DOM DIARIES : THE CHASE: A Billionaire searches for love.

by Jax Hart

  DOM DIARIES

  By:

  J A X H A RT

  © 2019 by Jax HART

  jxhart05@gmail.com

  All Rights Reserved.

  OTHER WORKS BY JAX HART

  MC ROMANCE

  DUKE

  UNSCRIPTED

  UNDONE

  Erotica

  His Dirty Girl

  Dark Romance

  THE DEVIL AND HIS DOVE SERIES:

  ENSLAVED

  ENRAPTURED

  ENTWINED

  THE CHASE

  Upcoming Releases

  UNWRAPPED- A CREED HOLIDAY ROMANCE

  ROQUE- A MAFIA LOVE STORY

  PLAYLIST

  “Straight up” Paula Abdul

  “Dancing with a Stranger” Sam Smith

  “Womanizer” Britney Spears

  “Empire State of Mind” Alicia Keys

  GLOSSARY

  CULO- Ass

  PAPUSA- A famous El Salvadoran dish with, corn flour, or corn rice hand-made tortilla, stuffed with cheese, pork, and refried beans.

  ABUELA- Grandma

  PUERCO- Pig

  Capisce- Understand

  Mentiroso/Mentirosa- Liar

  DTF-Down to f*ck.

  Gatita- Kitten

  “Que tienes, amor?”- What’s wrong, love?

  “Ni en tus suenos.”- Not even in your dreams

  NDA- Non-disclosure agreement

  I was born this way.

  Arrogant.

  Dominant.

  Unbending.

  Even men cower in my presence, sensing the danger in me.

  So why does this slip of a girl invade my thoughts?

  Somehow, she got past my defenses...and the only way to regain control is to make her bend.

  But when things don't bend—they break.

  She wouldn’t bend.

  I refused to break.

  DEAR READER,

  This is a darker romance with a mafia subplot. If you are not comfortable with these types of books…what are you doing here? LMAO

  See you on the other side,

  JH

  PROLOGUE

  I’m an arrogant prick.

  I make no apologies about it.

  I was born into a wealthy family in the suburbs of New York. My father didn’t just work on Wall Street—he was Wall Street.

  Manhattan is my playground, and I’m the biggest bully in the schoolyard. My best friend at Princeton was Johnny Lamatti, the son of the head of the Lamatti crime family.

  Two sons.

  Two different families.

  One born with a silver spoon in his hand and the other, a Beretta 9mm. The two of us rule everything in the five boroughs of New York City and a bit beyond. I taught him how to launder his cash in the Stock Exchange and he taught me how to be a badass motherfucker.

  Which makes me a deadly combination of sophisticated class and street brawler.

  Everything comes easily; too easily.

  I only work hard in the gym and at the office, but that all changed the day I met Selina De La Cruz. I’ve never chased anything the way I’m chasing after her.

  I’m in ruthless pursuit.

  She’s sex on a stick.

  She knows it.

  I hunted her down. She thinks that she’s safe, but the girl is in for a huge surprise. I’m taking her tonight.

  No more games.

  No more running.

  My best friend, Johnny, is already on it. He gave the orders.

  Selina will be taken and delivered to me.

  Bound.

  Gagged.

  And totally at my wicked mercy.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I was running late.

  Mrs. Van Heusen was going to fire me if her Bichon, Mr. Pickles, peed on her carpet again. She’s a pain in the ass but pays me well above minimum wage to take care of her precious pet.

  As soon as the subway screeched to a halt and the doors opened, I sprinted out and up the steps, hoping I’d make it to her apartment in time. I had printed up new flyers advertising my business and asked permission to post a few in the lobbies of some of the ritziest high rises on the block.

  I hurried inside the rotating doors and into a small alcove, all while balancing my coffee and ripping off a piece of tape to put up my flyer. I glanced at the cheap, fake Gucci wristwatch that I haggled with a street vendor over and finally got him down to ten bucks.

  Five minutes.

  Hold on, Mr. Pickles, hold on, I prayed while I whizzed back outside.

  It was mid-summer in New York, and everyone was miserable. Unless you were one of the lucky ones who escaped to the Hamptons every weekend. I was not a lucky one. Especially not that day.

  My head was down, I was fiddling with my phone checking texts while sipping my drink… all I could think about was poor Mr. Pickles, pacing and whining as he waited for me to take him to the doggie park. When wham—I collided with something hard.

  The jolt of the impact surprised me, and the McDonald’s latte I had gripped in one hand spilled all over what looked like a twenty-thousand-dollar, cream-colored suit.

  “Shit!” I exclaimed, more to myself than to the man who had my lukewarm coffee running down both pant legs where it pooled at his feet on the hot July pavement. I looked up quickly, with an apology on my lips.

  But I froze.

  It was just my luck that not only was he one pissed off man, but also one of the biggest pricks on Wall Street.

  “What the fuck?” he cursed, as he stepped back. He held his hands to the side. His chiseled jaw was clenched as he stared down at his ruined clothing, not even sparing one glance at me.

  “Yeah… um… you were standing in the middle of the sidewalk.”

