Heart Thief (Black Market Billionaire Book 1)

by Skylar Sweeney

  “Is it good to confess these things to the person whose goal in life is to make you miserable?” Mason said, looking at me like I was an idiot. Because she was totally the goddess of espionage. “I could be recording you.”

  “White noise generator on the wall,” I said, pointing at the decorative clock that wasn’t a clock. “Oh, yeah, and also I have your phone.” I should probably give that back to her before I forgot. I reached into my desk, pulling it out, complete with rainbow unicorn case.

  “How the hell did you get my phone?!” she shrieked, grabbing at it and hugging it like a lost lover. Someone liked her social media. “I know I had it after they searched my bag!”

  “Yeah, you just didn’t have it after you came close to getting wet between the legs—by that, I mean, you nearly fell on your ass in a public fountain and my boy Valentine caught you.”

  “The cute janitor?” she said, making my eyes narrow slightly at the words. I wondered if she ever described me as the cute… heart thief? “He stole my phone? So much for work keeping him out of prison.”

  “They wouldn’t be able to keep him in, anyway,” I said with a shrug. “He’s too good with security systems. The kid is nuts, but he’s a master of computers. Gotta love how genius and crazy always seem to come hand in hand. Don’t be too mad about the phone. He steals everyone’s. He took mine, too.”

  “Why?” she said, looking confused.

  Because he’d been trained in intelligence work by Jones since he was six years old. “Because he can? Look on the bright side. When I got mine back, everything was the same, but the operating system ran twice as fast. I bet yours will, too. You might have more long distance minutes, too.”

  “Great,” she muttered, stuffing it into her purse with a scowl.

  “So, are you taking the job or not?” I asked, more than ready to get to the bathroom and have a little fun with my left hand. Damn her pouty lips. “Because I do actually have other things to do today than sit here and watch you pout.”

  Her pouting increased, along with my hard-on. “Yes, I’m taking the job.”

  “Brilliant,” I said. “Can you start tomorrow? Eight o’clock?”

  “Works for me,” she said.

  “Great,” I said, standing up. “Come with me, and I’ll show you to your office.”

  She licked her lips, and I just about went crazy, which resulted in what had to be the biggest erection I’d had since she’d visited me in lockup.

  “Let’s go,” she said vaguely, eyes obviously distracted by the very large erection bulging from the front of my pants. Sorry, sweetheart, but there wasn’t anything I could do about that.

  Her eyes were still focused on my cock as I led her next door to the office set up for my assistant, and I winced as I noticed that Joey’s things had never been removed.

  The downside of firing through your secretary with a bullet instead of simply firing him: You have to clear out his office yourself.

  “Sorry about the mess. We had to get rid of my last assistant after we caught him stealing coffee filters from the supply cabinet,” I explained as I moved over to the desk and perched on the edge, deciding to go with a polite version of the truth. “Not that I give a damn about the coffee filters, considering I make millions of dollars a year and the things came from Costco. But Mrs. Cho is in charge of monitoring office supplies.”

  It never hurt to slip in a little warning about Mrs. Cho.

  “Mind you, she gave herself that job. And she doesn’t take it well when things disappear.”

  “Uh-oh, is the guy still alive?” Mason said, and I gave her a sharp look. Surely she didn’t know about Schumer? No, if she knew I killed on cue, she wouldn’t be here, trying to infiltrate my office. Right?

  “I refused to let her shoot him for stealing the filters,” I said, which was entirely true. Instead, I’d had Jones shoot him for raping a child. “I’m going to give you a very important warning that could have a serious impact on your future in this company.”

  "What’s that?” Mason replied, her voice breathy and her eyes wide. So sexy. Screw her little con. I had to have that.

  “Never use more than three sheets of toilet paper at a time. Last week I made the mistake of using four—apparently Mrs. Cho marks them like they’re dirty money—and she barged into my office while I was meeting with a general from the Department of Defense.”

  I’d leave out the fact that the general was also her ex-husband.

