BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE: The Unforgettable Southern Billionaires: The Complete Collection Boxed Set (Young Adult Rich Alpha Male Billionaire Romance)

by Walker, Violet

“I like kissing you,” he said.

  After the last time we’d kissed, I’d gotten the impression that he deliberately held himself away from people because he’d been hurt so badly. He’d given up a lot after that relationship: his home in Chicago, his half-finished degree in engineering, and his pet cat, who’d been left behind in the family’s haste to disappear. I was glad that he was allowing himself to trust me – at least a little bit.

  “I like kissing you too,” I said.

  “If we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to,” he said. I wondered why that could ever be a bad thing and he must have seen the confusion on my face because he went on: “I just – I really like you. I want to do this properly.”

  “Do you think we went too fast?” I asked, feeling a weight falling into my stomach even as the words ‘I like you’ made me giddy.

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t regret the other night,” he said. “I’d just like the chance to get to know you properly,”

  I realized that he planned to date me – to court me, even – and I wanted to sing. But I didn’t. I’d been told my singing sounded an awful lot like cats having their tails pulled.

  “I like you too,” I said. His smile could have lit up the whole room.

  “I should go,” he said, and I realized that we’d been smiling at each other for several minutes.

  “Have a good night,” I said.

  He turned away from me, smiling, and crossed the room to my bedroom window. With a small wave, he launched himself out and flew off into the night.

  Chapter Three

  I woke up the next morning to the sound of someone pounding on my door. I checked my watch – it was 6:17. I rolled out of bed, wrapped a dressing gown around my shoulders, and slumped over to the front door.

  “Who is it?” I called.

  “NYPD,” a woman’s voice called back.

  I blinked and opened the door. There were two people there. A black woman in a suit, her hair pulled tight into a practical bun at the base of her skull, and a Hispanic man with a shaved head. They both held police badges.

  “Skye Cooper?”

  “Yes?” I said hesitantly.

  “My name is Detective Hart, this is Detective Medina. Can we come in?”

  “I – sure,” I said, stepping aside and opening the door so that they could enter. I discretely ran my hand through my hair. “What can I do for you?”

  The two detectives stepped into my tiny apartment and glanced around. I still hadn’t bought any furniture, but I’d at least managed to get the stains out of the carpets.

  “We would like to ask you some questions about Theresa Malcolm,” Hart said.

  “Who?”

  Medina held out a picture. It was Terry – a selfie she’d posted as her Facebook profile picture a few days ago.

  “Oh, Terry,” I said. “Is she in trouble?”

  “She died last night,” Hart said.

  All of the air left my lungs in a rush, as though I’d been punched in the heart. My knees felt watery and weak. I reached out blindly to rest my hand on the wall.

  “What?” I said, because they had to be joking. Of course they were joking. Terry couldn’t be –

  “I’m sorry,” Hart said. She seemed to mean it, too.

  A ball of emotion welled up in my throat and I knew I was about to start crying. “What happened?” I asked.

  Hart hesitated. “She was found in her apartment. Badly beaten.”

  My lip trembled. I wanted to run and get my phone – to call Daiki, my mother, anyone – but the police had come here to ask me something and Mama had raised me with manners.

  “I’m sorry – do you want some coffee?” I asked.

  Hart hesitated again. “No, thank you,”

  “You said you had some questions?”

  “Only if you’re up for it.”

  I nodded. I wanted Hart to ask her questions and leave quickly before I started bawling. Medina seemed to be hanging back, letting his partner do all the work while he gazed at me with a forlorn expression. I wondered if he’d ever lost anyone too.

  “You were at a gallery opening with her last night, correct?” Hart asked. I nodded. “What time did you leave?”

  “Around ten o’clock,” I said.

  “Had you been drinking?”

  “We had a glass of champagne each,”

  Medina took out a notebook and started writing down everything I said.

  “Did you notice anything strange on your way home?” Hart asked.