  His eyes darted to the McDonald’s cup still gripped in my hand. I couldn’t afford the Starbucks one that I really craved. I only indulged in those five-plus dollars of heaven if it was a holiday.

  His classically handsome face drew tight with disdain. I bet he’s never even been inside a McDonald’s.

  I instantly disliked him, with good reason, based on everything I had read about the man.

  “Un-fucking-believable. I’m going to be late for a meeting. A crucial meeting because of you.”

  He still hadn’t even looked at me. It was as if I was a leper or a ghost; my presence known, but unseen. He was about to say more when his cell rang; he ignored it for a second to warn, “Don’t go anywhere. I expect you to reimburse me for this.”

  I reared back as if he slapped me and held up my empty cup. “Seriously? I can’t even afford the socks you’re wearing. You might want to get over it. Besides, it was just an accident.”

  He didn’t reply, but the angry splashes of color on his cheekbones went a shade deeper.

  “Pendejo,” I muttered, under my breath.

  Screw him.

  I’m not going to apologize.

  I knew who he was.

  Who didn’t?

  The man’s face was everywhere in New York City.

  Last year, his face was plastered to the sides of transit buses and inside subway cars. Rafael Vasquéz Edwards is the man who royally pissed off Tish Thorn, the socialite from Manhattan, who he dated for six months.

  Rumor has it, the man never slept with the same woman twice, until Tish.

  She thought she bagged the baddest billionaire in existence.

  But she was fooled instead.

  Completely duped.

  I read all about it on “Page Six.”

  Their break-up was the talk of the city.

  He showed up at the Met Gala with some Vic
toria Secret model and publicly humiliated poor Tish.

  But Tish’s daddy is old money and he shared it all with his baby girl.

  She paid for ads that went up all over the city with Rafael’s face and text that read: #donotdate #thisdick.

  After the run of talk shows where she was invited to discuss her broken heart and subsequent revenge on Rafael, Tish was contacted by ABC. They wanted her to be the next Bachelorette. My DVR is already primed and waiting to record that season.

  Not wanting to waste another second on this playboy prick, I turned on my heel, stalking away.

  I made it three strides when I was caught by the elbow and swung around. His eyes widened.

  Mine did too.

  Inches apart.

  Face to face.

  Jolts of electricity ran from where his fingers touched my arm. The feeling made my nipples harden, pointing from beneath my thin T-shirt, and he smirked as his dark eyes took note.

  His eyes continued to slide down my body, missing nothing. Then he had the nerve to do it all again in reverse, starting with my ankles and roaming back over me with those predatory eyes. I lifted my chin, pissed the hell off by him and men in general.

  I dressed how I wanted.

  I worked outside all day and it’s damn hot running with dogs. My denim cut-offs were short, my T-shirt thin, and my boobs supported by the only luxury I allowed myself to have—Victoria’s Secret bras. But I never wore padded ones when my boobs were already obnoxiously huge for my height.

  The tip of my sneaker started tap dancing. I crossed my arms over my chest, blocking my breasts from his view. His hand moved to circle my wrist, preventing me from leaving while he finished his call.

  When the heat in his eyes changed from anger to something else… my blood pressure rose. I’m Latina, curvy, with naturally tan skin and long wavy hair. Men like him see me and instantly want to play out their hair-pulling, doggy-style fantasies. But they’d never date me or treat me like a lady—that was always saved for somebody else—someone with an ivy league degree and old family money. Somebody like Tish.

  Dirtbag.

  He continued to smirk at me while he talked to someone else. His eyes started undressing me. He was having fun at my expense. Toying with me and he knew it.

  Finally, he disconnected and stared at me while the corners of his mouth twitched.

  “Call my PA. He’ll make arrangements for you to…work off the damages. I’m sure we can work something out?” He raised an eyebrow as his eyes told me … just how we could “work something out”.

  “You’ve got some fucking nerve Mr. Hashtag. Maybe you’ll be trending on Twitter as Mr. Dirtbag if you don’t back the hell off and leave me alone.” The cadence of my voice rose with every word. I heard the clicking of phones. Snap. Snap. Snap… Every second of us dueling was captured. He circled me; a predator surveying his prey. I felt his eyes on my back, on my ass, on the back of my thighs… the nerves along my spine were tingling in warning.

  “Like what you see?” I spun around; my own eyes full of fire.

  “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  By this time a small crowd had gathered, some recording our exchanges with their phones.

  He struck fast and hard. The tips of his shoes touched mine, his left hand reached to the back of my head, while his other one fingered a long piece of my hair before tucking it over my shoulder. Then his finger stroked the back of my arm, up and down as he bent his head to whisper in my ear, “Call me, beautiful. I’m not as bad as they say.”

  “No. You're even worse.” I jerked back, and out of his hold. The absolute, fucking nerve of this guy… I felt my face redden as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet and took out a business card. He held it out by his fingertips. I ignored it.

  My gaze was trapped by his.

  Why did he have to be so fucking hot?

  His cheeks were flushed and his eyes dark. I pretended not to notice that even drenched in cheap coffee, the man oozed sex and power.

