Billionaires and Bad Boys: The Complete 7-Book Box Set

by Nikki Chase

  “I just don't like seeing you getting all hung up on some stripper you slept with eons ago. Strippers do that, you know. Just ghost people and disappear without a trace. Doesn't mean all girls will do that to you. Try some other profession next time. Say, a hairdresser, or a teacher.”

  I burst into laughter. Fuck, if he only knew how close he's gotten to the truth…

  “Hey, I'm trying to have a serious conversation here,” Matt says with a big shit-eating grin on his face.

  “Yeah, whatever,” I say as I peer above the laptop screen, past the horizontal slats of the white plastic blinds covering the window. Jessica’s car rattles as it pulls up into her driveway.

  I can see her emerge from the car, between the slats of the blinds. And damn, does she look good. She’s wearing a dress tonight, which doesn’t happen often. I get up to take a closer look before I realize the earbuds in my ears are still plugged into my laptop.

  “Hang on,” I tell Matt as I take off the earphones and stand in my usual spot right behind the blinds.

  This particular window faces Jessica’s house, which is one of the reasons I like working here. I can see her come and go while I sit in front of the computer.

  I position my eyes between two slats to get a clear view of Jessica.

  She’s wearing a black, snug dress that shows off the tantalizing outline of her curves. There is some lace above her chest, through which I can see some of her creamy skin peeking through. The heels she’s wearing exaggerates the sway of her hips. It’s almost hypnotizing.

  My hands are itching to yank her dress off so I can take a good look at her full, perky tits, her narrow waist, and her curvy ass. Jessica is not a tall woman, but she packs a lot of curves in her otherwise slender, petite body.

  In my imagination, Jessica’s looking at me seductively, batting her eyelashes as her full lips form a small smile. I pull the hem of her dress up to see nude stockings that go halfway up her thighs, with a garter belt and suspenders holding them up.

  I slip my hand down her panties and find her wet and ready. She moans and begs for more, as her long, fiery red hair is tangled in my hand. I pull until it hurts, forcing her to tilt her head so I can bite hard on her neck.

  In reality, Jessica is like five yards away, and yet I can feel myself growing in my sweatpants. The soft fabric clearly outlines my hard cock. I reach my hand down to stroke myself. I’m so fucking glad I live alone right now.

  It feels like I’m watching her move in slow motion, the way my eyes take in every small detail of the way she looks tonight. The magic is broken when she gets inside her car and slams the door close hurriedly.

  I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s almost seven. There’s not much time left until the market opens. Definitely not enough time left for me to take care of myself.

  Then I look at the laptop.

  Fuck, I’m still on a video call with Matt. Jesus. He’d never shut up about it if he sees me jerking off while creeping on my neighbor. I’d never live it down.

  Luckily, the monitor and the webcam face away from the window where I’m standing.

  I stick the earphones back in and take a seat, careful to keep my erection off camera. “Sorry man, I had to take care of something.”

  “Hmm… You look suspicious as hell.” Matt leans closer, no doubt to scrutinize my expression.

  “Whatever.” I laugh it off. “Hey it's almost time. I should go.”

  “Okay. Talk soon.”

  “Bye now.” I end the call.

  As much as I consider Matt as my family, I don't like the way he was pushing for me to talk about my girl problems. Fuck that. I don't have girl problems. Girls have me problems. I chuckle at my own joke.

  On the screen, I pull up my work window. Things are looking good tonight. This makes me feel better about not having time to take care of the boner in my pants. I dive into it and, before I realize it, two hours have flown by.

  My knees feel stiff and my ass hurts from sitting for so long. I hear sitting too much is supposed to be as unhealthy as smoking now, so I’ve apparently traded one unhealthy habit for another.

  I get up to straighten my legs, but just as I’m about to head to the kitchen to grab some food, I hear something outside.

  It’s Jessica’s voice. She sounds frantic.

  I stop everything as I perk up my ears to listen.

  “Max! Where are you? Help! Someone!”

