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  DOWNSWING

  Lady Luck: Book One

  J. J. Anatoliy

  Copyright © 2018 J.J. Anatoliy

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this story may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations embodies within critical reviews and articles.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not meant to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, persons, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-7321024-0-8

  Cover design and ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers.

  There are graphic scenes inside this book that may be a trigger to some.

  Please read with caution.

  Synopsis

  Lady Luck smiles, enticing you forward… while holding the knife to your throat.

  Emilia Fox seems to have misfortune dogging her every step. In the dead of night, she is kidnapped from her front door by Russia’s most powerful mafia crime boss, a man who is known only as Korol - the King. He is the phantom of the criminal underworld, and Emilia is subjected to his brand of torture for over a year before Fate intervenes in the unlikeliest of ways. Emilia must now release the demons from her past to defeat the monster of her present, but she needs one last piece to tilt the odds in her favor.

  To force a king to his feet… you need a devil at your back.

  He holds the devil’s own luck… but will it be enough to save the queen of his heart?

  Viktor Orlov has lost everything. He has given up his prestige, his family, his honor, all for a woman that haunts his every waking moment… and fuels his darkest desires. She is his queen, his captain, and the moment he helped Korol abduct her from her home, she became his obsession. Not even the mafia king can stop the cold hand of Fate, and Viktor escapes Korol’s clutches with the object of his obsession, vowing to serve her until Death itself comes to claim him.

  The cards are dealt, the die is cast, and the game of the century begins.

  Emilia and Viktor gather to them some more broken pieces to strengthen their hand, and together they form the mercenary group of the ages. From the ashes of destruction emerges Downswing, and you’ll be lucky if they only take your life. When Lady Luck shines upon them, giving them a chance to defeat the mafia king, they gather their forces and journey back to Russia to face him head-on. But when their queen begins to crumble around the edges, losing herself to her demons and slipping towards the edge of insanity, can they band together and keep her in the game…

  Or will Fate’s cruel hand force her to fold for the last time?

  Author’s Note

  The song that Emilia Fox sings throughout the book is The Gambler, written by Don Schlitz, made famous by Kenny Rogers. Her version is a tad bit… darker than the original. You can listen to a sample of it here.

  For Mom.

  Because no matter the demon, you’ve managed to slay them all.

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Author’s Note

  Dedication

  Prologue: The Clincher Card

  Chapter One: The Players

  Chapter Two: Cold Deck

  Chapter Three: Cripple The Deck

  Chapter Four: Ante

  Chapter Five: The Bluff

  Chapter Six: Burn

  Chapter Seven: The Hand

  Chapter Eight: Full House

  Chapter Nine: Intermission

  Chapter Ten: Pair Of Queens

  Chapter Eleven: Queen Of Hearts

  Chapter Twelve: Man With The Ax

  Chapter Thirteen: Community Cards

  Chapter Fourteen: Slow Play

  Chapter Fifteen: Burn Card

  Chapter Sixteen: Rock

  Chapter Seventeen: Tilt

  Chapter Eighteen: Muck

  Chapter Nineteen: No-Limit

  Chapter Twenty: Kicker

  Chapter Twenty-One: Downswing

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The Clincher Card

  Viktor

  When an angel came to me in hell, I was wrapped in chains and covered in filth.

  I didn't even have to look up to know it was her. A hush had come over my fellow captives, and I could hear the murmurs of surprise as two guards escorted a lone woman along the long, stone walkway. She was singing softly, almost to herself, but the lyrics caught my ear. It was a song I had heard from this angel before. Her raspy, beautiful voice always managed to sooth my soul… while firing my blood.

  I slowly raised my head from my chest, ignoring the taste of blood in my mouth from the metal bridle the guards had jammed in there. I unfurled my body from my hunched-over state, stretching up. The Chinese woman who was my cellmate looked at me sharply, surprise tinging her features at my movement. I was known among the inmates of our little prison as being silent, stoic, and still. If I was moving about, the guards usually ended up on edge. And if the guards were on edge, they tried to conceal their discomfort by randomly assaulting or torturing one or more of the inmates.

  The Americans had a saying. Something about men trying to cover the inadequacies of their cocks by doing something overtly masculine. I thought that the term might be called overcompensating.

  The Americans make perfect sense… For once.

  At the end of the day, I was much more popular with my fellow prisoners if I stayed still.

  I felt my eyes narrow slightly and my chains rattled as my shoulders bunched in tension. The Chinese girl swore under her breath, glaring at me while she distanced herself even further from my person. She looked out into the hallway and both of us let out a shocked breath as the woman came into view. My heart stopped, and if I could have moved my jaw, it would have dropped.

  She looked different than the last time I had been lucky enough to lay eyes on her. Flowing mahogany hair was curled expertly and cascaded down to the middle of her back. Lush curves that fit her average-height frame perfectly moved in harmony as she marched forward with her head held high. She tilted her face towards my cell and I felt the world narrow as our gazes collided.

