Chapter 1

BOOK ONE: CLAIMING HIS TREASURE

Prague, Czech Republic

There was nothing like a cold beer and a good fuck to help a man unwind after a hunt.

Jackson North leaned back on his stool and took a long, slow sip of his lager, letting it sit on his tongue as his eyes traveled up and down the bar. The dimly lit public house was lively tonight, and he picked up snippets of conversation in at least five languages as he scoped out his potential company for the evening. There was no shortage of attractive women in this particular hole in the wall, but he was in the mood for something special. A good hunt always left his body thrumming with a distinctive sort of hunger.

He wasn't the only one on the prowl tonight. Beside him, his teammate Toshi was chatting up a pretty German girl with blue streaks in her hair. Jackson had heard a duck speak better German than Toshi, but the girl seemed to find his mistakes charming. She laughed and ran a finger down one of the tattoos on his arm as she corrected his pronunciation.

"I think he's just making up words," said Leo from his stool on the other side of Jackson. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he laughed and shook his head at their younger teammate.

Jackson grinned. "I'm pretty sure I heard some Pig Latin in there." Not that he blamed Toshi for having a little fun. Nothing got a man's blood going like the sort of expedition they'd just finished. They'd escaped with only a handful of injuries this time - one of their members had needed stitches, and Toshi was sporting one hell of a black eye, which he seemed to have used to his advantage tonight - and the prize had been worth every cut and bruise. The drinks would flow freely tonight.

Jackson raised his beer toward Leo. "To another successful venture."

His partner flashed a smile and returned the gesture with equal enthusiasm. "To another generous haul."

They clinked their glasses, but as Leo drained his pint, Jackson found his eyes wandering again. As much as he enjoyed toasting with Leo - and hell, if the fellow didn't make an excellent drinking partner - his cock was interested in a different kind of celebration.

And then, as if the sex gods had finally decided to bless this night of victory, he spotted her - a girl who was everything he could have asked for. A girl who, even across this dark, smoky bar, brought his entire body to attention.

She was tall and full in all the right places, and the tight top and fitted jeans she wore showed off every last curve to perfection. Long, honey-colored waves flowed down her back. He'd always been drawn to hair like that - hair that made women look like they'd just come from a good fuck. Even better when he was the one doing the fucking.

An image flashed in his mind - the memory of hair of a similar shade and texture, spread like an amber fan across his pillow. Even now he could smell that hair, sweet as ripe strawberries, though it had been months since the last time he'd buried his face in those strands. His dick throbbed at the memory.

Fuck, man. Get it together. The girl on the other end of the bar might look a little like Charlie, but there was no reason for him to lose himself in nine-month-old memories. He was already hard, for chrissake.

He looked down the bar at the girl again. As he watched, she turned slightly, glancing over her shoulder to where he sat. Her dark eyes sparkled, and she flashed him a warm, flirtatious smile before turning back to her drink. A subtle invitation, and one his body most definitely wanted to respond to.

She doesn't look so much like Charlie after all, he told himself. Her eyes are too dark. And her mouth too wide. Charlie's eyes had been a soft, innocent gray. And her mouth had been small and round, with lips that felt like silk against his skin.

But he wasn't going to think about that. Charlie was safe on the other side of the world. She was better off without him, and he was better off forgetting her for good.

You can start by tasting something new, he told himself. He forced himself off of his stool, determined to put the past behind him.

As he made his way toward the beauty at the end of the bar, though, Charlie's face flashed in his mind again. He stopped dead in his tracks.

What's the point? Every moment he spent with his fingers in this new girl's hair, he'd be thinking of her. Every touch of this girl's fingers, every sound of pleasure he fucked from her lips, would be compared with those of the girl he'd left behind.

Abruptly, he spun around and returned to his seat.

Leo raised an eyebrow. "Change your mind?"

Jackson shrugged as he waved the bartender over. "Thought I had a taste for something, but I was wrong." He ordered another round before glancing behind them. "Are the others still not here?"

His teammate shook his head. "Haven't heard from them. Don't know what the hell's taking so long."

Frowning, Jackson rubbed the side of his neck. Since joining their ranks, he'd seen the Devil's Set take on their share of challenges - their expeditions often required both physical expertise and cunning, and the team had both in spades - and he'd have trusted any of his teammates with his life. But for some reason, he had a sour feeling in his gut. There were a hundred reasons why his teammates might be late, but his instincts told him something was off.

"I think I might step out for a bit of air," he said. "My drink better still be here when I get back." He glanced toward Toshi, who'd moved from flirting to face-sucking with his new acquaintance. "And make sure our friend here doesn't get pick-pocketed while he's distracted."