  I grabbed it from him, ripped it to shreds and tossed it like confetti. I even had the gall to giggle and say, “Consider all this payback for Tish,” as I stepped around him, and slowly exited. I stopped briefly to call out over my shoulder, “Actually, consider it payback for every woman in New York you’ve screwed over!”

  His eyes widened.

  I expected him to get even more pissed and chase me again.

  But he surprised me by throwing back his head and laughing out loud.

  He smiled, and my heart almost stopped.

  Almost.

  But it didn’t.

  When he smiled, fine lines appeared by the corners of his eyes. His perfect teeth showed from behind beautiful lips. I never considered a man’s mouth beautiful before. I flushed and turned back around, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

  But he’s the type of man who notices everything.

  “Where do you think you are going?” His voice was…harsh. Sharp. Dominant as fuck.

  I turned around, feeling unease uncoiling and spreading like a thin trail of smoke in my gut. I was confused: half-pissed off and now… half of something else. Something dangerous and I didn’t want to let it run through my veins.

  His laughter had stopped and in its place was a raw intensity… a hunger, as he stared at me. Really looked at me. My nipples ached. The curling smoke traveled low in my belly, creating a deep pressure that wanted to be relieved. It was pure female instinct, responding to an alpha male. But there was something more in his direct gaze that almost had me shivering with need.

  Almost.

  But I didn’t.

  No man has ever made me feel so many things so fast. Running into him was like being trapped inside the vortex of a tornado. He had me spinning round and round.

  I needed to regain control. I’m most confident in myself when I’m doing what I do best—sing.

  I flipped my long hair over my shoulder and turned back around to leave. I shook my hips to the beat of a song I didn’t even have on play yet. I put my earbuds in, not caring if the entire city stopped and listened to me sing. I turned up the volume and took a deep breath; filling my lungs with all the air I would need to belt out the first few lyrics, ensuring he heard me sing “Womanizer,” better than Britney ever did.

  I half-expected Rafael to grab me again.

  But, he didn't. Not this time.

  I glanced coyly over my shoulder. He was still there. Standing by the puddle of my morning coffee, on the hot July pavement

  He stared after me. His chiseled jaw clenched, but it was his eyes that promised retribution. His hands were at his side; unwilling to touch the sticky liquid dripping off him.

  I should’ve known he wouldn’t let it go.

  Like a fool—I marched to the beat in my head. Unknowing, I had caught the interest of a predator.

  He would wait.

  Plot.

  Execute.

  It was what he did; what he excelled at the most. And I was a stupid girl for not realizing I had sparked his interest instead of shunning it.

  I had no choice but watch her walk—no, strut her stuff, as she danced away from me. She rocked her sexy hips and flicked her long, dark tresses at me while she did it. But her mouth… damn. I stood, dumbfounded by her.

  All of her.

  But her mouth…it was painted a bright shade of red, drawing my eyes to them and holding them prisoner. I couldn’t stop staring while she gave me hell, even though I was the wronged party here.

  I watched her curvy ass and legs until they disappeared from view. I must have still been stunned by her sheer nerve to speak to me the way she did.

  Being a man of immense wealth and power comes with many perks. Respect is at the top of the list. Who in the hell was she? Nothing would stop me from finding out. I signaled to my driver, “Follow the girl.”

  He nodded and pulled away from the curb. I needed to get back to my Penthouse, shower and change. Not dwell on a five-foot something, sexy Latina wit
h a heaping side of sass.

  I was able to push back my meeting, but the Board was pissed. I’ve only been in control for a year and something as simple as being late would be enough for one of them to question my commitment to the job.

  I nodded to the doorman and rushed inside the cool chill of my building. I was about to continue rushing across the marble lobby floor to my private elevator when something caught my eye.

  It was out of place.

  It didn’t belong

  A flyer was taped next to the small alcove where the mailboxes were. I ripped it from the wall.

  It was an ad for dog walking and pet sitting services.

  In the middle of the paper was a picture of her.

  She was smiling while holding the leashes of at least five dogs.

  “Well, well. What do we have here?” I chuckled to myself. “Selina De La Cruz, I’ve got your name and number.”

  My cell rang, impatiently. It was Eric, my PA. “Sir? I’m doing the best I can, but people are becoming impatient.”

  “I know. Business in New York doesn’t wait for anyone. I’m on my way.”

  I only had time to change. My shower would have to wait.

  Despite a ruined suit and a ruined morning, I whistled all the way to the top floor.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “What’s got you so distracted?”

  I sat back in the cool, leather seat, watching the smoke waft from my lungs as I exhaled. “This is smooth for not being a Cuban.” The rich, smoky flavor of the cigar in my hand still sat on my tongue.

  “Thanks. Each is hand-dipped in cognac during production. I bought into the company that manufactures them.”

  “Looking for a way to clean up your dirty money?”

  He smirked as he blew out his smoke in three crisp rings.

  “Her name is Selina. She crashed into me. Literally. Ruined my new Armani summer suit. Fuck, it was beautiful.”