  Eyes the color of the grey sea before a storm sparkled with rage and iron determination as she held my gaze for a long moment. Her beautiful face reflected the cold determination that practically oozed from her every pore. Plump lips that resembled Cupid's bow parted for a moment as if she were going to say something, but the nudge from the guards silenced her. She gave a sneer that would have rivaled any queen's, and marched forward to the entrance of the cell next to mine.

  "Jódete, puerco."

  The snarled response which meant ‘fuck you, pig’ in Spanish came from the sole occupant of the cell and was directed at the guards flanking the beautiful woman. One of the guards stepped forward into the cell while the angel let out a bark of laughter. The sound of flesh hitting flesh sounded and the unlucky bastard next door let out a grunt of pain.

  "Enough." The woman's low, raspy voice echoed through the cells and quieted anyone still trying to catcall to her. The guard stopped his assault and came out to stand right in front of the woman. Everyone in the basement prison pressed their faces against the bars of their cells - except for me since I was the only fucker chained tightly to a wall- and waited with baited breath to see the guard's response.

  "You think that just because the boss is fucking you I have to obey your commands?" The guard bent down close to the woman's face and spat the words at her in a heavy Russian accent. Not even flinching, the woman held the gaze of the guard and a slow, eeri
ly cold smile spread across her perfect lips.

  "That's exactly what I think, Sergei.”

  Sergei, head of security for the dungeon-like prison that we were all currently inhabiting gave a snarl, grasped the woman's arm and roughly shoved her into the cell. Slamming the bars to her cell closed, he spat on the floor and turned to head back up the stairs to the security room. Pausing at the door, Sergei turned and addressed all of the inhabitants of the basement.

  "Listen up, you filth. That whore is the Pakhan's property. If I see you even glance wrong in her direction, you'll be spending a week in the hole." Giving a final sneer to the room, Sergei put his thumb up to the fingerprint scanner and the door slid open. With a quiet swish, the door shut, and a heavy silence fell on the occupants of the prison.

  I turned my head slowly to look at my angel, standing so straight and rigid it was almost painful to witness. Her arms hung at her sides, and I took in her tightly clenched fists. I noted the trail of blood that escaped from between her fingers from her nails digging into her palms so fiercely.

  Clad in an expensive looking black dress that hugged every beautiful curve and left little to the imagination, I could do nothing but devour her with my eyes. As she turned and stared directly at me once again, I felt the resolve that was buried deep beneath my mountain of guilt and longing ignite. I tensed every muscle, trying to get reacquainted with them after six months of imprisonment. Though my tortured body gave a groan of protest, I resolutely clenched and worked every muscle I could.

  This woman was the reason I had turned my back on my brothers-in-arms.

  She was why I was chained to a wall, imprisoned beneath the very house that had been my home for fifteen years.

  She, who had been unlucky enough to catch the eye of the leader of one of the most powerful Russian mafia groups, had become my very existence.

  She was my angel and I- the traitor, son of a whore, former assassin and enforcer for the very man who had taken us all captive- had given up my life….

  For her.

  Chapter One

  The Players

  Emilia

  The big guy is staring at me again.

  I glanced over at the imposing man that was the only inhabitant in the basement prison to be chained to a wall with a metal bridle lodged in his mouth. Those intense obsidian eyes had burned a hole through me since I had arrived two days prior. I broke the connection our gazes had made and looked to the beautiful Chinese woman who was sitting cross-legged at the bars that separated us from each other. She was staring at me, too, but instead of soul-searing, her gaze was that of a girl looking at a new pet.

  "Fat American girl, don't look at him. You look too long, and he might go crazy, you know?" The thick Chinese accent the girl talked in made the corners of my lips tilt up. Putting a hand on my hip and adopting a haughty expression, I rolled my eyes at the cheeky Chinese woman who was quickly becoming one of my favorite humans.

  "You know, Meiling, my name is Emilia. You can use that instead of that obviously false nickname you’ve saddled me with."

  "You so fat."

  Rolling my eyes at the former Triad member- an elite sept of the Chinese mafia- I turned to my cellmate and smiled gently. The beautiful boy I had been lucky enough to reside with gave me a dazzling smile and leapt to hug me. I bent down and kissed his forehead, ruffling his hair.

  "I told you to be careful about sudden movements, didn't I? I don't want the cameras to zoom in on you and call the guards' attention to us."

  Ludo, self-proclaimed heir to a Mexican cartel empire, scoffed at me and flipped off the camera in the corner of our cell. I grabbed his hand swiftly to bring it back to his side and gave him the same side-eye my mother had always given to me.

  The one that said, “bitch-don’t-think-about-it-or-I’ll-spank-you-I-swear-to-god”.

  God, I miss my mom.

  I looked down to find sparkling brown eyes laughing at me, and a face almost too beautiful to be real shone with affection. Ah, Jesus. The kid was too cute to stay mad at. And he damn well knew it, too.

  Little shit.

  My attention was snagged by muffled laughter coming from another cell. I looked up and nodded at those who were looking on at our antics, rolling my eyes dramatically. More muffled laughter met my gesture, and I let myself really smile for the first time in a very long time.

