The Billionaire Brute

by Hart, Romi

  As soon as the story was printed, every internet magazine and periodical – hell, every blog and tweet, were all asking questions about Alfred. Questions that everyone had heard, but no one actually investigated because it was conspiracy talk, at least it all was, until now.

  From that article, numerous witnesses came forward, now with public protection and national attention. Alfred was even accused of rape and murder by other victims. Now the media was listening. People were standing up for truth and justice.

  Alfred had nowhere to go, but into hiding. Evidence of his tax evasion was sure to get the IRS all over his ass. Crimes of conspiracy, blackmail, and extortion were already being investigated.

  But the one thing they couldn’t prove was the murder charge. And of all the crimes, that was the one that mattered most to Byron.

  The second time he went to meet his father, he insisted I stay behind because of the slight risk of an altercation. He wasn’t sure whether he’d punch his father out or if dad would go postal on him. But he needed this. He needed one more meeting just to add a little well-deserved insult to injury.

  I heard about what happened a day later, and boy am I sorry I missed it. But as I understand it… Byron waltzed into his father’s office, looking as smug and as dastardly as possible. He sat down across from the old man and smiled like it was the first day of college.

  “How dare you come in here! What makes you think I’m going to let you leave?”

  “Oh, you probably won’t,” Byron said. “I’m sure the last thing you want to do, before you’re sent to the slammer is to kill me. God knows you never loved me. I was just a tool, a mess you had to clean up.”

  “You won’t win,” Alfred said, getting up from his chair and opening his desk drawer, probably going to grab a gun. “I could kill you right now and bury you in the forest and no one would miss you. You think that hack Hollock is going to do any lasting damages? All I have to do is fund another anti-Trump campaign and the media will be sucking my cock all over again. And then what happens to you?”

  “You know it doesn’t matter. I just came here to say one thing. I’m going to ask Laura to marry me. That same woman you hate, that same woman who arguably destroyed your empire. And when your murderous ass is thrown in jail, I’m going to inherit everything. Every last penny. Because right at that moment, I’ll be vindicated. And I’ll make my case to the stockholders personally. They’ll believe me. Because they’ll quickly discover the truth that I’ve never lied. And you, old man, you made a career out of it.”

  “You son of a bitch…”

  “I guess I wouldn’t know, how much of a bitch my real mother was. But I know Caitlynn’s a bitch since she covered up the murder too. Your accomplice, as they call it. She’s going away for a long time too. It’s all over, dad.”

  Alfred huffed and puffed and frantically looked for his gun, eager to murder his own flesh and blood and satiate that pirate bloodlust in him.

  “Don’t bother,” Byron said. “I mean you could try to threaten me. Try to make me grovel for my life. But deep down, I know you’re too cowardly to shoot a man in the face. You always get someone to do your dirty work for you, don’t you?”

  “Like shit, you motherfucker! I murdered your cunt of a mother standing right in front of your retarded little face!”

  “I know you did, dad. And now the NYPD knows. And the whole world knows.”

  Byron reached into his pocket and pulled out a microphone, wiping that angry glare right off Alfred’s face and turning it inside out. The old man went pale and started weeping like a bitch, right as the cops invaded his office and arrested him.

  It was a wonderful scene and yet something only Byron was privileged to witness in person. But he earned it. A lifetime of broken trust, and now complete vindication. I can only imagine how good it must have felt, in that moment, when he finally got everything back. Not just the money and prestige, but his honor. His moral compass. His faith in humanity.

  The country, the world, rejoiced with Byron Gallows. He was the redemption of his family name.

  It’s a boring, uneventful day at the grocery store. I can hardly wait for it to be over. Sure, it’s Christmas Eve, and I should be at home celebrating with somebody or something. At least, finishing off a glass of wine!

