What His Darkness Reveals #5: An Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Frost, Thea

  "Jack," I whisper, but it's all I can manage.

  "Get out," he says again, brushing his nose against my ear. His hot breath sending shivers of desire and terror through me. "Get out before I lose control. And do things to you. Things you wouldn't like. Things that I would regret. Things that neither of us would ever be able to take back."

  God, I want him. Against all reason and logic, against all sense and rationale, I want him. I want him inside me, his voice in my ear, his body heaving over mine. His hands on my breasts. His cock sliding into me. Owning me. Making me scream. Hurting me. Making me feel more alive than ever.

  I turn to kiss him but he shoves me away. "Go!"

  I freeze like a deer in headlights, and his walls go down. I see the pain there. Behind it all, behind the words and sneers, I see just how badly my lies have wounded him. Cut him to the core. He's on a knife's edge. One more push and he'll fall into the abyss, and once down in that dark evil, who knows what he will do?

  Still, I'm a fool. Still, I reach out for him. "Jack--"

  He turns and punches the wall. Buries his knuckles into the wood and roars at me, "Go!"

  I grab my clothing and run. He's a looming shadow behind me all the way to his front door. I throw myself into the hallway moments before it slams behind me. I feel as if I retracted my head mere moments before a guillotine fell.

  I lie on the carpet in the bright lights of the corridor, sobbing and panting, naked, and realize I'm not alone. Two tall men stand frozen, eyes wide, staring at me. Wearing suits, carrying briefcases, they're clearly en route to another apartment.

  I stand hastily, and still sobbing, pull on my shirt. They cough and turn away, giving me privacy. I'm burning with humiliation, terrified by the monster Jack had become, by the dangerous side of him that had nearly consumed me. I dress haphazardly.

  Where am I going to go? What am I going to do? I've ruined everything. I can't call Blake. I can't talk to Jack. I rush to the elevators and hit the button for the lobby. I dress quickly, not looking at the security camera. When the doors open, I stride out into the lobby. There's no time left for hesitation. I want to go home to my apartment, but I can't. I need to see this through. I need the truth, something with which to convince Jack that my intentions are pure.

  Somewhere during my last conversation with Blake I lost my trust in him. Somewhere over the past few days with Jack I've come to believe his heart is in the right place. I can't swear to his methods, but I know he's a good man. Tortured, sure, but which undercover cop isn't?

  So I do the only thing I can think of: I go to Blake's office. I've never been there by myself. Never gone unannounced. I know that it's his private sanctum, his hidden and unofficial base of operations. I know that going there uninvited breaks all the rules, but I no longer care.

  Because this isn't just about Jack any longer. I can sense that there's more going on beneath the surface, that Blake is lying to me, and I need to find out about what.

  I've been used.

  I've been manipulated.

  Well, I'm going to show them that I'm not a mindless tool.

  I'm going to take control, break down the walls, pierce the deceptions, and learn what's really going on.

  I get out of the cab outside Blake's building. It's bland and quiet, completely normal and even boring to look at. I pay the cab and wait for it to drive away, then fade into the shadows across the street and just wait a bit and watch.

  Most of the lights are out in Blake's building. No surprise, given the hour. I locate his window by counting the floors up and figuring out roughly where it would be. The window is dark. Perfect.

  Still I wait. A little patience is key to making sure I don't ruin this attempt. I'll only get one shot.

  Finally I cross the street and enter through the front door. I stride with purpose, showing no doubt, and take the stairs up to the right floor. Step out into the hallway and slow down. Silence. Nobody's here. I walk past closed doors. Dentists. Lawyers. Second-rate accountants. Bland and boring. The perfect camouflage for our undercover operation.

  Now, I know Blake's door will have an alarm on it. That alarm won't go to the local police station, but probably straight to Blake himself. He'll call in some back-up and come running. Which means I'll have only a handful of minutes before I need to run. Maybe less.

  I stop outside his door. My heart is pounding. The moment I break in, I'll have crossed a line I can never undo. I'll have gone rogue. Telling Jack my identity was a huge step, but at worst it would result in me being pulled from the case. This? This is an actual crime.

  A deep breath. I bite my lower lip, take a step back, and then plant my foot solidly right next to the door handle. I hit it with all the force I can muster, thrusting my hips forward and shatter wood. The door swings open and I'm inside.

