The Alpha Billionaire Club Trilogy (12 page)

I
stared
at him in shock. What an idiot. He was right; I did have a lot in my 401k. I was an accountant. I was responsible with money. And Haywood & Cross had a very generous employer matching policy. But I couldn’t just withdraw the money and hand it over to Steven.

“That’s not how it works,” I whispered. “It’s not a bank account. I can’t go to an ATM or write you a check. I have to fill out paperwork, send it in through my human resources manager. It takes at least a week, probably more. And then there’s an early withdrawal penalty. At least 10%.”

Steven’s eyes narrowed. He kicked one foot at the corner of my deck like a frustrated child.

“You’re lying,” he said.

“Why would I lie about this? I want that video. I want you to go away.”

“You have to give me something. I’m not giving you the video for nothing. Anyway, you make good money and you never spend any of it. I’m not leaving with nothing.”

My mind raced furiously. I didn’t have anything to give him. No jewelry worth pawning. Same for electronics. He’d already taken my easily accessible savings. Then a thought occurred to me.

“Why the hurry? You know I called the police after you emptied my savings. Did you know I hired a lawyer to sue you?” He shrugged and looked away. “So why risk coming after me? And you obviously know who Dylan is. If I’d told him, he would have crushed you.”

“Not before I uploaded that video,” Steven sneered at me.

“True, but can you imagine what Dylan would have done to you? So why come after me again? Why not find some other sucker?”

In my panic, the weirdness of Steven’s actions hadn’t penetrated. I’d only thought of protecting Dylan by coming here to meet him, not why Steven would be doing all this in the first place. Steven shuffled his feet in the gravel and murmured something I didn’t catch.

“What?”

“I said, I owe some people money.”

“How much money?” I asked. I didn’t have cash, but I needed to know how deep in the hole he was. And how desperate he would get.

“Forty grand,” he whispered. “These aren’t people you owe money to. If I don’t get them something by tomorrow, they’re going hurt me.”

I bit back a scathing comment about how I hoped they broke both his legs. I did, but telling him that wouldn’t get rid of him.

“Forty grand? What did you do? Borrow it?”

“No,” he whined. “I took your ten grand to a game and lost it. They gave me a marker for the forty. I was on a hot streak. I was going to win it back, and then some.”

“Idiot,” I said under my breath. I should have kept my mouth shut. Steven’s fist slammed into my face, catching me on my jaw, and sending me to my ass in the gravel. I’d never been hit like that in my life. His hands weren’t that big, but his fist felt like a sledgehammer, the pain ballooning out from my jaw, clouding my head. Saying it hurt didn’t really cover it. How did boxers do it? One punch and I was down, stunned and a little confused.

Lifting my hand to my face, I looked at him smirking down at me. How long had he been thinking about hitting me? The knowing smile on his face spoke of a well loved thought made real. My stomach tightened. Coming here had been a mistake. I should have woken Dylan. I should
not
have tried to deal with this on my own.

“Don’t call me an idiot,” he said, not looking the least bit sorry about hitting me. “My luck turned. It wasn’t my fault.”

“I don’t have forty grand, Steven. I don’t even have twenty.”

“You better come up with something, you stupid bitch. I saw you go shopping with that guy. Don’t tell me he didn’t buy you stuff I can pawn.”

“He did,” I said in a low voice, trying to soothe him despite my bad news. “But it’s all at his place. You could maybe get a few hundred for these shoes.” I pulled at the silver straps, getting the sandals off as fast as I could. I knew they were designer, but I didn’t know which one. Used, they could be worth a hundred or a thousand. Steven wouldn’t know the difference. Getting to my feet, I handed him the sandals.

“Shoes? That’s the best you can do?”

My mind raced, searching for something, anything I could come up with to make him leave.

“My car,” I said. “It’s only three years old. Paid off. I have the title inside. I’ll sign it over to you. It has to be worth at least twenty grand.”

I loved that car. A beige sedan, it wasn’t exciting on the outside, but I’d splurged and gotten upgrades on the interior. Leather, sunroof, nav system, all the bells and whistles. I’d planned to drive it for at least another six or seven years. Along with the house, it was the first adult possession I’d purchased after I got my job. But if giving it to Steven would get him to leave, I’d do it. Steven’s expression brightened at my offer. His head lifted, and he looked around.

“You came here in a cab. Where’s the car?”

“At the Delecta, in the parking garage. The parking ticket is in the driver’s side visor. I have a spare key and the title inside. I’ll give them to you, and you can go get the car, take it, and sell it first thing in the morning for cash.”

“I won’t get twenty grand for it if I sell it to a used car dealer,” he said, sulking like a child. He might be acting immature, but he wasn’t entirely stupid. No way would he get twenty grand for it from a dealer. And he didn’t have the time to sell it to a private owner.