  Part of me is a little disappointed I’m not making love in a mansion or traveling the world with a certain someone. But just as well. Maybe now I can process all my disappointment and mucked up emotions and finally get the fuck over it. I’m so happy for Byron, I am. But it doesn’t hurt a little bit that he’s so busy and so vindicated that he hardly has time for me anymore.

  Even though, you know, I was willing to stand by his side and love him, even without his fortune. Now that he’s the new billionaire and CEO of twenty different companies, I guess he’s just too important to remember the woman that caressed his ego and made him whole again.

  But whatever. I did the right thing and I can be happy with that.

  Just as I start to get into my car, I notice a Honda backing up way too fast. If this asshole comes any closer, he’s going to go right into my trunk!

  “HEY ASSHOLE! Back up! Back the fuck up!”

  And behold, as I stare angrily at the window…guess who’s face pops up?

  “Byron!” I laugh. “What the fuck are you doing? Trying to hit my car?”

  “I admit…I like to see you at your worst. When you’re pissed off and swearing, it turns me on.”

  “Now that’s just sick!”

  I watch in disbelief as Byron leaves his car in the park, in the worst possible spot, blocking traffic, and gets out. He stands in front of me gesturing wildly and bubbling up with emotion.

  “Laura listen, I know I’ve been busy lately. And there were times when I felt like saying something to you, but I didn’t. The truth is, I had no idea what to say to you.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” I say with a smile. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “No, I don’t owe you a damned thing. But I’m in love with you, Laura. I’ve been in love with you for a long time now.”

  My heart sinks and I listen with wide eyes.

  “It was never the right time. It never felt like the right time. There was always something wrong, there was always a doubt. Not about me loving you, but about whether I could handle this. Whether I could treat you like the saint you are, the beautiful person you are. You deserve the best. The very best in life. And for a long time, I wasn’t sure that I was the best. I was rich and soulless. Then I was poor and inconsequential. But even at that moment, Laura, when I got it all back and when I brought my father down once and for all, all I saw was you.”

  My eyes water and I nod, dropping my groceries at the store and grabbing onto his neck in excitement. I don’t know if he’s going to propose, or just tell me he loves me, or just fuck me in the middle of the parking lot. I have no idea. But all I feel is my heart beating with his.

  “I did it all for you. I just wanted you to love me. You saved me. You made my life better. You healed everything inside me. And I thought it was only appropriate to propose to you, now, on Christmas Eve. Because now, my warm family memories of Christmas are all wrapped up with you. I want to make a real memory this time. I want to celebrate Christmas with you, with your family. The only real family I’ve ever had.”

  “I’d love to celebrate Christmas with you,” I say, mewling into my hands and crying my eyes out. For the first time in so many years, crying so hard, releasing the pent-up emotion I had locked away for safe keeping. There was no longer a reason to doubt, to protect, or to hide. He wants my everything, my complete honesty, my real heart. And I can’t deny him anything, not even my silly tears of joy.

  “Wait,” he says, as he kneels down to one knee and pulls out a box. Oh God! I hope those aren’t really expensive earrings.

  “Laura Katt, will you marry me?”

  “YES!” I sing, through a cracking voice and quivering breath.
r />   “Will you marry me tomorrow?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to wait. I don’t want a big fancy wedding, surrounded by shareholders, fake friends, and celebrities. I don’t need their validation, I never did. I honestly don’t know any of those people. I just want you. I want to take you to a small ceremony, just you and your mother, and get married right now. No more waiting, no more chance of losing you because of a misunderstanding. I’ve learned that public displays, all that showoff lifestyle, it’s not me. I just want to feel something that’s real. And this is real.”

  “Yes!” I say excitedly hugging and kissing him with all my might. We break the kiss and I gaze into his eyes, intoxicated with the thrill of finding true love, so late in life, after hanging on for so long…but it was for a reason. And it was worth the wait.

  “I don’t care about any of it. I never cared about the money. I just wanted you. I wanted to believe again. I wanted to believe in love and you made it real for me. I love you, Byron! I’ve loved you for a long time. And now you’re mine.”

