The Alpha Billionaire Club Trilogy

by Alexa Wilder

  “So that’s it? I don’t get a say?”

  “Emma,” Axel growled, “I’m trying to keep you alive. Sergey Tsepov wants to meet with me, face to face. I can’t afford to have you anywhere nearby when that happens. I need you gone.”

  I tried not to feel like Axel had stabbed me through the heart. I wanted to believe he meant that he wanted me safe and away from any threat. I was sure that was what he meant. But his words scored my heart. I need you gone.

  I wasn’t a fool. If Axel thought I needed to get out of town, I’d go. I wanted to stay alive, with or without Axel at my side.

  An hour later, I was boarding a small plane, a duffel bag in each hand, with the sun rising in the sky at my back. To my surprise, Griffen was waiting for me, a can of soda in his hand. He pulled the door closed and pushed me in the direction of a seat, taking my bags and stowing them in the back of the plane.

  “Put your chair back and get some sleep, Emma,” he said. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  I didn’t believe him. Without Axel, nothing was okay.

  34

  Emma

  I would have sworn that there was no way I could fall asleep on the plane as we taxied down the runway and lifted off into the air, leaving the bright lights of Las Vegas behind. Leaving Axel behind. I was too keyed up. My chest was tight with anxiety, a sour knot was lodged in my stomach, and I was off-balance without Axel by my side.

  Having Griffen there was a comfort, but as nice as he was, it wasn't the same as being with Axel. Once we were in the air, Griffen got up, went to the front of the plane, and came back with a drink. Handing it to me, he said, “Rum and Coke. You need to relax. It’s going to be a long flight."

  I didn't protest. A rum and Coke wouldn't have been my drink of choice at that moment, but I didn't argue and I drank it down in one shot. Griffen had mixed a strong drink. Not too long after I finished it, with the alcohol to relax me, my eyelids began to droop. Griffen took a blanket down from a storage compartment and handed it to me, saying, “Get some sleep. It's going to be a long flight."

  "What will happen when we get there?" I asked, unfolding the blanket and wrapping it around my body, tucking myself into the plush seat.

  "What did Axel tell you?” Griffen asked.

  “Just that he needed to get me out of town and that it wasn't safe to be near him now that Tsepov was paying him so much attention. He said he was sending me to a friend. I can't remember his name."

  "Jacob Meyers."

  "You know him?” The way Griffen had said his name felt more businesslike than someone talking about a friend.

  “By reputation," Griffen said. "But I do know he went to school with the Sinclairs, and they've all known each other practically since the cradle. Jacob is in real estate. From what I've heard, he owns a good chunk of Atlanta, on top of developments all over the southeast. Sinclair Security set up his building, which is also where he lives, and it's one of the most secure places in Atlanta outside of the Sinclair properties. It's known that Jacob is friends with the Sinclairs, but he's not a business associate. He's not in security or protection, so it's unlikely that Tsepov or the FBI will look for you there. Sending you to Jacob is the safest Axel can make you right now."

  “Okay," I said. It wasn't okay. I didn't want to go to Jacob Meyers, whoever he was. I wanted to be with Axel. But I wasn't a child, and I knew by now that I couldn't always have my way. Axel wanted me safe. This was the best way he thought he could protect me, and I wouldn't argue about it.

  That didn't mean I had to like it. More than going to a stranger, what I really hated was leaving Axel behind with Tsepov. The thought of Axel—my Axel—sitting down with a killer and playing a game with him, when everything I'd heard about Sergey Tsepov was that you didn't play games with that man, froze my heart.

  If something happened to Axel, I didn't think I could stand it, especially if it happened because he was protecting me. The thought of Axel close to the Russian mobster had my stomach rolling. I took a deep breath, grasping for calm. I had to hold it together. I had to be strong. When all of this was over, I was going to curl up and have a big, long cry. But not yet. Not until everyone I loved was safe.