  “I was informed that if I ever use more than three sheets at once again, she will remove all the rolls from the restroom and place laxatives in my tea.”

  She’d also said she would remove my own feces from the toilet and feed them to me, but I’d leave that part out since my intent was to make her laugh, not puke.

  Mason began to giggle, covering her pretty face with her delicate hands. So adorable. And it definitely would be funny, if Mrs. Cho hadn’t meant every word she said. “Wow,” she said after a minute. “What did the general think of that?”

  That he was damn glad the divorce papers went through so fast.

  “General Wong said she reminded him of his ex-wife,” I said dryly. My phone buzzed twice in my pocket, paused, buzzed three times, paused, then buzzed twice again, a reminder of our emergency meeting for the Brotherhood. Topic: Mason Dansley.

  I stood, flashing her a smile.

  “I have to get back to work, but I’ll have someone who is not Mrs. Cho meet you tomorrow to help you get settled in.”

  I headed toward the door, then paused as she made a noise and held up a hand.

  “Hey, do I need a security pass or something? I notice you have a lot of security. And a lot of guns, too.”

  Oh yes, we had a lot of guns. Big guns, too. The kind that made tiny ladies like her beg for us to stop when all they really wanted was more.

  “Yes, you will. There are a lot of high security areas in the Brotherhood Building, so we have top of the line security.”

  I paused, pulling back my jacket to reveal my .357 Desert Eagle.

  “Also, Sonny has a small case of paranoia and a massive love for firearms,” I added, though it was a lie. He wasn’t paranoid at all. We shot people all the time. He did love guns, though. “No worries, though. Everyone who carries here is very well trained and licensed. You have nothing to worry about.” I smirked, more than ready to freak her the hell out. “Unless you’re planning to rob us of our supply of Xanax or kidnap my favorite lab tech.”

  Oh yeah, the terror on that face was more than real.

  I let my fingers run down my gun, stroking it a way no man ever needs to be stroking his semi-automatic, and I let a wicked smile grow on my face.

  Mason sucked in a breath, body shivering, and I gave her a wink.

  “You want to touch it?” Because I’d be more than happy to pull ‘it’ out.

  “No,” she whispered, eyes flickering between my actual gun and the one between my legs. “I… I’m afraid of guns.”

  My eyebrows shot up, and I had to hide my amusement. “Afraid of guns? Oh, you are a sweet girl, aren’t you?” I reached out and caressed her cheek the same way I’d been touching my gun. Like she was my property. God, she was beautiful. “How long has it been since you touched a gun?”

  “I’ve never touched a real gun,” she replied, putting heavy emphasis on ‘real gun’ so I didn’t confuse it with ‘dick.’

  I held back a laugh, nodding sagely. “You’re sure you don’t want to touch it?”

  Oh, she totally wanted to touch it. Dick, gun, whatever, she wanted to put her hands all over it. I could tell from the way her breath was coming in sharp gasps and her eyes were shining.

  “I’m good,” she finally said.

  “Okay then,” I said with a shrug as I stepped back, acting like offering to let people fondle my weapons in the office was an everyday activity for me. “I’ll have your security pass made. Feel free to dream of my gun tonight.” Because I’d be stroking it in her honor all night. />
  The girl was almost positively here to try and ruin me, but, boy, did I want her to touch my damn gun.

  chapter THREE

  BEST FRENEMY

  -REX-

  I tapped my foot nervously as the hotel elevator slowly climbed, more than ready to get this meeting over and done with. At least we were having it at Charming’s Slipper and not in one of the Brotherhood Building offices, where our mysterious hacker was desperate to breach security.

  With its official title of gentlemen’s club and escort bar, Charming’s might seem like the least secure place on earth to host our meetings, but if there’s one thing I’d learned from my years doing intelligence gigs, it was that the moment you underestimate the busty woman in the red dress or the scrawny man-boy in the sparkly shirt is when you find yourself at the coroner’s office with a name tag tied to your big toe.

