My Boss, the Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 2)

by Serenity Woods

  Nicola’s worked with me for two years, and I’ve never asked her out, even though I fell for her on day one. Then she had her accident, and I nearly lost her, but I still stuck to my ridiculous principles. Now we’ve finally gotten together, and I’m still keeping my distance, telling her my work and my reputation and everyone else’s opinions are more important to me than being with her.

  “If you’re worried what people will think about you dating a colleague,” Dad told me, “just marry her.” Even my father, the guy I admire more than anyone in the world, can’t understand why I’m not with her.

  What the hell am I doing?

  “We’re an item,” I say out loud. Hal, just outside with his phone pressed to his ear, turns to stare at me in the midst of talking. Albie’s eyebrows rise. Izzy presses her hand to her mouth. Fitz and Remy’s jaws both drop. “Nicola and I are dating,” I clarify. “But she knows how I feel about working relationships, and she’s been talking about leaving the Ark. I wanted to keep our relationship quiet until that happened. But it’s bullshit. It’s all bullshit.” My throat tightens. “It’s all fucking irrelevant. The only thing that matters is that we find her.”

  “We will,” Albie says, his eyes bright. “I swear it.”

  Hal hangs up the phone. “They’re sending someone over.”

  I look back at the screen, where Fitz has paused the playback on the shot of John about to get into Nicola’s car. “We can’t wait. Jesus. Anything could be happening. We need to find out where she is, now!”

  “We can’t just drive around aimlessly looking for her car,” Fitz points out. “I doubt they’re still in the bay.”

  I’d do it if I thought I might be successful, but he’s right—they’re probably heading out of town.

  “The police might be able to check security cameras at the major roundabouts,” Hal suggests, “find out which way they’re going.”

  It’s going to take too long. Right now, that bastard is taking her away from me. And then it occurs to me—he could have pulled over, dragged her into the back seat, and be assaulting her. His hands on her soft skin, his dirty mouth on hers, tearing her clothes…

  “Are you all right?” Izzy asks me, placing a hand on my back and giving it a rub.

  “I think I’m going to throw up.” I lean forward, my hands on my knees. “I’ve got to do something.”

  “We should wait for the police,” she advises.

  “Oh,” Remy says suddenly. “What about her phone?”

  I push up, fighting back the nausea. “What do you mean?”

  “She has an iPhone, no?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “She will have it on her?”

  I frown. “I expect so.” When she wears jeans, she tucks it in her back pocket, but when she’s wearing a suit or dress pants, she tends to carry her phone in her purse.

  “We can find her,” she says with enthusiasm. “The app!”

  We’re all staring at her now. “Of course,” Albie replies, “Find My Friends. Remy, you’re a genius.” He cups her head and gives her a brief, fierce kiss on the mouth before returning his gaze to his own phone. “Mind you, it depends if she ever accepted a request to share her location with one of us. I don’t think I’ve done that with her.”

  Remy’s turned scarlet, but we’re all too worried to comment on Albie’s surprise kiss. We all pull out our phones. My heart’s hammering. I scroll through the apps to Find My Friends and bring it up. “Nor me,” I say, disappointed.

  “Nor me,” Izzy says. “Shit.”

  But Remy announces triumphantly, “I have! When I first moved here, we went shopping to Auckland and I got lost in Sylvia Park. She shared her location so I could find her.” We watch with bated breath as she opens the app, finds Nicola’s phone, and brings up the location.

  “She needs to have turned on ‘share indefinitely’ for it to work,” Albie says, running a hand through his hair, “not just one day or one week.”

  “Hold your horses,” Remy says, one of the idioms she loves to use, which almost makes me smile. She presses a button with her thumb and inhales. “Got it.” She holds out her phone so we can see the map, and enlarges it with her fingers.

  “She’s still in Paihia,” Hal states.

  “Where is that?” Izzy asks. “It’s right on the edge of town.”

  “Beach Court,” Albie reads out as Remy taps the building. He looks up and meets my eyes. “It’s a fucking motel.”