  Even after a strong rum and Coke, I didn't think I could fall asleep. I must have, because I opened my eyes what felt like days later to the sound of voices—Griffen’s familiar voice, and another, a man who spoke in clipped sentences, his voice smooth and deep.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard Griffen say, "I have to go, Emma. Jacob’s here. He’ll take care of you. Listen to what he says and be careful."

  He was gone before I could force my eyes open. I struggled to sit up, tangled in the blanket. When I pushed it down to my waist and opened my eyes, I was confronted with the sight of a stranger. He sat in the seat opposite mine with his elbows braced on his knees, studying my face with arresting silver eyes framed with thick black lashes.

  I blinked the sleep out of my eyes, trying to take in his sudden appearance. Now that I was alert, or at least conscious, he rose out of his leaning position and held out a hand.

  “Jacob Meyers," he said. “It’s nice to meet you, Emma Wright.”

  He was polite but not flirtatious, and I was head over heels for Axel Sinclair. Still, as Jacob Meyers shook my hand, I felt myself blush. There was something overwhelming about him. I could tell from the way he filled the airplane seat that he was tall, with broad shoulders and a body that looked fit beneath his perfectly cut charcoal suit.

  His eyes were a shade that could only be called silver. Too light to be gray and without a hint of blue, they were magnetic. His hair was dark, almost black, and he wore it a little too long, curling around his ears and the back of his neck. A chunk fell down over his forehead and I wanted to brush it back. Idly, with my brain still waking up, I wondered how many women had that same urge. Taking in Jacob Myers's confidence and self-assurance, I bet all of them. He looked like a man who was used to handling the attention of women.

  I broke eye contact and stood up, folding the blanket to keep my hands busy as I asked, “So what do we do now? Axel didn't tell me much."

  Jacob followed my lead and stood up as well, bending forward a little in the compact airplane cabin. "I'm going to take you back to my place," he said. "I can bring you in through the underground garage—I had the cameras temporarily shut down. No one will know where you are. No one will see you come in, and there won’t be a record of your entering the building. You’ll stay in my penthouse until Axel gives us the all-clear. We'll let Axel and Evers do what they have to do, and hopefully, you won't be under house arrest for too long."

  “All right," I said. None of it was really all right, but I didn't have a better suggestion. I was a human resources director. I wasn’t going to try to out-think the security experts.

  I followed Jacob to the door of the plane. A small flight of stairs led from the airplane door down to the tarmac. Just in front of the base of the stairs, I saw a cargo van, the kind used for deliveries, though this one had no writing or logo on the side. It was newish and clean, plain white, with nothing to distinguish itself—completely generic and unnoticeable.

  Jacob gave me a hand as I climbed in the back. I was surprised to see carpeted benches along the walls. They didn't look comfortable, but they were better than sitting on the floor. My two bags were already waiting for me. At the sight of those duffel bags, familiar and reminding me of Axel, my eyes teared up.

  I missed him. Jacob seemed nice enough, and if I weren't already Axel's, I would probably be panting after him. He was ridiculously attractive, and he had an air of power I could recognize as seductive even though I no interest in being seduced by him. The childish part of me wanted Jacob to go away and to bring back Axel.

  Again, I reminded myself that I was going to have to deal with the situation as it was until things could work themselves out. I took a seat on the side of the van as Jacob closed the doors. He gave a single rap on the plywood wall separating u
s from the driver before he sat on the bench opposite me. A moment later, the van started up and began to move.

  Jacob didn't make conversation on the ride into the city, for which I was grateful. Another time, silence with a stranger might have bothered me, but while still trying to get used to being most of the country away from Axel, I was happier left alone with my thoughts.

  I distracted myself with thoughts of the vacation I wanted to take with Axel when all this was over. A luxury cruise? A private island somewhere? Or a cabin in the mountains with a hot tub? I didn't really care as long as I could be alone with Axel, just the two of us, with all of this mess and trouble behind us.