  In the past few days I had won over almost every single person in the basement prison. Like Meiling, most of the inhabitants were active organized crime members, or were connected with a highly affluent mafia family. The only two I hadn't been able to coax into talking were the Yakuza member that was in the far-left cell- whose cellmate was a feisty Albanian woman with a love for all things explosive- and the big guy in the cell next to mine. The one with a bridle in his mouth, so… it made sense he wasn’t a chatterbox. He really was a pitiful sight with tattered clothes, fresh wounds from a recent torture session, and a face full of what looked like a very itchy beard.

  Well, as pitiful as a giant man with bulging muscles could be.

  Though I could swear I've seen those black eyes of his somewhere before.

  Shaking off my thoughts about the big guy, I gave the slightest bow to the Yakuza member, whose name was Masamune if his cellmate was to be believed. I saw his head inch the slightest bit down in acknowledgment.

  Ah, progress.

  I turned back to Ludo and poked his stomach playfully. "How old are you, anyway, Ludo? Much too young to be making that gesture." I admonished, frowning down at the beautiful boy.

  That brilliant smile flashed again. Ludo stepped back, struck a pose that displayed his beautiful, slim build perfectly and answered in his raspy, accented voice.

  "Twelve. Old enough to make you my wife."

  Silence reigned for a moment, then most of the convicts - including myself- gave a roar of laughter. I hugged Ludo tightly and kissed his forehead as he glared at everyone who was laughing.

  "You're so stupid, Ludo. You're probably gay anyway." This scoffed statement came from the cell towards the front and was spoken by a small African girl named Kamili. She had only the slightest accent and she was around the same age as Ludo.

  The tall man she was sharing a cell with put an admonishing hand on her shoulder and scolded her quietly. He was one of the few who was apparently not associated with organized crime and apparently had been a low-ranking CIA employee caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Though that was the story he told, I had my doubts. He was a handsome, forty-something year old black man with a shaved head and a kind smile that seemed to calm Kamili. He seemed to possess a gentle nature and was extremely out of place among his fellow prisoners.

  Though I was convinced he was trying to hide something, I couldn't bring myself to ask him outright. He was trying to keep a protective eye on the younger ones in the prison, and for that reason I had immediately taken a liking to the man.

  And for some weird reason, I feel like I’ve seen him before, too.

  "But Roy, look at him!" Kamili yelled into her cellmate's face, pointing at Ludo and pouting.

  "Miss Kamili, please be polite. We don't care either way, do we?" Roy inclined his head to me, smiling apologetically. I tried to smother my laughter and winked back at him. Again, that feeling of recognition slithered through my mind but I shook it off, not caring enough to give the strange feeling further thought.

  "Fille méchante." A smooth, silky voice came from across the walkway from me. I looked to the French boy who had just called Kamili a ‘rude girl’ in his native tongue, leaning against the stone wall of his cell. Beautiful to the point of ridiculousness, the boy- who was twenty years old, but looked far, far younger- flipped his short, silver blonde hair and scoffed at Kamili. A long, lean body that screamed sensuality and pale, aristocratic features that bespoke of his homeland, the gorgeous man was named Silas.

  "Shut up, Frenchie, we all know you're gay." Kamili's large halo of tight curls bounced as she stuck her tongue out at Si
las before Roy admonished her again in a quiet voice.

  Rolling his pale shoulders in a traditional Gallic shrug, Silas replied in a silky voice.

  "Et?"

  And?

  God, the Frenchman was cheeky as shit.

  I adored him.

  "Silas, she's just a girl. You really want to antagonize her?"

  This came from Silas's cellmate, another handsome man around my own age of twenty-five, with long, black dreads and caramel skin. With a lean, muscular build that he showed off by usually going shirtless, the man's body and face were a testament to his name - Cin. Lounging with his eyes closed on the hard cot, Cin reminded me of a panther. All sinewy muscle and dangerous aura, he laid in wait for his prey to be stupid enough to come close before ripping them limb from limb.

  "Non. It is not worth my valuable time." Silas replied, exchanging a small, sarcastic smile with Cin. The two were either bitter enemies or best friends- depending on the day- and I secretly thought they had a thing for each other.

  "Shut up, fucking idiots." The feisty Albanian woman housed with the Yakuza member flipped her long, dark blonde hair in annoyance and muttered in Albanian a series of insults that none of us understood. The Yakuza member, Masamune, just nodded and continued to lounge casually.

  "That's me girl, Jazzy." The tall redhead in the cell next to Jazz and Masamune spoke, leering at Jazz's short but lush frame. Though he was on the thinner side, the Irishman was all muscle and it showed in the shirt he wore open to his waist. His dancing green eyes were always on the women in the prison and he was usually saying a flirting remark to Jazz or Meiling - but never to me.

  Probably because he wants to keep his body parts intact. Smart man.

  Jazz launched her short frame against the cell bars and pulled on the Irishman's hair, forcing him to give a yelp of pain.

  "Still your tongue, Kiernan, before I cut it out." She snarled and Masamune heaved a long, tired sigh. Jazz and Kiernan seemed to constantly be bickering, much to the chagrin of their respective cellmates.