  “I’m going there,” I announce. “And Remy, can you come with me in case she moves again?”

  She nods, a touch of color returning to her cheeks.

  “I’ll come with you,” Albie tells us.

  “And me,” Hal adds. “Izz, can you and Fitz stay here and talk to the police?”

  “Of course,” she says. “We’ll try a couple of other cameras and see if we can get some better shots of the guy. Hey, take care.” She’s looking at me.

  I don’t answer. I head out through the buildings to the square. The sun has set, and the Ark is mostly empty, most of the staff having headed home. There’s a light on in the hotel, and I can picture the girls in there giving the recovering animals a bedtime snack and a cuddle before putting them down for the night.

  “My car,” I tell the others as they run to catch up with me. The F-TYPE Jag is faster than Hal’s Mitsubishi, and Albie only has a motorbike.

  We get in, and even before their doors are shut, I’m revving up and pulling away. “Ring the police,” I tell Hal, “tell them where we’re going.”

  Hold on, I tell Nicola in my head. I’m coming to get you, sweetheart. Hold on.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Nix

  John directs me to sit on the edge of the bed. I do, trembling all over. He’s locked the door behind him, and he leans against the wall, watching me. The knife is still in his right hand, the blade glinting in the light from the lamp on the table.

  I’m so frightened, but I force myself to stay calm. I’m not going to achieve anything by screaming except getting my throat cut. I need to wait for an opportunity to take him by surprise. I need time to unlock the door and open it, and then hopefully I can run to the reception building and yell that I’m being held against my will. Someone should be working there, shouldn’t they? Or should I head for the beach and hope someone’s there, walking their dog?

  All this goes through my head in seconds. I want to do something brave; I want to scream at him and show him I’m not afraid; I want to do a karate move on him, throw him to the ground, tie him up, and call the police. But I’m afraid of the knife. I can still remember when it cut into my skin, the pain, the terror that he was going to push it all the way into my brain. Also, I don’t want him to tie me up. If I make trouble, he’ll probably restrain me, and then I’m fucked, in more ways than one.

  “I can’t believe you’re finally here,” he whispers. He’s looking at me with wonder. “I’ve waited so long.”

  “How did you find me?” I’m proud that my voice comes out strong and not shaking.

  He shrugs. “I work with computers. It’s easy to track someone when you know how. It took a while, but it was worth it.” He smiles, as if I should be thankful that he found me.

  “John,” I say carefully, “I’m flattered that you’ve gone to so much effort to find me. But this isn’t right. You know that, don’t you? You can’t kidnap someone and hold them at knife point. It’s against the law. You’re frightening me with that knife—that’s not what you want, is it?”

  I’m hoping to appeal to his humanity, thinking that maybe he’s so caught up in his fantasy he doesn’t realize how much he’s scaring me. Maybe if I tell him how I feel, he’ll look horrified and let me go.

  I should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy. “You’re my girl,” he states. “You danced for me. You showed me you loved me. Don’t you miss our time together?”

  I decide not to answer that. “So what’s your plan?” I ask, lifting my chin. “Ho
w long are we going to stay here? And what then? Are you going to take me somewhere else? Back to Auckland? To Christchurch?”

  Keep him talking, Nix. Maybe, just maybe, someone will realize you’re missing. I know it’s a long shot. I often go out running when I get home, so Remy and Albie won’t think it’s odd that I’m not there. Nobody saw me leave the Ark. Not a single person knows I’m here, in this room, with this madman. I inhale a shaky breath and fight against tears that prick my eyes. I don’t want this jerk to see I’m afraid.

  “We’ll see,” he says. He moves forward then, coming up to me, and he reaches out a hand to caress my face. “First, we’re going to have a little fun.” He brings up the knife blade until the point presses beneath my jaw.

  I go still. I need to get him to put the knife down. I can’t do anything while he’s holding that.

  “All right,” I murmur. I bring up a hand and hold his wrist, above the knife. “I’ll do what you want. You’re right. I miss those days. I miss dancing for you. I left Christchurch because I had trouble with my father, not because of you. I always liked you, John.”