  It was a fantasy. Real life had thrown us some major roadblocks in the form of a dirty FBI agent and the Russian mob, not to mention my former boss asking Axel to find me so he could have me killed—but I couldn't do anything about all of that. Focusing on our vacation was more relaxing than stressing over all the things that were out of my control.

  I never thought I would miss gathering evidence for the FBI. Every moment of it has been nerve-racking, but at least I’d been doing something positive by moving the case forward. Now, with my part in the case done, all I could do was wait and follow orders. I didn't want to be an operative, or whatever it was that the people who worked for Sinclair Security called themselves. My brief stint as an FBI informant had been enough to tell me it was not the life for me. That didn't mean I was happy being passive.

  After a half hour or so, the van took a sharp turn and began to drive downward. Based on our speed and direction, I guessed we were in the parking garage. Good. I was ready to get where we were going and try to settle into yet another strange place. The van parked, but Jacob stayed where he was, holding up a hand to indicate that I should do the same. A few minutes later, a double knock sounded on the cargo door and Jacob stood, holding out his hand for mine. He helped me out of the back of the van, grabbing my two duffel bags with one hand, and led me to an elevator that, like the entry to Axel's office, operated with a hand scanner. The doors to the elevator slid open and Jacob ushered me through.

  The inside was a marked contrast to the sophisticated electronics and sleek metal of the exterior. With dark polished wood, gleaming brass buttons and brass detailing on the chair rail, it had an old world elegance I hadn't expected, complete with an oil painting on the back wall. I guess I’d thought it would look more like the brushed steel and black leather of Axel's offices. Jacob pressed a button marked with a barely noticeable P. The elevator doors silently slid shut, and the elevator carried us to the top floor of the building.

  It opened directly into Jacob’s foyer, revealing a polished hardwood floor and smooth, creamy walls, with heavy crown molding in a soft white. Oil paintings like the one in the elevator were scattered on the walls. A narrow table set against one wall with a stack of mail on top, beside a set of keys. A long-hall lined with white wainscoting led us to the rest of the penthouse.

  I followed Jacob and found myself in a wide open space with the kitchen and breakfast area on one side, beside a huge sitting room complete with comfortable looking leather couches and an oversized television. The rooms were filled with polished antiques—except for the television—yet the penthouse managed to be as welcoming as it was elegant and refined.

  "I'll show you to your room," Jacob said. I followed him as he turned down another hallway, this one also lined with creamy white wainscoting and oil paintings and the same heavy crown moldings around the ceiling. We passed what looked like a dining room on one side and an office with glass French doors on the other. We turned once more and Jacob opened a door.

  “This room is yours for as long as you need it,” Jacob said.

  The room was spacious, dominated by an enormous black canopy bed covered with a snow-white duvet and masses of matching white pillows. I’d slept for most of the plane ride, so I wasn't tired anymore, but that bed made me want to crawl in and take a nap. It also made me think of Axel. Then again, these days, most beds made me think of Axel.

  Jacob dropped my duffel bags on the floor and turned to face me. "I need to get to work," he said. "There's no phone and no computer. Axel said he's more comfortable if you don't have access to the outside world for now. If you need anything, hit the green button next to the elevator. I’ll get the message and come right up. I’ve got cable, and there are books in the library. Feel free to help yourself."

  “Thank you," I said. "I appreciate your helping us out like this."

  "Axel is like a brother," he said. "I've known him since before I could walk. There’s nothing I wouldn't do to help him—or his woman—out of a jam." He winked at me, and my knees went a little weak.

  Griffen had said that Jacob had gone to school with Axel and his brothers. Recalling that Evers was pretty hot himself, I had a moment of both envy and pity for the girls at their high school. These men were lethally attractive, and they knew it. When they were sixteen, they must have been every girl’s dream and nightmare rolled into one.

  Jacob headed for the door, saying over his shoulder, "I'll bring something back for dinner, but if you get hungry, there’s plenty of food in the fridge. Help yourself.” At that, he was gone.

