Billionaire Romance Box Set: The Billionaire's Legacy: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Box Set Page 14

  I sat on top of him until we had finished, not moving, just absorbing his fluids and his energy. I opened my eyes and looked down at him; he was looking up at me.

  “Afternoon delight,” he said. “Plain and simple.”

  Brad

  I still had my afternoon delight sex session with Cassie on my mind as she ran some errands; she wanted to cook dinner for me, something I had protested and she had insisted upon, and she said she needed a few things from the store.

  I sat at the dining room table, my laptop open, and a picture of Antoine in front of me. I thought about the moment Manuel Brown had handed it to me. How he had held it up next to his own face, and, for a moment, I saw an image of Manuel and Antoine together, Antoine his prisoner. He said it was a reward, for all of my work with the London warehouse. It was supposed to be a positive gesture… but it just rang of superiority. The picture Manuel had given me was not the school picture it should have been; it was a polaroid, snapped at a moment where Antoine had clearly not expected to be photographed. He was looking up at the camera, but his face wore an expression of surprise. The picture both calmed me and infuriated me. Antoine was still alive; the photograph was time stamped. But, he was thin, and dark circles clouded the space under his eyes. He was not smiling. His eyes… I couldn’t bear to look into them for long. Not only because they were the eyes of my son, but because they were also the eyes of his mother.

  I sighed and set the photograph aside. I sorted through the emails I’d gotten that day. All of the emails I received in regards to anything with Manuel Brown were encrypted, except for the ones that went to an anonymous email address. Those messages came primarily from Simon. Simon and I had set up a separate email system for just the two of us. I clicked on a message that, by my watch, had arrived sometime between when my cock was being engulfed by Cassie’s incredible tits and when she shifted it and took it into her wet, gorgeous pussy. I shifted in my chair; I was getting hard again just thinking about her. I took a breath and shifted my thoughts.

  The email from Simon was an important one; I had just started to read it when I heard the door open and Cassie call out. She needed help with the groceries she’d purchased. I quickly pulled the email to the desktop so I could look at it later, and I went to help Cassie.

  All through dinner, I watched Cassie, trying to figure out the best way to ask her to help me without arousing her suspicions. Without arousing the suspicions of Manuel Brown or his heavies. I wondered if my thought to involve Cassie was too dangerous, too stupid. I’d already lost one woman to Manuel Brown’s clutches; I couldn’t bear to have it happen again. Plus, if Manuel found out that I had talked to someone about the inventory, about the warehouses, he would likely kill Antoine. I knew this with a certainty I wasn’t even willing to admit to myself.

  Cassie looked at me and chewed her potato thoughtfully.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “I’m thinking that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever sat across at the dinner table,” I said sincerely.

  She blushed and laughed. “Stop it, I’m serious.”

  “So am I!” I said. “You truly are. I wish you didn’t have to leave to go back to the states.”

  She laughed bitterly. “Yeah, well, right now it kind of looks like I might never go back. Hope you like me as a roommate.”

  “I like you just fine as a roommate,” I said. “But what makes you say that?”

  “My passport isn’t moving forward, and I still haven’t found my original. You know what the worst part about it is? I don’t know what else was with my passport. What if I lost money? Or something important?”

  “Well,” I said, sipping the red wine Cassie had picked out at the corner market on her way home, “are you missing anything else?”

  “Not that I know of,” she said. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I could be.”

  “That’s true,” I admitted. Then, a lie: “Did you talk to my friend at the Embassy?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t seem to get ahold of him.”

  I put on my best confused face. “Oh yeah? That’s really weird. He must be on vacation or something. Do you want me to call for you?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” she said, hesitating. Her voice was filled with doubt; Cassie wasn’t used to relying on other people to get results for her.

  “It’s no bother, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I said.

  “It’s not that, it’s just…” Her expression darkened for a moment, then she seemed to shoo a thought away. She smiled. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll stay until it gets worked out. I talked to my editor today, and everything is fine.” She held up her glass and we toasted. “Cheers!”