  “You fought me in the alley,” he says, frowning.

  “You put a knife to my throat. I was scared. I didn’t know what you were going to do to me. I’d have talked to you if you hadn’t had the knife.”

  He hesitates, and then he lowers the blade a fraction.

  “Tell me what you want,” I say as throatily as I can. I can smell his B.O. and it’s disgusting, it makes me want to heave. But I fight against it, looking up into his pale blue eyes.

  I imagine he’s Leon, and I think about how much he loves me. Even though he hasn’t said the words yet, I know he does. I could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way he touched me. If I can get away from John, I’ll go back to Leon and tell him I’m leaving the Ark right away, because I want to be with him more than anything.

  “Do you want me to dance for you?” I ask.

  John’s eyes widen. “You’d do that?”

  I’d do anything to stall for time. “Of course,” I tell him. “It’s what I enjoyed most. I used to wait for you to come in, hoping every night you’d turn up.”

  Surely, he can’t be stupid enough to believe I’m telling the truth? But his expression softens, and he finally lowers the knife completely.

  “Why don’t you sit on the bed?” I suggest, thinking I can edge toward the door.

  His eyes narrow then. Maybe he’s not quite as dumb as I thought. He takes the chair from in front of the small table and turns it, putting it in between the door and the bed. He sits, facing the bed, his back to the door. Then he gestures to the space between him and the bed. “Go on then. Dance for me.”

  I hesitate, caught in my own trap. “We need music. Can I get out my phone?” I’m already reaching into my purse—will I have time to dial 111 before he can get to it?

  But even as I bring it out, he takes it from me and turns it off, and my heart sinks. “We’ll use mine,” he states, taking out his own. “I’ve saved all our favorites on there.” He scrolls through, his gaze flicking up to me to make sure I’m not moving, before he chooses a song and sets his phone down. It starts playing—it’s Rhianna’s Pour It Up, the same song I danced to for Leon.

  My eyes fill with tears, and I tremble. I miss him so much at that moment it’s a physical ache inside of me. Will I ever see him again? Eventually, John is going to want to have sex with me, and then what will he do? Will he kill me? I can’t imagine he’s going to let me go free afterward.

  “Dance,” he says.

  I have to waste as much time as I can. I’m still wearing my business pantsuit, a white blouse, my high heels. It’ll take some time to do a slow striptease.

  And then I’ll be in my underwear for him. I’m about to do an erotic dance for a psycho. Could I be any more of an idiot?

  “Dance,” he says again. His lips curve up, and then I realize he can sense my panic, and he’s seen through my ploy. He’s not stupid. He knows I’m not in love with him; that I haven’t been thinking of him, missing him. He’s playing me. Icy coldness slides through my veins.

  Wasting time is the only tactic I have, and I refuse to let this man see how frightened I am of him. I stand in front of him, fix my gaze on his, and begin to sway my hips to the music.

  His eyebrows rise as if he hadn’t expected me to go through with it. He sits up a little, and his gaze fixes on my breasts. The knife rests on his lap, forgotten, his hands on his knees, rubbing at his thighs as if his palms are damp.

  I unpop a couple of buttons on my shirt, hoping to keep his attention fixed on my breasts. My body moves automatically as the beat begins, my hips winding, calling, enticing. I’ve done this a thousand times, and while I dance, I think furiously about what to do. I’m not going to be able to dash past him; I’m sure he’s ready for that, and I’d never get the door open fast enough. Maybe I should break the window to get attention, but he could slit my throat before anyone comes. I could ask to go to the bathroom, but I doubt he’d let me close the door—he’d stand there and watch me, and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of doing that.

  I can’t honestly think what to do. I could try to grab the knife, but do I have the strength, the courage, to use it on him? Because he’ll rush me to get it back. I don’t want to anger him. I need to keep him as relaxed and unsuspecting as possible, even though he obviously knows this is all a ploy.