  “I love you! You’re my Christmas Miracle, Laura Katt.”

  The Billionaire Bull - Special Preview

  Chapter 1

  Maya

  A flower is something beautiful and the world resents it. Untarnished, it glimmers with hope. When it’s out of place or unwelcomed, it’s customary for some angry, cynical person to crush it under a strong foot. Shame on the flower for being innocent. Shame on the flower for being damaged. It inspires nothing but lust and greed even in the best of people.

  Yet I’m a woman who still cherishes my idealism, especially since believing in something as out of date as flapper hats. Most of my friends despise being a “virginal woman”. I should too…since I’m already twenty-one years old and haven’t even felt more than a long kiss. But I figured out something important from the very first moment I noticed guys staring at my tits:

  The more you give it away for free, the less value you have…at least in the eyes of men. Men all want what they can’t have. The moment they take a girl to bed, they start thinking they can do much better. Everything a man does is prompted by horn-dogging and feeling “thirsty”.

  But I don’t want to hate them for it. I know how it feels. I know how it feels to have an incurable passion inside…to masturbate and to still feel horny. To touch yourself so much that your clit just becomes numb…and to still want more. I know what it’s like to write an erotic poem and to just want to explain to a handsome stranger why I wrote it.

  Of course, I don’t actually go around begging for guys to do me. Call me crazy, I just think that’s low-class. I come from a long line of moms who never begged for anything. Not food, not sex.

  And yeah I do get a lot of offers from guys. Well, I guess I should clarify I get a lot of friendly invitations to do dumb things. Dinner with his folks. Square dancing. Once got asked to tag along in a squad car with a police officer.

  All of them were perfect gentleman. And I found it very sexy that underneath all their respectable conversation and gentle eyes, they were really asking to plow into my virginity and unload their balls in a strange new place.

  That’s the one side of me, the side of me that totally feels like a man, at least when it comes to wanting sex.

  But then there’s the other side. The side who still longs for flowers. For romance. The teenager in me that longed to meet a Prince Charming. What is it about romance that’s so different from fucking, anyway? Is it the way he looks, or the kind words he uses? Or is it something else? The emotional bonding of two souls that might comfort in each other, maybe.

  I know at some point, everyone’s favorite “little girl”, Maya DeBank will have to do the unthinkable and take a risk. I’m not a saint. I don’t want to stay a virgin for life, or even until marriage. There’s just too much to do in the world. It’s like that song says… “What good is sitting all alone in your room? Life is a…a…”

  How does it go? Damn, I can’t remember it. I used to love that song because I learned it as a teenager, right around the time I fell in love with my first fictional character. The Maximilian von Heune, such a sexy guy! Some of that was the actor, but I just loved his dialog…his wild streak. Maybe when I think of romance, I think of a man like that. Someone who just commands the room. He’s not arrogant, per se, but he’s dominant. He knows what he wants. He respects me but not so much that he won’t fuck me if he gets the chance.

  What terrible thoughts unbecoming of a virgin! Am I shallow for saying for the FIRST TIME, it has to be a man who knows what he’s doing? A man for whom I don’t have to fake attraction or award pity fuck points because of his sincerity. And I do reserve the right to reject him based on bratty imperfections unbecoming of my fantasy world.

  Maybe love isn’t perfectly timed…maybe fantasy is far removed from reality. But for my first time I want the earth to move and shake. I want the mountains to fall and for miracles to happen because I know my value…I know how unique and wonderful I am. And to quote another song, it’s my party, I can cry if I want to!

  Sure, and I also know that the moment I lose my virginity, everything special about me will disappear. Maybe that’s what I’m most afraid of. Maybe that’s why I have the right to be a little snotty. Because after that one magical night, I’ll be damaged goods like everyone else.

  I want to be special…for as long as possible. Even if it’s all just leading up to one special day. Where I lose it…and when I then realize, life will never get any better than this right now. This is the top of the mountain.

