Two Billionaires For Her: An MMF Romance

by Ellie Rowe

  I get dressed, grab my things, and head to work. The last place I want to be when all of this Darian and Peter stuff is weighing on my mind. Not to mention I’m not really making much progress on my case.

  When I get to work, I notice something is off right away. I go in the back where the strippers usually hangout before going on stage. It’s where we get ready and talk shit about Max Sleezeberger. It’s always packed in here before shift starts, but today it’s completely empty.

  I walk to my usual spot in front of one of our makeup counters and set my bag down. I’m about to start doing my hair when I notice someone standing in the corner. Startled, my curling iron clatters to the ground.

  “Hey sweetheart,” Max says, popping out of his creepy spot in the creepy corner.

  “Uhh, Max, I didn’t see you there, where is everyone today? Did I miss something?”

  “Oh you most definitely missed something. Say, Becky. Did you know that I have cameras in my office?” He asks.

  My blood runs cold.

  “What?”

  “Yes, I have cameras that I can watch live on my phone from everywhere in this building. I see everything that happens, I know everything. Does that scare you?”

  “Uhm, no? What’s going on? I’m confused.”

  He inches closer.

  “Oh I don’t think you’re confused at all. I think you know exactly what’s going on. And do you wanna know a secret?” He asks, circling around me until he’s directly behind me.

  “Sure?”

  He pulls my hair back and presses his lips against my ear.

  “I know that you’re an FBI agent,” he whispers.

  Suddenly I fear for my life. I jump away from him, trying to get to the other side of the room as fast as I can.

  “Oh honey, there’s no point in running. I didn’t say that your little side gig had to stop anything.”

  As he says this, two of the biggest men I’ve ever seen in my life enter the room, each taking hold of one of my arms. They lift me up in one fluid motion, dragging me out through the back door and into the alley behind the club.

  It’s not until I see the big black van that I start fighting, kicking, and screaming. I know what happens in these vans. I’m not about to let these guys take me.

  But no matter how hard I kick or struggle, in a matter of seconds, I’m being thrown into the back of the van with the door slammed shut behind me. It’s pitch black, and it takes my eyes forever to adjust to the darkness.

  “Right here baby girl,” Max’s voice says out of nowhere.

  I jump and begin crawling backwards in an effort to get as far from him as I can in this tiny space. In doing so, I bump into someone’s foot and I’m forced to settle for a spot somewhere in the middle.

  Normally at this point in shows or movies, the victim is asking questions like “where are you taking me?” and, “why are you doing this?” or even, “what do you want from me?” Not me.

  “Who are you working for?” I demand from him.

  He chuckles, and the sound runs shivers down my spine. This guy is the lowest level of human garbage that exists. I cannot believe that he got the upper hand. This should have never happened; this wasn’t part of the plan.

  “Sweetie, it’s my turn to ask the questions. Look, I know you’ve been snooping around, trying to figure out what I’m doing and who I’m working for and whatever else you and those dumbasses can come up with.”

  “So now I need you to tell me- what do you know.”

  I stay silent.

  A large blow hits my head from behind, like someone kicked me.

  “I said. What.” Kick.

  “Do.” Kick.

  “You.” Kick.

  “Know.” Kick.

  “I’m not going to ask you again.”

  I refuse to tell him anything. He’s not going to win this. The minute I open my mouth, he’ll think that physical harm is a way to get me to speak. I won’t give him that satisfaction.

  “Fine, suit yourself. You’re only going to make it worse for yourself. anyway, FBI or not, you’re going to go quiet for a while. No one will hear from you and no one will see you. We will be holding you captive in a private location that even you won’t know. You will be watched at all hours of the day, by at least two guards- so don’t even think about trying to escape.”

  I remain completely silent. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified. Completely, and utterly terrified.

  Being an undercover FBI agent, of course I’ve been trained for all sorts of situations. I have lots of skills. But I am currently sitting on the floor of a van, between some very dangerous men- men who could kill me in an instant and make sure that no one would ever find my body.

  My first thought is my mother. She can’t lose me; she already lost my father. Something like this would kill her.

  I still remember the day I told her that I was going to be an FBI agent. The look on her face was the most heartbreaking look I’ve ever seen her make, second only to the one she made when she got the news that my father had died. She doesn’t deserve this.

  And so, I vow to make it out alive, for her. How I’ll do that I have no fucking idea, but I don’t have a choice.

  That’s when I remember Peter and Darian. They’re the only two people in my life right now who know about this, other than the FBI. They’ll notice that I’m gone, and they’ll come looking for me. They have to.

  Twenty-Two

  Darian

  “Fuck.” I jab my thumb against the screen and throw the phone onto the couch. Like a caged tiger, I pad the length of my penthouse, having no idea on what to do. It’s been three fucking days, and I haven’t heard anything from Becky. To make it all worse, she’s not even answering her damn phone. I’ve probably heard her voicemail more than a hundred times now.

  Three days!

  The first day was hard, the second was torture, but now...now I’m going fucking insane. I’ve tried being respectful and giving her some space, but this is just too much. And it doesn’t really make any sense, does it? I mean, why would she let me stew for this long?