  The song changes to one with a slower beat, and I slow my movements, imagining it’s Leon sitting there, Leon I’m dancing for. It’s working—John’s eyes are glazed, his jaw is slack, and his chest rises and falls with his deep breaths. He must have dreamed about this, fantasized about having me dance for him alone, where there is no one to stop him having me afterward, going all the way. What am I going to do? He’s taller than me, heavier. If he gets me on the bed, I’m finished.

  My mouth has gone dry, but I dance, dip, stretch, wind. Every now and then I give him a little more; undo another button, slip off my jacket, take off my shoes, to keep him interested. I don’t want to strip, though. I don’t want him to see my underwear, the white lacy bra and panties Leon watched me don this morning.

  “Take off your blouse,” he says, his speech slurring a little, as if he’s drunk. I glance at his pants—he has an erection. Jesus. I’m in serious trouble.

  “Patience,” I scold, clenching my jaw after saying the word to stop my teeth chattering. I undo one more button, teasing him with the strip of skin he can see where the two sides of the blouse part.

  He stands then, suddenly, and tugs the blouse down my back. I squeal, and he laughs and sits down again. “That’s better.”

  I clutch the material to my breasts and stop dancing. I can’t go on with this. I’m not as brave as I thought. I can’t pretend I’m enjoying it. I’m scared, and I’m angry that I’m scared. I’m furious at him for showing me my weaknesses. I’m better than this.

  “Dance,” he says. When I don’t move, he yells, “Dance!”

  “No.” I don’t know where the courage comes from, but it rises inside me, swimming for the surface. I lift the blouse back onto my shoulders, clutching the material around me.

  He narrows his eyes and gets to his feet. The knife is in his hand. “You will do what I tell you,” he states, waving the blade at me.

  I’m shaking, but I lift my chin. Does he have the balls to use the knife? Maybe he does, but it’s worth the risk. I’m not going to let the threat of it make me compliant anymore. “I won’t. I’m done. You’re a fucking bully, and I’m not just going to stand here and perform for you and fulfil your perverted fantasy. If you’re going to rape me and kill me, fucking do it and get it over with, but I’ll fight you every step of the way, and I’ll scream my head off.”

  He moves closer to me and lifts the knife to my face. “I’ll cut you. I’ll carve my name in your skin.”

  “Fuck off.”

  He opens his mouth to reply, and then stares at me as, behi
nd him in the courtyard, there’s a sudden commotion. A squeal of tires, car doors slamming, feet running across the tarmac.

  “Nicola!” someone yells. “Nicola!”

  It’s Leon.

  John turns his head to look out of the curtain-covered window.

  While he’s distracted, with all my strength, I jerk up my knee into his balls. It takes him by surprise, and he doubles over with a groan.

  Outside, I hear voices, someone saying, “Twelve, Leon, they said he’s in twelve,” and then the door crashes in under the weight of two men, who stumble into the room—Leon and Hal. John spins around, still clutching his crotch, and he brings up the knife. I squeal a warning, but Leon comes for him anyway. He barrages into him, sending the knife skittering across the floor, and then he draws his arm back and gives John a right hook with such force I’m surprised I don’t see his teeth fall out like one of those wind-up pairs of false teeth you see in joke shops.

  John crumples to the floor, unmoving. Hal’s immediately on top of him, and Leon turns and strides over to me.

  “Nicola.” He takes my face in his hands. His own is ashen. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  I shake my head, tears pouring down my cheeks. “I’m all right.”

  “He didn’t…”

  “No. You got here just in time.”

  “Oh thank God. I love you. I love you so much.” He rubs his thumbs over my cheeks, then lowers his head and kisses me. There’s a world of longing in the kiss—it’s an apology, a declaration of love, a promise for the future, all rolled into one, and I melt against him, then bury my face in his neck when he finally lifts his head and wraps his arms around me.

  Outside, sirens cut through the air as several police cars draw up, and the room fills with people. I glance over at John—Hal’s been sitting astride him; no wonder he couldn’t get up. From the blood on his face, I think Hal’s given him another punch or two. Albie’s talking to the cops. They come in and Hal gets up, and the police officers lift John and take him out.