  * * *

  I blink away my anxiety and smile as I notice a man walking closer to me on the sidewalk. I’m walking home from the bus and suddenly very aware of his presence, meaning he’s probably been looking at me for minutes on end. I suppose a young brunette woman of generous proportions and with innocent blue eyes is hard not to notice. I also like wearing quaint clothes from the golden era—the nineteen fifties. Love the old Hollywood look, makes me feel classy. Revered. Today I’m wearing a head scarf and yellow dress combination, with the wavy hair. Why own this moment now? Why not a moment from seventy years ago?

  I glance back and smile, noticing a rugged-looking black man tailing me. He’s dressed well, with shades, probably thinking he’s the gangsta rap star of tomorrow. I love it when men are bold, like they can’t help but speak of the sexual tension in the air. He has no problem speeding up his pace to meet me. I even make him wait for eye contact. I make him wait for our eyes to meet.

  I won’t make this easy on him. Nor does he expect me to be easy.

  “Uh, hi?” I say with a half-smile.

  “How’s it going?” he says in a deep voice.

  “It’s okay…are you—?”

  “You want to get high?”

  I laugh in his face but he’s still staring me down.

  “Come on, no introduction?”

  “My name’s Balzac.”

  “Ball Sack? That’s your name?”

  “No, Balzac—the writer. The poet. I renamed myself after him. I figured you for a girl who likes poetry. You’re smart.”

  “And do you know who I am?”

  He smiles gleefully, as if he knows I’m going to fight him…every last moment, until he beds me. That’s what makes it hot for him…and it’s starting to make me hot too.

  But alas…

  As I stare into his eyes and let him probe me mentally, I still can’t shake the feeling that he’s not the “peak” I’m looking for. Maybe I’ll fall for a guy like him later in life. But for now, he’s still not grabbing hold of my mind and stroking me to new intellectual heights. It’s all body with him. It’s all in the moment. But this isn’t a moment. This is The End. The beginning of The End.

  I know he will never understand. Maybe no man will ever understand this type of thinking. But at least they understand the principle behind it.

  “Sorry, dude. I don’t smoke and I’m not looking.”

 
“Got a boyfriend?”

  “No. I’m just not looking.”

  “Got to open your mind, girl. Prince Charming is late. Live life while you’re young.”

  “I deserve more than free pot, Balzac.”

  He slaps his hands together in a laugh. “Who says it’s free? Know what I’m saying?”

  “Touché!”

  “All right, you have a good Valentine’s Day, little girl. Don’t be paying attention to those big bad wolves.”

  I point at him in good fun. God, Valentine’s Day. It’s always such a drag.

  I hurriedly start to walk home—at last, my own apartment away from mom and dad!—and cringe at the thought of the Big V.

  Valentine’s Day, the sour reminder for every single person that no one loves you, and for the moment, no one’s even lusting after you. You’ve successfully alienated every man who could have been the one and are now one of those pathetic doggies in the window, just hoping for pity sex.

  God, I have to be strong. I keep reminding myself being alone is a good thing. It’s empowering. It’s brave. Fucking Elsa from Frozen was alone and that was the best part of the damn movie.

  I keep telling myself that I reject men all the time, everyone from gangsta ass badboys to Christian boys, to nice guys and dirty old perverts. I COULD have anyone I want for Valentine’s Day. I’m the one who’s decided to wait—I’m proud, dammit!

  But then why do I feel so sad on Valentine’s Day? Because it’s all corporate-sponsored lecturing, suggesting that love is the only thing that keeps us going? Or maybe I’m resentful because I haven’t met The Right One yet and that he’s long overdue to make an appearance in my life.

  Well, maybe this Valentine’s Day will be different. Maybe this time I’ll win. Maybe this year, I will meet the Right One…the one man who is my “Maximilian von Heune” but in real life!

  And if I have my wish, the one and only will be Zander Troy.