  At least that’s how it tends to go when your local gentleman’s club is actually a facade for a group of internationally distinguished assassins, mercenaries, and enforcers. Something that made it a damn safe place to have your talks when you couldn’t see the man lurking over your shoulder but knew he was there, gun in hand. Or in this case, laptop in hand.

  The elevator doors slid open as we finally hit the floor where Charming’s Slipper was located, and I let out a sigh as I came face to face with Sonny, who was wearing his equivalent of an amused expression. In other words, his lip was twitching.

  “Hello, brother, how did the wooing of your imaginary girlfriend go?”

  “Oh, shut up,” I muttered, shoving past him and heading off toward the main bar area. Charming’s was nothing if not charming, but that was expected since Conner had been the one who decorated it, and my Brother had damn good style sense. The bar was classy and elegant, designed to appeal to rich men: dark leather furniture, shiny bar tops, dim lights, hand crafted billiard tables, and beautiful women. Personally, I preferred my flowers and cushy sofas, but whatever. I was a pussy like that.

  The beautiful women were fine with me, except that all the ones who worked at Charming’s had been trained by Family, and my number one rule of thumb in life was don’t sleep with fellow recruits. Being trained since before puberty in military tactics, reconnoissance, interrogation, and a variety of other skills that would help you be a better ‘independent intelligence contractor' when you grew up did not tend to make you a fantastic sexual partner. There was something about having two exceptionally paranoid, violent maniacs in one relationship that tended to ruin the mood.

  “It’s always been obvious you have quite the affection for Mason,” Sonny continued, intent on driving me nuts with his insistence that I had some sort of crazy crush on Mason, “but I honestly didn’t expect you to fondle your gun right in front of her.” His voice was dry, but I knew he was laughing his ass off on the inside. He didn’t believe in things like smiles, but I could see it in his eyes.

  “I said to shut up,” I snarled, hoping my face didn’t look as hot as it felt right now.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t,” Sonny said with a shake of his head as he typed in the entry code to the private VIP room. “Because we’re going to need you to keep playing your little boss and secretary game. Preferably all the way to the bedroom.”

  My mouth dropped open as I followed him through the door. Jones was standing just inside, his muscular form dressed in nothing but a wife-beater tee and a pair of boxers covered in smiling sprinkle donuts.

  “The snow glows white on the mountain tonight,” Jones said in a growling tone that almost made me want to cower, despite the fact that he was half a foot shorter than I am. What can I say? Interrogation was his specialty, and he knew how to make a man shiver.

  “Let the storm rage on,” Sonny replied in his usual monotone.

  “Your all clear sign is now lyrics from Frozen?” I said in disbelief. “I don’t know if I should laugh or cry at how scary you two can make a Disney tune sound.”

  “This is what happens when the most dangerous men in the city become dads and PE teachers,” Conner noted from his spot behind the bar, and I chuckled, nodding my agreement.

  “Why are you in only your underwear?” I asked Jones as he shut the door behind me.

  “Clothes got bloody,” he replied as he headed for the bar, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and the glass Conner slid toward him.

  I winced, wondering who died and how painfully, at least until he completed the comment.

  “Sammy Tucker got a bloody nose at T-ball practice.” Jones grinned proudly as he tossed back a glass of overpriced single malt. “My team is top in the summer league.”

  Right. He was talking about his coaching, not his killing.

  I glanced around the room. Kit was sitting at the bar, your definitive upscale artist sipping a martini in a fedora (that hid his very cool afro) and an extra-slim suit, while Conner still stood behind it, sticking dildos in random spots between liquor bottles. Did he buy those things in bulk or something?

  Valentine was sitting with a laptop on one of the leather couches, hopefully working on something other than watching porn, while Brawn reclined on a loveseat looking like the perfect politician, complete with American flag lapel pin and Columbian cigar in hand. Never mind that he committed treason on a regular basis. Somehow he still received a majority vote every time.