  I grab my phone again and text a message to my driver: bring the car around. I hurry out of the apartment and, once I’m out of the building, I immediately spot my limo.

  “Greenwich Village,” I say as I slid into the limo’s backseat. “Same address as always.” Like an anxious kid, I keep on tapping my foot against the floor, wondering about what I’m going to find once I get to Becky’s. Maybe I’m overreacting and she’s fine. She’s probably just angry that Peter and I thrashed her living room.

  Then again, how’s that my fault? I’m not the one who signed that fucking contract with Max, and I sure as hell am not the one who threw the first punch. If Becky wants to be mad, she should be mad at Peter, not me.

  As soon the limo grounds to a halt, I jump out of the car and make my way up the steps. “Open up, Becky, it’s me!” I hammer my fist against the door for what seems like an eternity, but it’s useless. For a moment, I think she’s hiding inside the house and doesn’t want to see me...except when I press my ear against the door, not a sound comes from inside.

  “Wiggle Jiggle,” I tell my driver as I hop back into the limo. If Becky isn’t home, maybe she’s at work. Just thinking of that makes me tense. She’s fucking FBI agent, not a stripper. And even though she puts to shame all the other chicks, she shouldn’t have to strut her stuff for justice.

  Once there, I cut the line and the bouncer waves me in. Whether that’s because Max told him to do it, or because he knows I’m someone you shouldn’t fuck with, I can’t really say...and I don’t really care.

  One step inside Wiggle Jiggle and I immediately hear the muted beat of the music, the kind you expect to hear in a sleazy strip joint. It really doesn’t matter how fucking expensive a place like this is—the music selection never really changes that much.

  On the stage, a tall brunette is dancing on the pole, her body sliding up and down with magica
l ease. Shit, sometimes I wonder why pole-dancing isn’t a part of the Olympics. These chicks can do stuff that would put athletes to shame.

  “Have you seen Becky?” I ask the bartender, a bald dude with forearms that are as thick as my neck. More than just being here to pour whisky, this guy is here to intimidate the customers. That’s to be expected—some assholes can’t control themselves whenever they see a pair of perky tits, and I bet Max hired this frowning giant to scare these pathetic men into behaving.

  “Becky Brash,” the guy snorts, and then rolls his eyes. “You’re the fifth person asking me that tonight. I’m going to tell you what I told the other dudes: no, I haven’t seen her, and I have no idea when she’s coming back. Now, are you going to asked me about Becky’s horoscope or are you going to choose a damn drink?”

  “I’ll take the drink.” I don’t like this asshole’s tone, but what the hell—I do need a drink. I point at a bottle on the upper shelves, and the bartender pours the scotch over a couple of rocks. Drink in hand, I make my way to a booth by the corner.

  I sit there, half draped in shadows, and let the alcohol burn its way down my throat. I was hoping it’d help me clear my head, but it doesn’t.

  “Darian Strong,” I hear someone say, and then a slender redhead plops herself right beside me. I don’t even have the time to blink my eyes—half a second later and four more strippers appear, turning my moment of introspection into a fucking party.

  “And who the hell are you supposed to be?” I ask her, annoyed at how crowded my booth has just become. Just because you know my name, it doesn’t give you the right to sit at my table...even if you’re a bombshell capable of making a man’s heart explode just by flashing him your breasts.

  Alright, maybe I’ve become a little desensitized to hot women, but what did you expect? After having someone like Becky, all other women are nothing but fake plastic annoyances. Becky, though...Becky’s real.

  “I’m Pearl,” the stripper replies, her voice coming out as a purr. The other four also give me their names, but I barely register them. They’re the usual stripper fare, anyway. Jasmine, Candy, Pearl...whatever.

  Any other day, and I’d be all over these five chicks. I’d tell my driver to bring the car around, herd them all into the limo, and then I’d spend the night drinking the finest whisky and fucking the hottest of women. But that’s not me anymore. It might be a pathetic thing to say, but I’ve changed. The only woman I can think about—and care about—is Becky.

  “Hello, Pearl,” I finally tell the stripper. With a smooth motion, I down the rest of my scotch and rise to my feet. “Goodbye, Pearl.” Before Pearl or any of her friends has the chance to protest, I slip out of the booth and make for the door. I can’t be sitting here while Becky’s missing. I need to do something, I need to find her, I need to…

  “Peter,” I mutter under my breath, hating the way his name sounds. Even so, I reach for my phone and dial that asshole’s number. It doesn’t take long for him to pick up.

  “What the hell do you want?” He snarls. “If you’ve called me to accuse me of—”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I cut him short. “This is serious, Peter. I think that Becky might be in trouble.”

  “Becky? In trouble?”

  “You heard it right,” I say. “Now sit tight.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m coming over.”

  Twenty-Three

  Peter

  The past couple of days have been confusing and kind of lonely. I haven’t seen or even spoken with Becky, and I’m still trying to avoid Darian after the last altercation that him and I had. Yes, I know that I should probably just be an adult and suck it up- but that’s a lot easier said than done.

  I’m about to go grab a quick bite to eat from my kitchen, when I hear a knock on the door. Fuck, I had almost forgotten that Darian texted me and told me he was coming over.

