Buying the Underworld's Phantom King

I dropped sixty million dollars at an underground auction to buy a fighter as a pet.

I never imagined that just a few days later, my fiancé would storm my home with an army of lawyers and reporters, trying to force me into signing a marriage contract.

"Your father has already signed over all your paperwork. You're signing this today, whether you like it or not!"

Pinned by a wall of flashing cameras, I squeezed my eyes shut as a wave of hopelessness washed over me.

Suddenly, the doors to my private elevator slid open. A dozen elite operators in black tactical suits filed out.

"Don't move! On the ground, now!"

In seconds, everyone was subdued. The operators dropped to one knee, their voices a unified roar that shook the room:

"All hail, Your Excellency!"

I stared, speechless, at the towering figure striding out of the elevator.

It was the same fighter I'd bought for sixty million.

"That symbol... the black onyx totem. That's the emblem of the personal guard for the supreme leader of the underworld!"

He strode toward me, his eyes burning.

"Blair," he growled, his voice laced with a cold rage. "Did they hurt you?"

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1

"Fifty million dollars?"

The man who had just bid one million dollars whipped his head around, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. He was Cole Nash, second-in-command of the Onyx Syndicate.

The Onyx Syndicate had a plan. Their legendary king, Ronan Donovan—known only as "The Phantom"—would feign capture to infiltrate this New York underground auction. Their goal: to root out the traitor leaking their secrets.

They were about to spring the trap. All Cole had to do was pose as a wealthy bidder and use their one-million-dollar budget to buy back a year of Ronan's "services."

They had to be wondering where in the hell a woman who could casually drop fifty million had materialized from.

Cole's face was a mask of calm, but inside, his thoughts were screaming. Boss! We have a problem! Some lunatic just bid fifty million! We don't have that kind of cash!

Boss! What's the play? Do we fight our way out? Do you want me to scare her off?

Boss! Are you even listening to me?

But Ronan seemed to have short-circuited. He wasn't responding.

The legendary fighter, a man known throughout the underworld for his decisive, cold-blooded ruthlessness, was staring, transfixed, at the indolent woman on the second floor—me.

He'd recognized me the moment I walked in. It was a magnetic pull, so potent it could ignite the blood of a man who had lain dormant in the shadows for a decade.

The girl he had secretly loved for ten years.

His Adam's apple bobbed. His pupils dilated. A fire ignited in his blood. A single, primal thought consumed him: he wanted her to take him home, lock him away, and cover her in his scent.

He didn't even register Cole's existence. When he was focused on his prey, he tolerated no distractions.

Cole was desperate. His boss had checked out.

He looked at me, Blair Lancaster, the heiress to a tech empire, rumored to be good for nothing but her money.

If his boss fell into my hands to become some rich girl's plaything, it would be a humiliation for the entire Onyx Syndicate.

"Fifty million dollars, going once!" the auctioneer boomed, his voice trembling with excitement.

Cole couldn't wait.

He adjusted his tie, pasted on a synthetic smile, and ascended to the second-floor VIP box where I lounged. His eyes, however, held a clear warning.

"Miss, I was the intended buyer for this particular 'item.' A word of advice: he's no housepet. He's a caged beast, and he can't be tamed."

"A woman like you can't handle him. For your own good, I suggest you walk away and let me take him."

I rested my chin on my hand, letting out a soft chuckle when he finished. "Can't handle him?"

Without even gracing him with a glance, I raised my paddle.

As Cole's eyes widened in disbelief, I purred, "Sixty million."

A hush fell over the auction house. The smile on Cole's face shattered.

That wasn't just a slap in the face. It was twisting the knife.

He gaped. "You…"

"Can't handle him?" I laughed, my gaze drifting past him to settle on the man on stage, whose obsessive stare hadn't wavered. "That's only because you're not man enough."

"If I want something, I get it. If he were the devil himself, I could put a leash on him."

"Sixty million dollars, going once!" The auctioneer was so ecstatic he nearly launched his gavel into the crowd.

Cole shot a final, desperate look at the stage, his eyes practically screaming. Boss, do something! Glare at her! Anything! Are you really going to let this woman take you home like a common pet?

This time, he got a response.