  “Cheers,” I said, smiling at her and squeezing her knee under the table. “Thank you for making dinner.”

  “I think I pissed off Mrs. Wheeler,” she admitted.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” I said, smiling. “She can consider it something of a paid vacation while you’re here doing all the cooking. Besides,” I lowered my voice. “You’re actually a better cook.”

  We finished dinner, and, though Cassie was talking about interesting things, I couldn’t keep focused on what she was saying. No matter what angle I thought about taking, there was no way I could think of to enlist Cassie’s help without filling her in on everything, which would likely get her killed. Anxiety built in my stomach and twisted my food and the wine all up in knots.

  “Let’s go out tonight,” I said suddenly. I had no idea where I wanted to take her, but I felt the walls of my condo closing in on me and I couldn’t stand it anymore. “I need to get out of here.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked immediately, her instincts dead on, as always.

  “Nothing,” I assured her. “I just want to take you out on the town. We can go out for cocktails and dessert. Nothing fancy, you don’t even need to change.”

  “You’re so weird,” she said with mock suspicion. “But, I guess you can take me out for dessert if you’re going to twist my arm. Kidnap me. Hold me for ransom.” Each phrase, though unintentional on her part, pushed deeper at the truth.

  “Okay, okay!” I said nervously, interrupting her. “I get it, I’m totally taking you against your will. Now, let’s go.”

  We left the condo in the nick of time. As we rode down in the elevator, my phone pinged with a message from Simon.

  Are you available?

  No, I texted back.

  I need to speak with you asap.

  Tomorrow, I responded.

  No, he texted. Now.

  Tomorrow. I’m turning off my phone.

  Brad!

  I didn’t respond and did, in fact, turn my phone off. I looked over at Cassie; she was frowning at me.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “Of course,” I said, but even I recognized the strain in my voice.

  “More billionaire deep, dark secrets?” she asked, squeezing my hand.

  “Something like that,” I said, distracted. Simon texting me could only mean one thing: Manuel was still in town, and something wasn’t right.

  Cassie

  The day after our dessert and cocktail outing, I woke up with a sense of déjà vu. The day was beginning just as the day before had: me waking up alone in bed. I gazed over at the empty side of the bed and sighed. I moved my hand across the empty sheet, hoping to still feel some warmth from Brad’s presence, but the sheet was cold.

  I laid in bed trying to figure out what to do with the day. Brad had offered me the full use of his credit card, which was currently in my purse, so I could go do some shopping. But, I had no desire to go out and buy things for no real reason; I had gotten that out of my system in the first few days.

  I had work to do; I knew that. I got out of bed and dressed casually in yoga pants and a t-shirt. I made my usual coffee and grabbed my laptop from my bag. I opened it and frowned when the screen didn’t light up.

  “What the fuck
,” I said out loud, pressing buttons. I plugged the cord into the outlet, assuming my battery was dead. After a few moments, however, I realized that wasn’t the problem. My laptop was dead. “Dammit!” I swore, pushing the computer away. I knew that Brad could have his tech people look at it, but that wasn’t going to help me until I got home.

  I walked around the condo, pacing, trying to keep my thoughts away from the bad things and moving only toward memories of Brad and me together. Then, it dawned on me; I could use his computer if it was still available. I walked into the dining room and smiled when I saw the laptop sitting on the table. I opened it and started it up, then clicked on the “guest” account next to Brad’s name and password blank.

  The computer happily beeped and, within a few seconds, I was looking at the desktop. It was blank except for a few icons. The usual ones—the recycle bin and some shortcuts—were there, of course. There was also an icon that looked like an Outlook email dated from yesterday. I looked around, my finger hovering over the mouse.

  Don’t you dare, I thought to myself. Brad trusted me, and I didn’t want to do anything to violate that trust. Of course, when he left in the mornings, he tended to be gone for hours; it was more likely than not that I would be able to get away with looking at whatever I wanted to on the computer without him walking in on me.

