyes are bright with purpose.

  “Are you insane? You don’t say something like that to his face. If you have to tell him, leave him a voicemail or something. That old bastard can’t stand to lose. Now, let’s get some sleep. I’m exhausted.”

  Mikhail shows me to the guest room and bids me goodnight. He heads off to his room looking a whole lot better than he did when I arrived. Tomorrow, father’s going to know that neither of his sons will have anything to do with him ever again. No more divide and conquer. We’re united against him.

  It’s the middle of the morning when I awaken, and the apartment is empty. Mikhail’s briefcase is still on the table. I frown at it, rubbing the stubble on my chin and wondering where he could have gone. It’s not like he has to go into work now.

  And then I realize. He’s done exactly what I warned him not to do and gone to tell our father of our plans. Mikhail doesn’t truly understand what our father is capable of. Only I do.

  Jezus Kristus. He’s going to be killed.

  I run for the door. Father always liked to spend his mornings at home working, so I get in a taxi and head to his house first. He has a Georgian townhouse in Chelsea, a formidable building on a leafy street. I go around the back way, vaulting over the brick wall from the laneway into the back garden.

  I see them through the French doors. They’re in the kitchen. Papa’s brandishing a six-inch, wickedly sharp kitchen knife. Mikhail’s barely reacting, his face blank with shock. Papa lifts the knife and lunges at Mikhail. Roaring with fury, I launch myself at the doors and bust through them in an explosion of glass.

  They both cover their faces with their hands, and then one of them turns to me. But it’s not the right one. As Mikhail opens his mouth, our father strikes. A vicious downward blow.

  I spring forward, knocking father aside with my shoulder and wrenching the knife out of his hand. But I’m too late. Mikhail collapses onto one knee, his hand over his heart. Maybe he’s already dead. Father’s on the ground, too. He’s not as strong as he used to be and I’m able to hold him down with a foot planted on his neck.

  “Damir,” he says, his voice slightly strangled. “Calm down. Be a good boy.”

  I take a deep breath, struggling to rein in my anger, one hand clutching the dripping knife. Father smiles, watching me slowly regain myself. A few moments later, I’m serene again. Beside me on the ground, Mikhail is making clutching motions at his chest, his face paper white.

  “Do you feel better?” he asks.

  I nod. My blood has cooled. I’m in control again.

  “Good boy,” father murmurs. “Now, help me up, and we can talk about cleaning up the mess that your brother has made. We’ve missed you around—”

  What he was going to say is lost in a gasp as I plunge the knife into his heart. The shock in his eyes is comical.

  I lean down to him. “I always wanted to kill you in cold blood.”

  I watch the light go out of his eyes and his head fall back, wondering if I’m about to experience guilt or horror over what I’ve down. So far, all I feel is energized from the adrenalin, and pleasure that this bastard is finally dead.

  If I ever kill again, I’ll do it like this. In complete control of my mind and body so I can enjoy every second. How wonderful it feels.

  Mikhail shows signs of passing out, so I strike him hard across the face. I’m going to need his help with our father’s two-hundred-pound corpse.

  “He’s dead,” he said dazedly. “He’s actually dead.”

  “Don’t pretend you’re sorry. Come on, help me with him.”

  As we’re struggling to roll father into a rug, Mikhail mutters, “I just thought he should know. About us.”

  “You need to toughen the fuck up, Mikhail. Show the world who’s boss. Show me who’s boss. I want to know that you can be as cutthroat as I am.”

  Mikhail glances pointedly at our father’s body, as if to say, You’ve set the bar rather high.

  I grin at him. “All right, maybe not quite that cutthroat. Father was ruining your life. Stealing your fucking soul. From now on, if someone tries to take away what’s yours, you c
ome at them with everything you have. You hear me? Swear it.”

  Mikhail pushes the lumpy roll of carpet one last turn, and then hauls one end up in his arms while I do the same. With our father’s body slung across our shoulders, he nods decisively. “I swear it.”

  Chapter One

  Bethany

  Eighteen years later

  “Bethany!”

  I jump and look up from my phone to see Mikhail Ravnikar standing in his office doorway, glowering at me like Hades at a disobedient minion.

  “Yes, sir?” I ask sweetly, slipping my phone into the pocket of my skirt. “How may I help you?”

  At six-feet-four, he’s as tall as the doorway and immaculately dressed in a dark suit, his black curls neat and beard trimmed. “I asked you three times already. Get in here.” He turns and strides back into his office, his shoulders up around his ears.

  “Coming,” I call in a sing-song voice, and stand up. We’re having one of those days, are we? Lately, more often than not, we’ve been having one of those days, in which he’s in a non-stop, barely controlled temper. I don’t know what’s setting him off. Nothing’s changed around here. Maybe that’s the problem.

  He and Damir Ravnikar have been working together for nearly twenty years, almost as long as I’ve been alive, and they kind of seem to hate each other. Which is a challenge, seeing as they run the company together.

  Or maybe it’s just that Mr. Ravnikar’s not getting any. Does he even have sex? Maybe he hasn’t downloaded that software update yet.

  “I was just answering some very important emails for you,” I tell him as I head into his office. I wasn’t. I was checking how many likes I had on Instagram.

  Apparently Mr. Ravnikar isn’t fooled as he mutters darkly, “I’ll bet. I told you I needed the minutes from yesterday’s board meeting as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, you did. And I sent them to you already. Also, I sent you the update you wanted about the Croatia development.”