  Jessica

  Stan sat beside his lawyer, glowering at me. He looked ridiculous in his orange jumpsuit, but somehow also more menacing.

  “What is the nature of the relationship between Mr. Harris and Miss Jones, to the best of your knowledge?” The prosecutor, Perry Davis, looked straight at me and nodded, encouraging me to repeat the same facts I’d told him again and again before the trial.

  “I believe they were boyfriend and girlfriend,” I said into the mic, keeping my gaze locked on Perry, a man in his forties with premature grey hair and kind eyes.

  “So they were lovers,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you say that they had a turbulent relationship?”

  “Yes. I’ve walked into them arguing before.”

  “Objection, your honor,” Stan’s lawyer said. “All couples have arguments. The fact that Miss Lewis has seen Mr. Harris and Miss Jones having a lovers’ quarrel doesn’t say anything about the quality or dynamics of their relationship.”

  In my periphery vision, I could see Stan still glaring at me. I could feel the heat of his anger penetrating my cool exterior. A shiver ran down my spine. The room felt cold even though we were in the middle of an unusually hot summer.

  “Overruled,” the judge said.

  My heart pounded against my rib cage. My fingers started to shake, and I hid them behind the wooden witness stand so Stan wouldn’t see my anxiety.

  “Miss Lewis,” Perry said, catching my gaze and smiling when I looked up to see him. “How often would you say these arguments are?”

  “I don’t know. Nancy never told me. I only accidentally saw them sometimes at the club’s dressing room.”

  “This is the club owned by Mr. Harris, where both you and Miss Jones were working?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many times have you seen them fight in the dressing room?”

  “I don’t keep count.”

  “Would you say it’s every week maybe, or every month?”

  “More like every two weeks.”

  “Have you seen these fights turn violent, Miss Lewis?”

  “Yes.” I stared into Perry’s eyes, ignoring the soft gasps from the audience. It was like I had tunnel vision, the way I only saw Perry clearly and everything else turned into a blur.

  “Can you tell the court more about these violent altercations?”

  “Once, I saw Stan’s hands around Nancy’s neck. He was strangling her.” My mouth was working on autopilot.

  My mind went blank and all I was doing was reciting the testimony I’d already gone through multiple times. It was like my whole body was gripped by a cold, giant, slimy snake that wrapped itself tighter and tighter around my body, depriving my lungs of air and my brain of coherent thoughts.

  “Anything else?”

  “Nancy sometimes showed up to work with bruises.”

  “Objection, your honor. The injuries Miss Lewis refer to may have been caused by anything,” said Stan’s lawyer in a loud voice, which almost made me jump in surprise. I’d never spoken directly with the guy, but I hated his guts.

  “Retained,” the judge decided.

  “Have you seen Mr. Harris behave aggressively, or violently, toward Miss Jones?”

  “Yes. Stan would sometimes corner Nancy and intimidate her until she was shaking in fear.” I made the mistake of glancing in Stan’s direction as I said his name out loud, not knowing that what I was about to see was going to haunt my dreams and keep me on edge for months to come.

  “You. Are. Fucked.” Stan mouthed each word
slowly, wordlessly, making sure that I’d understood, but without letting anyone else realize he’d just threatened me. He held my gaze hostage and snarled, smirking cruelly when I recoiled in fear.

  I try to shake off my ugly thoughts about the trial that happened last year, just before I moved to Ashbourne. I refocus my attention onto the road, but it’s hard to keep my mind still when I’m just driving through familiar streets that I already know like the back of my hand.

  I’d been pretty good at forgetting my past and focusing on building a new life for me here, but that was when there were no reminders of my past walking around in town. I could pretend everything was normal, act like I was really just another underpaid teacher in a sleepy little town. Like I didn’t have a dark secret following me around.

  I was already nervous when Jacob moved into town. I’d suspected him of being related to Stan somehow, but I quickly ruled that out.