  I open the door for him, and turn around, leading him to the living room. I know exactly why he’s here.

  “Look Darian, I know you’re probably here because of the deal I signed. But you need to trust me on this. I know what I’m doing and-”

  “I don’t care,” he cuts me off.

  “What?”

  “That’s not why I’m here. I’m because of Becky. I think something is terribly wrong. I don’t know where she is or what happened- but this girl is risking her life to catch these scumbags. We can’t let them get her.”

  I’m silent, allowing myself a moment to think. I’ve been worried about why Becky has been ignoring my calls, but I thought it was because the last time I saw her, she was kicking us out of her apartment for fighting. Not once did I suspect it was something else.

  But the more Darian talks, the more that it sounds more logical. She would never just ghost us like this unless something was terribly wrong.

  Not only that, but I’ve never known Darian to be someone that overreacts. So if he’s to the point where he thinks something is wrong- then I one hundred percent believe him.

  “Okay, I agree. We need to do something.”

  “Good. But Peter?”

  “Yes?”

  I meet his eyes, which soften as we look at each other.

  “If we’re going to do this, we need to be on the same page. Meaning we need to talk about the elephant in the room and bury this hatchet between us. We’re not going to be able to put Becky’s safety at the front of our minds if we’re thinking about how much we hate each other. We can’t work efficiently like that.”

  “I agree. So let’s just get it all out on the table.”

  He doesn’t waste a minute.

  “I’m sorry for sleeping with Vanessa. But you have to understand that I didn’t sleep with her on purpose. I wasn’t doing it to spite you- I had no idea that you were coming back home that night. And if I knew what you were coming to say to me… you have to believe that I wouldn’t have done something like that.”

  My stomach churns and my throat burns. I’ve wanted to hear him say these words to me for so damn long.

  “But Darian… why didn’t you just say that at the time? Or all these years? Why have you never told me this?”

  “Because, Peter- I was angry at you. The night that I caught you with Vanessa, I was coming to apologize to you. Not only that, but I was going to tell you that I loved you. And when I saw you with her, and the things you said to me- I just couldn’t look at you anymore. It hurt too much that you could purposely hurt me like that.”

  “But Darian, you did the same thing to me, and you did it first.”

  “No, I didn’t. Look, I know what I did was terrible. I never meant for you to see what you walked in on. But it was an accident. What you did was on purpose. You did it just to hurt me. I just couldn’t forgive you for that.”

  “Wow… I’m really sorry. I’ve never really thought of it like that. But honestly, it wasn’t just seeing you with her that angered me. I thought we had something, I thought it was just you and me. I perceived that as you cheating on me…”

  “What? Peter… I would never cheat on you. I didn’t know that we were exclusive- I mean, I wanted to be- but we never talked about it. I wasn’t sure how you felt, because at that point neither of us were even talking to each other about our feelings.”

  “You’re right, we weren’t. But in that moment, that didn’t matter to me. I was just so hurt and so angry. I just did the first thing I could think of that would hurt you. I’m so sorry, Darian.”

  “I’m sorry too. I think this whole situation was just a huge misunderstanding, mixed with lack of communication on both sides. Not only that, but just some really terrible timing,” he laughs.

  We laugh together for a minute, and it truly feels like old times. Then we fall silent, and our faces get serious as we stare at each other. And in this moment, there’s only one thing I can think of- I want to kiss him.

  I lift my hand up to his cheek, caressing it the way I used to do when we would fall asleep next to one
another. Sweeping his hair back, I get a good look at him. He really is such a beautiful man, even more now than he was in college- which I didn’t think was even possible.

  Slowly, our faces come closer together. Neither of us are rushing this because this kiss will mean everything to us. Sure, we kissed last week in his office- but that entire moment was built out of anger. This moment is built completely out of acceptance, trust, and love. I want to savor it.

  The moment before we’re about to kiss, when our lips are parted and quivering in anticipation for that touch- we pause. And then I go for it.

  I press my lips softly into his, breathing him in. We keep our lips pressed together for longer than normal, like we’re afraid that if we pull away, things will go back to how they’ve been. But I’m not about to let that happen, and neither is he.

  We pull away and smile at each other. He draws circles on the back of my neck where his hand is resting, and I caress his hair. I want more.

  I slowly pull his shirt off, revealing his incredibly toned body. He does the same to me. There is only one moment of pause between us before we allow our lips to collide again.

  Kissing Darian in a real and passionate way versus how angry and urgent we were last week- it’s the most satisfying thing I think I’ll ever feel. We needed this, and life wasn’t going to be right until this happened.

  I straddle him on the couch, making out with him, and enjoying every second of this. I would do anything to just stay in this moment forever. Both of us reach to unbutton the others jeans, and my heart speeds up so fast that it’s practically beating out of my chest.

  And of course, that’s when Darian’s ringtone starts blaring. He pulls away, an apologetic look on his face.

  “I’m sorry… this could be my PI…”

  “No, no- take it. It could be important.”

  He shoots me a wink before answering his phone.

  “Hello? Shoot, right now?”

  My heart sinks. I don’t want anything to pull this man away from me right now.