“No. But that’s the best I have for you. You know I don’t have any expensive jewelry or a big TV. That car is the only thing I own that you can turn into cash by tomorrow.”

Steven studied the ground between his feet, thinking. My heart thudded in my chest. If I gave him my car, I’d be screwed. Thanks to his raid on my savings account, I didn’t have enough for a down payment on a new one. But that was the least of my problems at the moment. I needed to make Steven happy enough to leave me alone. And to forget about using that video. Finally, he looked up.

“Let’s go inside and get the key and the title.”

Relief and dismay swamped me. Relief that he’d take the car. Dismay at being alone in the house with him. I didn’t trust him. He’d hit me already. And his admission about jerking off to the video creeped me out. Who knew what he’d do when we were alone?

“I’m not going in the house with you,” I said. I wasn’t budging on that. Out here I had Mrs. Carmody next door. She was sleeping, but if I screamed, she’d be on the phone with the cops in a second. Once I was inside the house, all bets were off. “You go in. The title is in my file cabinet, top drawer. In the file labeled Honda Accord EX-L. The spare key is in the same file. You can take them and go.”

Steven eyed me warily. “You’re not going to ask me for the video?”

I rolled my eyes. “Is the only copy on that phone?” I asked. Steven scoffed at me.

“Of course not.”

“Then what’s the point of getting the phone from you? You could have a hundred copies of the video stashed all over the place. But you know what would happen if you used them, right? The only thing keeping me from calling Dylan is that I don’t want that video to get out. If you release it, he’ll come straight for you. You do know that, don’t you?”

Steven glared at me, his jaw clenched tight. He knew I was right. A single woman with few resources was a good target for his brand of petty blackmail. But if he drew Dylan’s attention, he was fucked. Once that video was released, Dylan would have no reason to hold back. And I had nothing left for Steven to take.

“I want your 401k,” Steven said. I shook my head. He didn’t know when to give up.

“Steven, you don’t have time for that. It’ll leave a huge paper trail. And Dylan will want to know why I ran out on him. He’s going to come find me.”

As I said that, I realized it was the truth. Dylan would be pissed. He might hate me and want nothing more to do with me. But he’d at least track me down to get an explanation. My heart sank. If I told him the truth, he’d go after Steven. And as twitchy as Steven was, he might release the video the second he caught sight of Dylan. He could have already uploaded it to streaming sites, just one click shy of going wide. I needed to convince Steven to get out of Vegas.

“You need to take my car, trade it for cash and get lost. Find the rest of the money you need somewhere else. Like New York. Or Miami.”

“I told you to stay away from Kane,” he said. “You go near him, I’ll release the video.”

“I’m not going back to him, okay? But he knows where I live. He may come here. I can’t control Dylan Kane. This is your only chance. Take my car, get as much cash for it as you can, and run like hell. Don’t bother coming back for more. This is it. I don’t have anything else to give you. It’ll take me years to make up for what you’ve already taken.”

“Fine. But I’m not leaving you alone out here. Open the door and get in the house.”

I
wasn’t expecting
Steven to move so quickly. Before I could dodge him, he was behind me, one hand over my mouth, the other trapping my wrists. Steven wasn’t a big guy, or a powerful one. He didn’t need to be; he was stronger than me. He shuffled me up the two steps to the deck and toward the sliding door of my kitchen.

“Open it,” he ordered.

I yanked on my right wrist. I couldn’t unlock the door without a hand free. At that moment, I wished I’d invested in some self-defense classes. Steven had me immobilized, and I had no idea how to get away. If I’d been wearing my heels, I would have had some kind of weapon, but in bare feet all I could do was kick his shin. He let go of one wrist and I fished the key out of my back pocket. The door slid open, letting out a puff of cool air.

Pushing me toward the table, Steven hooked one foot around a chair and pulled it out. He let go of my mouth and wrist to shove me down in the chair. I scrambled to get my feet under me. His fist caught my already bruised jaw in a flash of pain, sending me back down into the seat. A drawer opened behind me and I heard the rasp of duct tape being peeled off the roll. That seemed to be my luck tonight. Steven hadn’t done a single dish or cooked one meal in that kitchen. But he’d taped up a tear on his favorite tattered sneakers, and apparently he remembered where I kept my duct tape.

No more men, I told myself. It would take me years to forget how badly I’d fucked up my life by picking Steven. He taped my wrists together behind me, then wrapped the tape around my torso over and over so I couldn’t get up. When he was sure I was secure, he left me, disappearing down the hall off my kitchen.