  I nodded. “Three men started following us. I had my phone out to call 911, but then my – friend – Daiki started walking with us and the men left.”

  “Daiki?” Hart asked, tilting her head slightly.

  “Daiki Hamada,” I replied. “He lives nearby, he walked us home,”

  “Both of you?” Hart asked.

  I nodded again. “He and Terry walked me to my apartment, and then he walked Terry to hers. Then he came back here.”

  Hart chewed her lip. “And what time did he arrive here?”

  “Oh,” I wracked my brains, but I couldn’t remember exactly what time he’d gotten back. “I don’t know, about eleven?”

  “And was he acting strangely at all? Was he wearing different clothes?”

  “No –” I stopped suddenly. I’d heard these questions before on TV cop shows. “You don’t think Daiki could –”

  “We’re just trying to get a clear picture of what happened last night, Miss Cooper,” she said.

  My throat felt dry and I licked my lips. “Daiki was fine. He hadn’t changed his clothes. He wasn’t agitated or upset. We kissed. Then he left.”

  “And what time was that?”

  “About fifteen minutes after he arrived,” I said. “He just wanted to tell me that Terry had given him the shovel talk, and to confirm our lunch date for today.”

  Hart didn’t blink when I mentioned the ‘shovel talk’, so she must have heard of the concept. She nodded thoughtfully and asked: “Had Terry mentioned anything unusual in her life? Was she seeing anyone?”

  “Terry is – was – asexual. She didn’t date,” I replied. She’d explained the concept of asexuality to me when I’d asked for advice about Daiki. “She never mentioned anything unusual. She said she going to buy me some blacklight paint.”

  For some reason, that thought made the tears come. I wiped frantically at my cheeks and ignored the sympathetic looks from the two detectives.

  “We might need you to give a formal statement,” Hart said. “We’ll be in touch. If you think of anything else –” She held out a business card. “– please give me a call.”

  I took the card and felt the weight of everything that had just happened come crashing down on my shoulders. Terry was dead. She was dead.

  “We’re sorry for your loss,” Medina muttered. He had a low, deep voice and a strong American accent.

  “Thank you,” I replied automatically.

  I waited until the detectives had shown themselves out before running to my room, throwing myself onto the bed, and sobbing into my pillow.

  Terry was dead. I couldn’t even think it. She was so young and vibrant. I felt the loss of her, the loss of the only friend I’d made since I came to New York, and I knew that it was despicable to make Terry’s death all about me, but I couldn’t process it any other way. I’d barely known Terry. All I knew was that she’d reached out to me when I’d been all alone in a scary new city. I wrapped my arms around myself as the pain in my chest became unbearable, and I sobbed until I could hardly breathe.

  When I finally calmed down, I checked the time again. 8:40. I blew my nose and glanced at my phone. I had two missed calls from Daiki.

  “Didn’t even hear it ring,” I muttered to myself.

  I swiped through and played his first voice message, from 6:52: “Skye, it’s me. The police were just here – they said they talked to you – are you okay? Are you at home? Call me back when you get this.”

  The secon
d message was from 8:27: “Skye, it’s me. I’m at your apartment, but you’re not answering your door. Are you okay? Let me know if you’re okay, Skye. I just went to Terry’s place and… I need to talk to you. Call me when you can.”

  As I was listening, the phone rang again. I answered: “Daiki?”

  “Skye,” he replied. He sounded relieved. “I can’t fly up, it’s broad daylight. Can you let me in?”

  I nodded, and then I realized he couldn’t see me. “Okay,” I said. I stepped out of my bedroom, feeling hollow from crying, and buzzed Daiki in. Then I waited with my door open as he came bounding up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He had his arms around me before I knew it. The weight and inhuman warmth of his chest hit me like a tidal wave. If I had any more tears to shed, I would have spilled them there.

  “Skye,” he said, running his hands over my hair and holding me close. “I’m so sorry, Skye.”