  I listened for Mrs. Wheeler, but I didn’t hear her. I knew she was probably taking advantage of me being out and about in the condo to clean the bedroom.

  I closed my eyes and clicked on the email. When I opened my eyes, it took me a moment to take in all of the information before me. The email was a pdf file of an invoice that looked like an extensive inventory. The items listed in the description weren’t anything I recognized; it looked like just a bunch of letters and numbers. The quantities were mind-boggling, though. In that column, next to the description, the numbers ranged from 500 to 10,000 and everywhere in between. I scrolled down through the list. What on earth was this? And who was it to and from? I looked at the subject and address headings, but I didn’t recognize either of the email addresses; neither had Brad’s name in them.

  My eyes caught on one description: AK-47Z. I knew what an AK-47 was… but what was an AK-47Z? Was it just a coincidence that the letters and numbers were the same as a semi-automatic weapon? There was no way, was there? That this list could be a listing of guns; what on earth would Brad be doing with that?

  I selected another description and plugged it into Google. I knew I needed to remember to erase the history and cookies when I was finished. The page that came up stunned me. It was a modified version of a gun known for its ability to fire multiple rounds per second. The modification had been to add grenades to the chamber, so that the gun would not only fire bullets, but it would release a grenade at the same time. I read through the articles quickly, double checking my work by looking at multiple sites. Each site I looked at confirmed what I had read on the others.

  My stomach sank. What was Brad involved with? Clearly he worked in some form with illegal weapons. I felt fear beginning to press in on my brain. Was he a buyer? A seller? Or was he just a contact for the type of person who would buy and sell these weapons? That wouldn’t make it right, of course, but… my brain struggled to understand. The more I read through the list, the worse it got.

  I had a thought and began to add Brad’s name to the weapon in the search engine. If he was involved, his name should come up at least in proximity to the weapons. But, to my confusion and relief, no results included both the weapon and his name.

  I looked back at the two addresses. I couldn’t make out any way that either address could relate to Brad; they looked like spam addresses. And, why had it been sitting on the desktop? Was it a test for me? Had he left it there for me to find? Had he disabled my computer so I would? He was certainly capable.

  “Stop it!” I said to myself out loud. “Stop it right now.”

  “Ma’am? Are you okay?” Mrs. Wheeler called from the next room. I slammed down the lid on the laptop.

  “I’m fine,” I called. “Sorry, just talking to myself.” I waited, my breath shallow, for Mrs. Wheeler to come into the dining room to confirm I was telling the truth. The laptop was closed; hopefully that would make it blend in.

  But, she didn’t come into the room, just called back that she was sorry to bother me. I counted to thirty and then opened the laptop again. I erased the cookies and browser history, and wiped down the keyboard. I basically wanted to get rid of anything that would connect me to viewing anything on the computer.

  I tried to click on Brad’s account once again, but the password protection was still in effect. So, clearly he didn’t want me seeing everything, if, in fact, he had lured me to finding this one particular email.

  I closed the computer down again and began to pace from the living room to the dining room to the kitchen and back again. I was restless, waiting for Brad to get home so I could ask him… what, exactly? What’s that invoice with tens of thousands of illegal weapons doing on your computer? How involved in illegal activity are you? Does it bother you that I’ve been in regular conversation with an NCA agent?

  The more time passed, the more upset I got. I called the Embassy and asked for Brad’s friend. Again, I was told that his friend was unavailable. When I asked about the status of my passport, the woman who had answered the phone said that she was sure the paperwork was being processed.

  “We’re doing everything we can, Miss,” she admonished me.

  I hung up the phone and continued pacing. I checked my phone every few seconds, willing Brad to call me. Of course, he didn’t. I began to piece things together. For instance, where was he right now? He always told me he had meetings, and I’d had no reason to think he was being dishonest.