  I flip on the light and run to Blake's desk. I don't give myself time to feel weird about being in here alone. I don't allow the sudden fear to make me freeze. Instead I pull open drawers and grab folders. I dump them on the desk and open them, scanning, checking names, titles, tabs.

  I stop. There's a folder with my name on it. I open it and my blood runs ice cold. Photographs. Large glossy ones, full color. Of me. In my apartment. Sleeping in bed. On the couch. In the bathroom. In the shower.

  What the hell? Hidden cameras. I drop the photos, my fingers suddenly nerveless. Blake provided that apartment. He rigged it before I showed up. Watching me the entire time.

  Oh god.

  This is awful. This is insane. This is worse than I'd imagined. I pull out my phone to take some shots as evidence.

  "Hello," says a young woman.

  I look up, heart leaping into my throat, and see Francesca standing in the doorway. Not Blake. Not a cop. Francesca.

  "You?"

  "Me," she says, stepping in and closing the door behind her. She gives me the sweetest smile. "Hello, cunt."

  My eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me." She pulls out a gun and aims it at me. "Cunt."

  I'm completely confused, but I put my hands up anyway. No harm in trying to keep her calm. "Did--did Jack send you?"

  "Jack?" Francesca laughs. "No. I came of my own accord."

  I force myself to move slowly, setting my phone down on Blake's desk. As I do so, I hit the dial button, and set it to call Jack. "What do you want?"

  "Want?" She steps closer. "I'm pointing a gun at you. What do you think?"

  "You're going to kill me?" It doesn't make any sense. "Why? What did I ever do to you?"

  "Not me. To Jack." Her voice grows tight. "Poor Jack. He's so strong. So good. But he can't keep his dick out of filthy whores like you. Women who just hurt him, again and again."

  I shake my head slowly. "Jackie O. You killed her."

  Francesca gives me a one-shouldered shrug. "Perhaps. It's neither here nor there."

  "Why? Was she getting too close to Jack? Was he getting too attached to her?" I try to remember what Jack had told me about Francesca. His trusted lieutenant. His chauffeur and confidante.

  Francesca's face twists bitterly in anger. "It doesn't matter. What's done is done. She had the same effect on him that you are having. Twisting his mind. Making him lose focus. I need to clean you away so that he can return to himself."

  "And return to you?" I lower my hands. "Is that what you're hoping?"

  Francesca's lip writhes up in scorn. "He is mine."

  "Does he know that?"

  "You don't understand him. You can't understand him. You think he's a petty criminal. You think he's interested in your drugs. He's so much more. He's on a noble mission. A crusade."

  That's when it hits me. Francesca still thinks I'm just a drug dealer. Of course. She doesn't know the truth. That I've told Jack who I really am. What I'm doing in this office.

  "I know the truth about Jack." I take a step forward, causing Francesca to raise her gun, but I never take my eyes from hers. "I know what he really is."

  "I doubt t
hat very much." She doesn't sound so sure.

  "And I know that he'll never be what you want him to be. He'll never be yours, not in that way. He loves you, sure, but as a young sister. Someone to protect."

  Francesca's face goes dark with rage. "Shut up. Once he learns what I've done for him, once he sees how much I love him, then he'll understand."

  I shake my head pityingly. "No. He'll only think you're a monster."

  Francesca opens her mouth to reply, but then stops herself. Smiles serenely. "Well, you'll never know, will you? Good bye, Bryce."

  Damn. My plan to make her lose her cool and give me an opportunity to wrest her gun away had failed. My heart is racing, my stomach a tightly cramped knot. What can I do? I see her smile grow vicious as she tightens her finger on the trigger. Can I leap at her, or--

  The gunshot is deafening and final. I let out a cry of terror, but then realize I'm not hurt. She missed? No.

  Francesca collapses to the ground.

  Blake stands in the doorway, smoke curling from the muzzle of his gun. I sag against his desk in relief, closing my eyes as all the strength leaves my legs. I'm alive.

  "What the fuck?" Blake steps into his office, staring down at Francesca's body. He kicks her gun away, then kneels and checks her pulse. He looks up at me. "What is going on here, Bryce?"