  “She’s dead, Daiki,”

  “I know,” He rested his chin on my head and petted my hair slowly. I let out a long breath and felt myself melting into his embrace as he repeated over and over again: “I’m sorry,”

  Finally, I pulled away. “The police spoke to you?” I asked.

  He nodded grimly. “I don’t think that they think I had anything to do with it. I mean – you gave me an alibi,”

  “Did I?”

  He nodded, and then hesitated before asking: “How much did they tell you? About what happened?”

  “Just that she was – oh, god – just that she was beaten,” I felt my lip tremble. “Who would do that? Who would hurt her?”

  Daiki sighed. “Come on,” he said, pulling at my elbow. “Let’s sit down,”

  He led me into my bedroom and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, pulling me with him. We sat for a moment, holding hands in silence, until he cleared his throat. “I’m going to tell you some things,” he said, speaking in a low, soothing voice that made me think of lullabies and warm blankets. “Stop me if it’s too much, okay?” I nodded and leaned down to rest my head against his shoulder. “Terry died from blunt force trauma to the head, but the police said some things that made me think that wasn’t the whole story. So I asked. They said that Terry was tortured before she died.” I squeezed my eyes shut at that, but I couldn’t block out his words. Poor Terry, I thought. “It would have taken a while, and that’s what ruled me out as a suspect – I went straight back to your place after I dropped her off. But that’s the worst part.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “We shifters have heightened senses,” Daiki said. He kept his voice low and soft but I could hear a faint hint of worry in his tone now, as though he was dreading what he was about to say. “I went to her apartment and, well, sniffed around.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  He shifted and I felt his chin rest on the top of my head again, his arm wrapping around my waist. “I recognized a scent. From Chicago,”

  “Not –” I choked on the word because I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t even want to think it. “Hunters?”

  I felt him nod. “I think so,”

  “But why would they want to hurt Terry? She’s human – isn’t she?”

  He nodded again. “Definitely. I don’t think they planned to hurt her. I think they planned to hurt me.”

  I pulled away to get a good look at him. His face shone with sorrow, regret, and guilt. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I think they tortured her because they thought she would lead them to me.” He tore his eyes away from me and stared down at his lap. “They must have seen me drop her off at her apartment and thought that we were friends. I’m so sorry, Skye,”

  I stood up and started pacing, trying to work off the sudden flood of restless energy in my system. “But how did they even find you?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I mean – unless you told someone –”

  “The only person who knew we were seeing each other was Terry,” I snapped. “And I certainly didn’t tell her that you’re a mythical creature!”

  He stood up and held up his hands, palms facing towards me, in a classic gesture of surrender. “I didn’t think you would tell anyone about me,” he said. “I just had to be sure.”

  I allowed myself to calm down a little. I reminded myself that Daiki had no reason to trust me and that he’d been burned before by the women he trusted. I kept pacing and felt my heart constrict at the thought of how much Terry must have suffered before those hunters had finally killed her. If Daiki was right, and they’d tortured her for information, then the fact that it had taken so long meant that she had wanted to protect Daiki. I wanted to cry all over again.

  But then another thought crossed my mind, which made me freeze. They’d killed her eventually – had she finally had enough and told them what they wanted to know? She hardly knew anything about Daiki. All she really knew was that he and I were seeing each other. The only real connection had to him was me.

  “Get out,” I said, turning on Daiki.

  He looked confused. “Skye, I’m sorry,” he said. “I really didn’t mean to accuse you –”

  “Would you just go?” I said. I stepped away up until my back was pressed against the wall, putting as much distance between us as I could so I that wouldn’t be tempted to comfort him. “I just – I need time to think. About the part you played in Terry’s death.”

  His shoulders slumped and he looked at the ground. He looked so hurt. It broke my heart to see him looking like that. “Okay,” he said. “If that’s what you want. I have to tell Oji-san. We might need to leave town in a hurry,”

  “Whatever is best,” I said, ignoring the aching pain in my chest at the idea of him leaving town – leaving me. But if it was a choice between my pain and Daiki’s life, it was an easy choice.