"On it," Leo said, his mouth turning up.

A moment later, Jackson was outside, and he took a deep breath of the warm night air before heading down the street. He wasn't sure why he was suddenly so restless. Maybe it was just the fact that all those old memories of Charlie were surfacing again.

No, it's more than that. Charlie had been haunting his dreams for months now. It was his late teammates causing this prickly feeling in his stomach. It wouldn't hurt to check in on them, if only to calm his nerves. And a walk in the night air would help clear his head.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he made his way down the cobblestoned avenue. Around him, Prague was bustling with life, even at this hour. Some intoxicated American backpackers were loudly slurring their way through a pop song as they stumbled down the sidewalk. An electronic beat pulsed out of a nightclub on the next block. Laughter spilled from the open door of a restaurant.

Movement caught his eye as passed a darkened doorway, and he jumped, instinctively reaching for his gun. But it was only a couple caught up in a passionate embrace. They were so absorbed in each other they didn't even notice him.

Get a hold of yourself. You're jumping at shadows. He let his gaze linger on the couple for a moment, just to prove to himself that they were no threat, but the longer he watched, the more the thoughts of Charlie began creeping back in. He'd kissed her like that once, hidden in the shadows of a doorway, deaf and blind to everything but the feeling of her body against his.

Shaking his head, he forced himself to continue down the street. He didn't have time to indulge in silly memories. He needed to find his teammates.

Roth, the leader of their little team, had booked them all into a guest house just around the corner. It was a small but clean establishment, and Roth seemed to know the owner, which meant they'd probably be safe to discuss some of the more sensitive matters of their business. But tonight was about celebrating, which was why Jackson was so confused as to why it was taking everyone else so damned long to get to the bar. Something wasn't right. He could feel it.

When he reached the guest house, he found the door to the street wide open. On its own, that shouldn't have meant anything, but when he stepped inside, the back of his neck prickled. He yanked his gun out of the back of his jeans and surveyed the area.

The main room was empty - at least he thought so at first. As he peeked behind the small check-in desk, he found the proprietor of the establishment sprawled across the floor, dead.

No, just unconscious, he realized with relief when he bent down to press his fingers against the man's neck. But someone had knocked him out cold. And that someone might still be here.

As if in response to that thought, something crashed on the floor above. Jackson jumped up and tightened his grip on the gun. There were plenty of thieves in a big city like this, but most committed petty crimes of opportunity - picking pockets, scamming tourists, and the like. No one barged into a guest house and knocked out the owner unless they were after something specific. And anyone who targeted the Set wasn't playing any games.

He was at the base of the stairs in two strides. But before he could charge up, two men - men who were certainly not any of his teammates - came bolting down.

They were on him before he had a chance to raise his gun. He threw himself at the short, stocky one on the left, trying to block him, but they had momentum on their side. The man shoved Jackson back against the wall, and the two intruders barreled out the open door.

He recovered quickly. In a flash he was after them, chasing them through the streets, pushing past backpackers and drunken revelers after his quarry. He was the fastest member of the Set, and if anyone could catch these men, it was him.

He'd recognized the short, stocky one. It was one of Nash's men, and this wasn't the first time their paths had crossed. The Set had never gotten along with Nash's team - and no wonder, since there were only so many people who did what they did in this world, which meant sometimes they found themselves in direct competition for the same haul - but for the most part, the crews gave each other a wary sort of distance. Which made this even more alarming.

They shouldn't be here. Roth had received reports that Nash's team was working on a haul down in Cambodia - was that simply a ruse? Besides, the Set had only been in Prague for a handful of hours. How the hell did Nash's fellows even know where they were? What the hell were they after?

He didn't have the time to ponder those questions now. Up ahead, the two men came to a corner, and they split up, each going in a separate direction. Jackson cursed.

He followed the stocky one. Somewhere else he might have raised his gun and fired a few warning shots, but there were too many people here. His feet pounded against the cobblestones, but the crowds kept slowing him down. And his target was smart - constantly changing directions and ducking around buildings and crowds. Those split seconds the guy was out of Jackson's sight might as well have been hours. Little by little, the bastard pulled ahead, until Jackson turned a corner and suddenly couldn't see the man at all.

Cursing, Jackson slowed to a walk. Where the hell had the little rat gone?

Only one thing was for certain: if they'd hurt any of his teammates, this would be war. And nothing in the world would stop Jackson from hunting down each and every one of Nash's men and making them pay.