  You still don’t, the voice in my head said. Oh come on! another voice argued in my head. He’s living a total lie!

  I shook my head, making the argument in my mind disappear. I had to talk to Brad. I called him… and got his voicemail.

  I was about to shut my phone off and go pour myself a cocktail so I could think when my phone rang. It was Patrick. Of all times! I clicked “accept” and took a deep breath.

  “Listen, Patrick,” I began, “You have to stop calling me—”

  “Who is this?” a stranger’s voice asked.

  I stopped short. “Who is this?”

  “This is Mavin Toller. I’m calling because your number was the last number dialed from this number. There’s been an accident. The man who owns the phone… he… he’s in bad shape, I guess is the best way to say it. Are you his wife?”

  I didn’t answer right away, my thoughts suddenly delayed, running on slow motion.

  “Hello? Ma’am?” The voice on the line was impatient.

  “I’m not his wife,” I said. “I’m… I’m a friend. What happened?”

  “I don’t know, I just came upon him like this. I called an ambulance. He doesn’t have an emergency number listed in his phone that I could see, so I just called the last number dialed.” Now I could hear the tremor in the man’s voice.

  “Where are you?” I asked. “Is the ambulance on its way?” A sudden jolt shot through me. “Is he alive? Is he breathing? Did you do CPR?”

  “He’s alive,” the man said. I could hear the faint siren of an ambulance getting louder. “The ambulance is here, Ma’am; I have to go.”

  “Wait!” I yelled into the phone. “What hospital is he going to? Where should I go?”

  “I’ll call you back,” the man said, and the line went dead.

  The Billionaire’s LEGACY

  Dangerous Times

  An Alpha Billionaire Romance

  Sarah J. Brooks

  Cassie

  “Come with me, or I’ll shoot you right here,” the man said in a raspy, whispery voice. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, tugging me out into the hallway. I hadn’t noticed when I walked to the bathroom exactly how separated it was from the rest of the restaurant. Rather than
walk back toward the dining room, my captor took me in the opposite direction, down a hallway, and through a back door into a parking lot that was clearly the back side of the restaurant. In addition to a few cars, a dumpster, and recycling bins, there was an enormous black van. The man was tugging me toward it.

  “Help me!” I screamed. “Someone, help! Fire! Fire!” I’d heard that the real way to get someone’s attention if you need help is to yell ‘fire’—it makes people look around. But, I realized with horror, there was no one around. I’d never seen a parking lot so deserted. The infidel slapped his hand over my mouth and my eyes burned with the sting of it.

  “I’ll kill you right here,” he seethed. “Don’t do that again.”

  I tried to pay attention to his voice. It was a distinct accent, and one I knew well: I thought the man might well be an American.

  “My boyfriend is inside the restaurant,” I said, quieting my voice. “He’s going to come out here any second and catch you. He packs; he’ll kill you before you know what’s happening.”

  The man laughed. “He’s not your boyfriend. Your boyfriend is Bradley White, owner and operator of Legacy Luxury Hotels, which is a cover for one of the biggest arms manufacturers and distributors in the world.” I craned my neck to stare at him as he muscled me into the back of the van. He climbed in with me and handcuffed me, pressing my chest into the floor as he twisted my hands behind my back. His knee was pressing into my spine, and I found that I couldn’t move; I couldn’t squirm out from under him.

  He pounded on the side wall of the van, and the van squealed out of the parking lot. My captor nearly lost his balance as the driver turned sharply left and right, but he stayed on top of me.

  “The man you were having lunch with is Patrick Shim, an agent for the NCA. I know all about you, Cassie. And I know all about how you operate your life.”

  I stared at the floor of the van, not responding, my mind absolutely reeling with the information the man knew about me. I didn’t know if he knew I was a journalist. The thought filled me with absolute terror. It was well known how American journalists were treated in Middle Eastern countries. We were in Morocco, but that didn’t mean that I might not suffer the same fate if my captor knew my profession.