  Daiki looked sharply at me, wounded and disbelieving. “Right,” he said. “Goodbye then.”

  He stepped past me and let himself out. I heard the front door click shut and slid down my bedroom wall, curling into a ball and sniffling. I wanted to cry, but no tears would come. I just stared at the half-finished portrait on the easel next to my bed and let the soft sounds of the city lull me into a trance.

  Chapter Four

  I was still sitting against my bedroom wall when the hunters came for me. I was surprised, actually, by how long it had taken them. I didn’t know how long I’d sat there but I knew it must have been hours. Terry must have not have given them my address. I felt a surge of pride and affection, tempered with guilt.

  I’d thought about packing a bag and leaving, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And what if the hunters ended up targeting my family when they couldn’t find me to question? No, I decided. The best thing I could do was let them come for me, and then hold out long enough for Daiki and his grandfather to run for it.

  The hunters broke through the lock on my front door and came barreling inside. There were three of them; tall men with shotguns and masks over their faces. They found me in my bedroom.

  “Grab her,” one of them shouted.

  I didn’t put up a fight as they shoved a burlap sack over my head and lifted me by my elbows, dragging me out the door. I wondered vaguely why they were taking me away – they hadn’t taken Terry, after all – but the way their fingers dug bruises into my biceps distracted me from any coherent thought.

  They took me downstairs and threw me into a van parked in the alley. They worked together with remarkable efficiency as they slid zip ties over my ankles and wrists and slammed the door closed. I felt the van shake as they climbed into the front of it. I tried to keep track of the turns they took as they drove, but I quickly lost focus as the reality of what was about to happen to me came crashing down. They were going to kill me, I thought. I was about to die.

  I pictured Daiki’s face. I thought about the way his eyes glowed gold in the throes of passion, the way he’d sign off his text messages with a smiley face, and the way his eyes had lit up when I’d
asked him to stay after our first night together. For some reason, my mind flashed to a new image – of him sitting in his grandfather’s restaurant with his head in his hands, and Ichiru looking sternly at him. Then the image was gone and I was left to wonder why my mind had conjured it.

  I could have loved him, I realized as the van ran over another bump. It would have been so easy to fall in love with Daiki Hamada.

  The hunters pulled over and the streets were quiet. I could hear the sound of my heart pounding in my chest. I felt, rather than heard, the van doors open.

  “Bring the bait,” one of them said.

  My heart stopped. Bait? They weren’t planning to torture me?

  They carried me for a while. I heard their footsteps echoing. Then they tossed me down on the hard ground and pulled the burlap sack off of my head.

  We were in an abandoned warehouse. I was sitting in the center of a room with high concrete walls and chains hanging from the ceiling. In one corner was a complicated-looking harpoon contraption, like the kind Daddy and his friends took fishing when they were drunk, and in another corner was a cage. A massive, steel-barred, black cage. The harpoon was pointed squarely at the entrance, with a long line of wire stretching between the door and the trigger.

  “Oh, you’ve done it now Skye Louis,” I muttered to myself.

  One of the hunters, the shorter one, leaned against the harpoon. “Relax sweetheart,” he said. I realized he was from Texas, like me. “We’ll be outta your hair in a little while.”

  It’s a trap, I thought. It’s a trap, it’s a trap, it’s a trap!

  I felt a sudden jolt of electricity, the way I felt whenever Daiki touched me, and fear and anger washed over me. They felt foreign, as if someone had high jacked my brain and was broadcasting their own emotions through me. I could also feel the ghost of wind against my cheek. I glanced around, but there were no open doors.

  One of the hunters had set his shotgun down on a table next to the door. I stared at it. Daddy had taught me to shoot before he’d taught me to ride a bike. All I needed was to get my hands on it. But the hunters were all staring at me, like wild cats circling a lame bull, and I knew that even with my legs unbound I’d never reach it in time.