  Stan wouldn’t have prolonged things—that’s not his style. If Jacob were working for Stan, he would’ve overpowered me when he saw me by the side of the road last week and taken me back to Stan’s men. Instead, he fixed my car without asking for anything in return.

  Sometimes I get a strange feeling like he’s watching me, but there’s no reason why Stan would just keep an eye on me instead of just kidnapping me.

  Still, it’s probably a good idea to stay away from Jacob, seeing as he knows about my past as a stripper and I don’t want that information to get out. Even if he doesn’t end up taking me back to Stan, if word gets out I could lose my job in a blink.

  And now, there’s Steve. A random Tinder date. Tactless, stuck up, and condescending, but not a danger. At least that’s what I thought until he brought up having seen me in San Francisco.

  He seems too tame, too soft, to be one of Stan’s men. But even if he isn’t, bad things could happen if he started digging into my background. If he has, in fact, seen me at the club, he could call them to ask about me. If the club knows where Steve is calling from, it would only be a matter of time until Stan’s guys paid me visit.

  I turn onto my street. As my house comes into view, I notice all the lights are off. Strange. I usually keep at least the light on the porch on. Maybe the lightbulb needs to be changed. I think I still have a spare one in the closet.

  As I pull up into my driveway, it occurs to me that I usually would’ve had the light on in the living room as well, but my house is completely dark.

  Could it be a power outage?, I think to myself, trying to stay positive. But all my neighbors’ houses are as bright as they usually are.

  My electricity bills are paid automatically. They just withdraw the amount I owe from my bank account each month so I never miss a payment. There’s no way the electricity company has turned off my power.

  I switch off the ignition but keep the headlights on, letting the beams slice through the ominous darkness. How can my house, normally a place of safety and comfort, suddenly seem so alien and sinister?

  I get out of my car. Just as I’m about to grab my keys from inside my bag, I realize my front door is open. Because the door is black, I didn’t notice that before.

  Shit.

  My hands grow clammy as cold sweat and goose bumps cover the surface of my skin. Even though the air is clear, it’s hard to breath. I make the motions I usually do to inhale and exhale, but air wouldn’t enter my lungs. My heart races as I wonder what could’ve happened here.

  I get as far as my porch before I take one look down the dark hallway and decide it’s not a good idea to enter on my own.

  If it’s Stan, then I should run like hell. If it’s a burglary, they can take whatever they want—it’s not like I have anything of value in there. The only thing I’d miss…

  Max.

  Where could he be?

  I back away from my own front door, the wooden floor of the porch creaking as I step back down the stairs. I walk toward the street, my hands shaking as I fumble in my bag, trying to find my phone so I can call 911.

  “Max! Where are you?” I scream into the night, looking left and right, hoping to see a furry creature with floppy ears and a long, pink tongue sticking out of his mouth. I pull out my phone.

  Panic grips me as I realize there’s not a soul on the street and nobody would even see me if one of Stan’s men were to grab me right now.

  “Help! Someone!”

  Jacob

  Adrenaline pumps into my blood. I grab a key from my desk drawer and open the locked cabinet to get my Kimber .40 Smith & Wesson. I load the pistol and quickly take an extra mag, just in case.

  Jessica’s not screaming anymore, but I can hear her saying something in a shrill, urgent voice. She strikes me as the kind of woman who would take care of her own shit as much as she can. The fact that she’s now literally screaming for help in the street must mean something serious is happening.

  With urgency, I tear open my front door. And there she is, looking as radiant as she did a couple hours ago in the same stunning dress. Under the full moon and the dim yellow street lights, she’s holding her phone up to her ear, her head turning this way and that. She looks confused and disorientated. And scared.

  I rush to her side, glancing at her house as I do. It’s completely dark next door. That’s unusual, but not a reason to panic on its own.

  “Yes. Yes. Okay, thank you,” Jessica says into the phone. Her eyes are wide with fear as she turns to look at me.

  “What happened?” I ask as soon as she hangs up.