It didn’t take him long to find the title to my car and the spare key. I was organized and everything was exactly where I’d told him it was, the file folder complete with a neatly printed label courtesy of my handy little label printer. When this was over, I was going to try being irresponsible. No more savings, no more 401k. Fuck my tidy filing cabinet. What had all that gotten me? Heart broken and victimized by a two-bit con artist. Tears pushed at the backs of my eyes. I fought them back. I wasn’t going to cry in front of Steven.

He held out the title and my urge to weep vanished. I’d have to sign the title over for him to sell the car. In Nevada a transfer between private citizens required a bill of sale and a title, but no notary. I’d looked into it for an elderly client who’d been newly widowed and had never sold a car before. I’d let Steven worry about the bill of sale, but he had to know I’d have to sign the title. Not easy to do with my hands duct taped behind my back.

I didn’t need to say anything. Looking from me to the title, he realized his mistake. Again displaying his maturity, he slammed the paper on the table and kicked the leg of my chair. What an ass. It wasn’t the chair’s fault he was an idiot. I had a moment of triumph before my brain kicked in and reminded me that I was currently taped to a chair in my kitchen and about to sign my car over to this moron. So who was the stupid one? Steven wasn’t a genius, but neither was I.

Cursing under his breath, Steven yanked open drawers until he found one with a knife. Then he did the same looking for a pen. When he had both, he slashed at the tape on my wrists, freeing them with one slice that cut the side of my wrist along with the tape. I felt a cold burn, then blood began to well on the side of my free wrist. He cursed again. Yanking the title away, he snarled,

“Don’t bleed on it.”

“Then get me something to wrap this up,” I snapped. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t cut myself.”

More evidence that I wasn’t as smart as I thought I was. Mouthing off to an angry guy with a knife was not the best idea. He grabbed a dishtowel, wrapped it around my bleeding wrist, and taped it in place. It hurt like a bitch, worse than my jaw. It wasn’t bleeding fast enough to be dangerous, but it was bleeding more than I’d like. Quickly, before blood could soak through the towel and stain the title to the car, I scanned the document and signed it over to Steven.

The second the pen left the paper, he snatched the title away from me, folded it up and shoved it into his back pocket. Tossing the knife in the sink, he wrenched my arms behind my back and taped them together for the second time. Standing back, he examined me before saying,

“You look good like that. Tied up and helpless. Makes your tits look bigger. I always liked your tits. They made up for your fat ass.”

A sharp bolt of fear hit my heart. No, not this. He could have the money, he could have anything. I didn’t think I could take it if he touched me. Steven grinned at the terror in my eyes. I flinched back, trying to get as far from him as I could. Taped to the chair, I couldn’t move very far. One hand reached out to stroke my bruised cheek. I jerked my face away, looking down at my lap, shamed by the tears leaking from my eyes. He laughed, dropping his hand to cup my left breast. I’d managed to put on a bra in the dark, but it was thin. No barrier from the harsh squeeze of Steven’s hand. Desperate, I said,

“Touch me one more time and I’ll scream so loud Mrs. Carmody will be on the phone with the cops in a second.”

His hand fell away. Steven knew Mrs. Carmody. She’d come out on her front porch and yelled at him more than once when he’d parked his car too close to her yard.

“That old bitch,” he murmured. “I could just do this.” He ripped off a length of tape from the roll and held it out, moving toward my face. If he gagged me, I couldn’t do anything. I opened my mouth to scream, and he punched me again, this time on the cheekbone. My jaw snapped together. Tape slapped across my mouth, sealing it shut.

I panted through my nose, heart racing. If he tried anything else, I was going to fight. Forget about the knife, forget about the fucking video. Steven could take the car, but he wasn’t taking anything else from me. Maybe he sensed my resolve. After staring in my eyes for a long second, he shrugged.

“You’re not worth the trouble. Not for a fat chick.” He turned for the back door and said over his shoulder, “You’ll get yourself loose eventually. Don’t even think about calling Kane or anyone else.”

I didn’t respond, just stared at my knees and waited for him to leave. He hesitated, as if thinking of saying something else, then he was gone, sliding the glass door to the deck closed behind him. I sat there, taped to the chair, fighting tears. I wanted to let go, to sob out my frustration. Crying wasn’t going to help me. My wrist was bleeding, and I was pretty sure it needed stitches. Since I didn’t have a car, I’d have to call a cab to take me to the ER. At least I had my health insurance, though the ER co-pay was going to cost way more than an office visit. But I didn’t think this could wait until Monday.

Before I could get to the hospital, I had to get out of this chair. Wiggling back and forth, I eased the chair back toward my kitchen cabinets. One thing at a time. First, I had to get my wrists free, then get a cab to the hospital. After that, I could worry about the rest of my life.