  I picked up my bags and decided to unpack. With that chore done and with nothing else to do, I thought I might as well take a shower. A peek in the bathroom revealed what looked like acres of white marble, a gigantic shower, a garden tub, and a long marble counter highlighting the custom glass sink in a delicate sky blue. Gorgeous. I organized my toiletries and decided that the tub was calling my name. At least it would give me something to do while I waited for my life to work itself out.

  35

  Axel

  The air in the car was heavy as we drove down the two-lane road into the desert. Meeting with Sergey Tsepov was dangerous enough. There was no way I was going to do it on his turf or on his terms. As he'd felt the same way about meeting with me, we’d decided on the desert, like an old mob movie from the 60s. I drove, with Evers in the passenger seat beside me and two of my men in the SUV behind us.

  As if it were a chess match, both of us calculating our moves with care, Tsepov and I had agreed to no more than three backups, guns allowed but not drawn. If we could get through this without any of them being fired, I'd consider it a win. Of all the things we’d done since I'd gotten involved in the situation with Emma, this meeting with Tsepov was by far the most dangerous.

  William Harper had been a pain in my ass, but he was mostly a joke. Tsepov was anything but. The man was dangerous and willing to do anything get what he wanted, and in the last few months, I’d seen evidence of cracks in his organization. First, he'd been betrayed by one of his own, who'd tried to kill Nolan, Sam's fiancé’s brother. Now he was doing business with someone as unreliable as William Harper. It wasn't a good sign. When a man like Tsepov made stupid mistakes, people died. I didn't have any intention of being one of them.

  We turned down a sandy road to reach the appointed meeting place and discovered that Tsepov and his men were already there. Unsurprisingly, he had three vehicles to our two and five men as backup to my three, despite our arrangement. It might have bothered me, but I’d expected him to try to get one over on me, and he might have had more muscle, but I could guarantee that my men were better trained.

  Evers had been a marksman in the military, and all my people knew how to handle a weapon. They also knew how to keep a cool head—when to fire and when to hold tight. I was going to try to keep this short and to the point to minimize the chance that things would go haywire.

  We parked about 20 feet away from Tsepov's vehicles. Evers and I left the car at the same time. He hung back, leaning against the hood of my SUV, his arms loose at his sides. He looked relaxed, but I knew he could have his gun in his hand before I could blink if he thought he needed it.

  I picked a spot between the two sets of vehicles and waited. The door of a black Cadillac opened, and Sergey Tsepov unfolded from the vehicle. He looked g
ood for an older man, though his black suit and starched white shirt were out of place surrounded by desert and scrub brush. From what I knew of him, I doubted Sergey Tsepov ever dressed down.

  He was in his late 60s, but his posture was firm and upright, his shoulders broad, his torso lean. The silver at his temples gave his strong features a refined elegance that women loved. I thought it made him all the more creepy, knowing what he was on the inside. This was the man who’d planned to pay Emma back for her whistle-blowing by selling her as a sex slave on the black market. This was a man who dealt in weapons, drugs, and human lives without a thought or care for the implications of his actions. This man was evil.

  "Axel Sinclair," he said, his tone relaxed, as if we’d run into each other at an art opening or charity ball instead of a clandestine meeting in the middle of the desert. "It's been a long time. I can't say that I'm pleased to see you under the circumstances."

  "Neither can I," I said. "It seems like we need to resolve some business."

  "Indeed, we do. My information tells me that you've been with Emma Wright. She is a problem. I need her elsewhere. Is she under your protection?”

  "Emma Wright was a job," I said, using all of my acting ability keep my voice level and emotionless. "I met with William Harper yesterday and he asked me to find her and bring her in. He implied that he wanted me to deliver her to you. Is that correct?"

  "William Harper is no longer of concern," Tsepov said smoothly. "I believe you'll find, in gathering further information, that any contract or arrangement you had with William Harper is now dissolved. If you’re in the business of collecting Emma Wright and delivering her to anyone, you can deliver her to me."