  “It looks like we’re all here,” I said, “so does someone want to explain to me exactly why you guys want me to become D.J. Sexual Harassment with Mason Dansley? Because I’m really not cool with that idea.”

  It was true that I wasn’t cool with the idea logically, but my cock seemed perfectly fine with it, surprise, surprise.

  “I was able to trace back the job listing,” Valentine said, typing with one hand as he picked his nose with the other. “I didn’t get a physical location, but the coding style is definitely the same as the hacker who’s been trying to break into our system.”

  “Sonny mentioned that,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “So we confront Mason, and all’s well again.”

  “Except we still won’t know who is behind these continuous attacks on the building and, more importantly, on Angela’s Lab,” Sonny said. “Information that Mason may be able to provide.”

  “I dunno about that,” Valentine said, frowning. “It is possible that she somehow found the listing after the hacker posted it. I’m pretty sure she’s here to murder Mr. Rex.” He paused, brow wrinkling. “Or possibly to fuck him? I’m not sure which. Both, maybe?”

  “Val, we’ve talked about this,” Jones said in the patient, fatherly sort of voice he liked to use when speaking to that miniature maniac he thought of as his personal project. “Normal people do not think about murdering people and having sex with them at the same time.”

  Valentine nodded slowly. “I know, Mr. Jones, but I’m fairly sure that she actually was. Trust me, I know the look.”

  “Gee, that’s not disturbing at all,” Conner said in a dry tone.

  “It’s obvious that Mason is here for some kind of scheme,” Sonny said. “Considering her feelings toward Rex, there is absolutely no way she would be here for a job alone. The chances of her coincidentally finding a listing for a job at his office that was posted by the same hacker who is after us and deciding to use it for her own purposes—which could very well be anything from acquisition of information to murder—is so unlikely it might as well be listed up there with a Kardashian becoming a nun.”

  “But do you honestly believe that she is assisting terrorists breaking into Angela’s Lab?” I said doubtfully. “That seems highly unlikely to me.”

  “Rex, think about it,” Sonny said in an irritated tone. “If the contents of that lab are stolen, what happens to you?”

  “I don’t know,” I snapped. “I’m totally fucked?”

  “Exactly,” he said, looking at me like I was the biggest idiot in the world—which I probably was when compared to him. “You’re legally responsible for the safety of what’s in that laboratory.
The Department Of Defense could send you to federal prison for losing it.”

  Ugh, I hate prison. The beds the government provides aren’t long enough for guys my height.

  “And nothing would make Mason happier,” I finished with a sigh. The man had a point. A good point. He’s not the sort you play chess with. But still… “She’s not a criminal, Sonny, much less an intelligence operative. She doesn’t have our contacts. Her best friend is a fucking social worker. The word ‘terrorist’ makes her flinch. How could she have gotten tangled up in this mess?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, and that is the reason you need to continue your little game and get close to her. To find out.”

  I let out a frustrated sound. “This is not a good idea. Mason’s just a normal woman. Being around me could put her in some serious danger. And sleeping with me? That never turns out well with anyone who’s not being paid. I always manage to do something to scare them away, which I don’t understand, considering I’m such a fucking pussy.”

  Sonny rolled his eyes. “Will you please stop quoting your father?"

  "He did cry like a baby when he watched My Fair Lady," Jones said in amusement. "Who the hell is scared of a man who cries over 1960s romantic musicals?”

  “Or watches them at all,” Conner added dryly, making a decent point.

  “He also completely destroyed Hannah’s hands by smashing them into tiny pieces with a hammer in the middle of a fucking Walmart,” Sonny noted.

  “She hit Greta,” I growled, glaring at him.

  Sonny raised his hands up defensively. “I’m not saying it wasn’t deserved. I appreciate you protecting my daughter from her psychotic bitch of a mother. I’m simply stating that it could have been done somewhere other than in the middle of America’s largest big box store in front of seventeen security cameras, forty witnesses, and an off-duty police officer doing security guard work.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest again, scowling. “I was angry. Greta had a bruise.”