Ronan's voice was a low, gravelly rumble, laced with a disturbing thread of pleasure. "Cole. Take your men and disappear. You're in the way. I'm getting my first look at my new owner."

Cole's mind went blank.

"Sixty million dollars, going thrice! Sold!"

The gavel slammed down.

I rose, striding toward the stage in my heels, breezing past a catatonic Cole who looked to be rethinking his entire life.

The musky scent of tobacco and leather in the air intensified, and the nerves frayed by my chronic insomnia began to settle.

As I approached, a few bodyguards scurried forward with stun guns and tranquilizer darts. "Miss Lancaster, for your safety, we need to sedate him before applying restraints—"

"Get lost."

I swatted the stun gun aside. "He's my property now. I won't have him damaged."

The bodyguards flinched back.

I reached out, my fingertips gently brushing the grime from his cheek.

"Miss Lancaster! He'll break your arm!" Cole shrieked.

He knew Ronan. Anyone who dared such a provocation would be fish food in the Hudson by now.

But in the next second, jaws across the room dropped.

The lethal aura radiating from the man on stage seemed to dissipate at my touch.

He obediently dipped his head, allowing my fingers to trail across his cheek. His gaze was intense and docile, a tamed predator silently begging for more.

I narrowed my eyes in satisfaction, my fingers combing through the soft, coarse texture of his messy black hair.

I glanced back at the petrified bodyguards and Cole, one eyebrow arched in challenge. "What was that you were saying? Untamable?"

I scratched the chin of the man who was now as pliant as a loyal hound, my tone languid. "It seems he's already chosen his master. Get him cleaned up and send him to my penthouse. Immediately."

Ten minutes later, I was utterly captivated by the enormous prize before me.

The auction house staff had been efficient. They had changed Ronan into a fresh set of clothes.

An unbuttoned black shirt hung from his broad shoulders, framing solid muscles crisscrossed with old scars. A single zip tie loosely bound his hands behind his back as he knelt on the plush carpet, gazing up at me.

His face was brutally perfect.

Sharp cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a nose that looked chiseled from marble. But it was his eyes that were most striking. Those dark, feral pupils were now fixed on me with a quiet intensity.

This man was precisely my type.

I stepped forward, and that intoxicating scent of tobacco and leather washed over me.

"What cologne is that?" I leaned in, inhaling deeply near the column of his throat. "Tell me the brand. I'll buy the entire company."

Ronan's Adam's apple bobbed. "It's my natural scent."

"Natural?" I murmured, my fingertip tilting his chin up. "And your name? Your full name."

"Ronan Donovan."

"Ronan Donovan…" I rolled the name on my tongue, a low laugh escaping me. "Remember my name. It's Blair Lancaster."

"Blair," he repeated, his voice a low rasp.

"What, no 'Boss'?" I teased, my fingertip sliding from his chin to the hollow of his throat, pressing lightly. "Didn't the auction house teach you the rules?"

Ronan's eyes narrowed. The man who ruled New York's underworld, being told to call a woman "Boss"?

Anyone else would already be dead. But now…

"Boss…"

The word was uttered with a low seriousness, the final 's' hissing, drawn-out and seductive.

It didn't sound like submission. It sounded like a promise whispered on a pillow.

A tingle shot through me, leaving half my body weak. This man was sinfully good.

I sidestepped his scorching gaze and sliced through the zip tie on his wrists.

With a soft click, the plastic fell away, revealing powerful forearms and pale wrists.

The movement caused his shirt to slip further down his shoulder.

My gaze froze.

His otherwise perfect musculature was a roadmap of countless overlapping scars. Some were faded white lines, others looked raw and new.

I remembered the bloody rumors about the underground fighting rings. It had to be them. Those brutes. Who knew what they'd done to him, how long they'd abused him to force his obedience.

"Did they do this to you?" I asked, my voice softening as my trembling fingers traced the jagged old scars.

Ronan froze. These were medals of honor, earned over a decade of clawing his way to the top. In a few more days, the newest wounds would have vanished without a trace.

But seeing the undisguised pity and misunderstanding in her eyes, a new, delicious idea sparked in his mind.

"Mmm, it hurts…" He frowned, his dark eyes misting over like a wounded animal. "It will only feel better if my boss kisses it."

God, a fierce man feigning innocence. A lethal combination.