  “I… I don’t know. I came home and everything was dark. The door. It was open. I… I can’t find Max,” she says, stumbling all over her words. I place one hand on her shoulder to help calm her down. She’s shaking, I realize. She picks at her own dress as the blood rushing in her veins triggers her fight-or-flight instinct and make her antsy.

  “Max?” I pull my brows together and level my gaze at her. Is Max a boyfriend? The guy she went out with earlier?

  “My dog,” she says.

  I breathe a sigh of relief, although I’m not sure why. Is it because at least the potential victim is not human? Or is it because I’m glad she doesn’t have a boyfriend? Because if it was the second reason, that would be pretty messed up, even by my standards. This is hardly the time.

  “Was there anyone else in your house? Does anybody have the key?”

  “No, the house was empty. Except for Max. Oh God, do you think he might be hurt?” She’s acting like the dog is the most important thing in the world right now, when a criminal could’ve entered her home and hurt her. Good thing she was out of the house.

  “Does anybody have the key to your house?” I repeat.

  “No. I mean yes. Tony has a copy, but he wouldn’t have come without calling me first.”

  “Just now, on the phone. That was the police?” I’m dying to find out more about this Tony, who I can safely assume is human, but I ignore both Tony and Max for now. I need to take care of what really matters. The perpetrator may still be in the house.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. They’re coming?”

  “Yes. They said they were going to send someone.” Jessica’s breathing is slowing down. Her fingers still fidget, but at least now she can focus on answering my questions. During a crisis, it’s common for people to calm down when there’s a task in front of them, especially if they feel like they’re actively doing something to fix the situation.

  “Listen. Scarl—Jessica. I’m going to sweep through your house right now. It doesn’t look like anybody’s inside right now. If there was somebody, he would’ve likely left by now. But just to be safe, you should go to my house and stay inside. Okay?” I look into her eyes to make sure she understands. Even simple directions can seem confusing to someone who’s not thinking clearly.

  “But Max is—“

  “I’ll find Max for you,” I say, cutting her off mid-sentence. She’s starting to get on my nerves. Honestly, she needs to quit worrying about the dog and start thinking about herself. �
�If he’s in there, I’ll get him out. But it’s not safe for you to be here. Whoever it was that broke in may have been looking for you.”

  Fear flashes in her eyes. Yes. Finally, she’s getting it.

  “Get inside my house now. Lock the door. Stay inside until the cops get here.” I pull my gun out of the waistband of my jeans. When I take one last look at her, I realize I should’ve done that from the beginning. Seeing the gun seems to have made her realize the gravity of the situation.

  She blinks a few times before her gaze falls on my face. She nods rapidly and makes her way into my house as quickly as her high-heel shoes would allow.

  As I move toward the front door, I look around to check if anybody’s lurking in the shadows. With only the moonlight and the car headlights to brighten my surroundings, I can’t see much. I listen for footsteps, perhaps some rustling in the grass or the sound of twigs breaking, but there’s nothing.

  The floorboards of the deck creak as I approach the front door. Jessica’s right; it’s wide open. There’s no damage on the door, which at first glance would suggest that whoever Tony is, he’s the one who has dropped Jessica a visit. But Jessica has an older door with a shitty lock that can easily be pried opened with a simple slide of a credit card.

  If there was someone at the time Jessica came home, he would’ve left when she started screaming. Most burglars aren’t violent and would rather run away than escalate the situation by assaulting the homeowner. The latter would only increase their risk of getting a harsh sentence if they get caught.

  Besides, there are always other houses to raid. Most burglars are pretty mercenary; they see their work as an entrepreneurial enterprise and constantly reassess their risks and rewards.

  I turn on the lights as I check the rooms in the house one by one. The kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, and the two bedrooms. It doesn’t take long.

  “Max!” I feel like an idiot yelling in an empty house. Although I’ve checked the house, a dog could hide in small spaces where a human wouldn’t fit. Hearing his name being called could draw the dog out.