  "Francesca." My voice is weak. "She followed me here. Was going to kill me." I force myself to stand. To steady my voice.

  "Francesca. She's Jack's lieutenant. Why does he want you dead?" Blake stands, his gun still held by his side.

  "He doesn't. She was acting on her own initiative. She also killed Jackie O. And--I'm guessing--Wilkinson."

  "Wilkinson?" Blake raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

  I shrug one shoulder. "She was protecting Jack. Wilkinson had begun to really bother him. After he tried to rape me, Jack tried to contact him, but failed. She must have gone back after and killed Wilkinson, thinking that would benefit Jack."

  Blake scratches his head, frowning. "We'll need some kind of proof of that."

  I'm exhausted. "Maybe you can find it at her place. Dirty clothes, or in her car. Trace evidence."

  We stand in silence for a moment, Blake considering the body, me staring at him. The shock of the moment has clouded my mind, but as the seconds pass my thoughts return. I remember the invasive photographs in the folder on Blake's desk.

  "Blake." My voice shakes. "What the hell are these photographs?"

  "What?" He turns to me and his face goes pale, then bright red.

  I pick up the folder. "Tell me there's some legitimate reason for placing surveillance cameras in my shower. Tell me you're not just some kind of degenerate pervert."

  "I--uh--" His stumbling and stuttering tells me everything.

  Disgust sweeps through me. "I'm taking these with me. And I'm giving them to your higher-ups. You're done."

  Panic crosses his face then he grows eerily calm. He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, picks up Francesca's gun and points it at my chest.

  "What--Blake, what are you doing?"

  "It's a pity I arrived too late to save you. Still, when Francesca turned on me, I was able to defend myself. Your deaths will happen so closely together that the coroner won't be able to tell the exact sequence of events. Two gunshots will be heard by any neighbors. I'll simply claim the first was for you, and the second--this one--was for Francesca."

  "You're insane," I whisper. I see he means to do it. "You're crazy. The cameras. You're being recorded."

  "Closed circuit. I'll destroy the film. It'll look suspicious, but not sufficiently so to indict me. Goodbye, Bryce."

  "Wait. Wait!" It can't end like this. "At least tell me what's been going on. Why did you pick me? Why are you after Jack?"

  "After Jack? Even now, with your own life on the line, you're thinking about him? About your case?" He smiles cynically. "Your dedication to your job is admirable, Bryce."

  "That's not my name," I say.

  "Whatever." He lifts the gun and I see the intention to shoot me clear on his face.

  "Just tell me," I say. I need to buy time. I need to extend this so that an opportunity to save my ass can present itself.

  "What? Jack?" He laughs darkly. "Boy wonder? Fine. Yes. I've been trying to get him put away for years now. I picked you because I knew he'd fall for your looks. Might reveal something, might slip up. Didn't happen though, did it? So now it's left to me to do all the work."

  "Why do you hate him?" I can't tear my eyes away from the muzzle of the gun.

  "Hate him?" His voice is amped up, unhinged. "You'd never understand. The slow accumulation of hate-like sediment on the ocean bed. Subtle, slow, but unstoppable. I've loathed him for over a decade. I know he's just a common criminal, but I've never found the evidence. Neither did Wilkinson. Or you. He's that good, I'll give him that. But I know he's breaking the law. So I pulled in favors. Worked it so that the system turned against him. Did everything I could to ruin him, but he's still out there. Untouched." Blake's grin is full-blown insane. "But not for much longer."

  There's a gunshot. Blake's head snaps back, his eyes wide, and he drops the gun. He turns, staggering, and we both see Jack in the doorway, face cold and hard, smoke rising from the muzzle of his gun.

  Blake lets out a soft groan of denial and collapses to the floor.

  I clutch at my head. This is too much. The urge to scream rises within me, but I choke it down.

  Jack lowers his gun. In his other hand he's holding his cell phone. When he hangs up, I hear the corresponding beep from my own phone where it lies on Blake's desk. He stares at me, eyes feline and enigmatic.

  "Jack," I whisper, feeling like I'm being drawn out by a riptide into a vicious and terrible ocean.

  "It's over," he says. "It's finally over." I can't hold back any longer. I rush forward, stepping over the bodies and into his arms. He holds me close. Holsters his gun, caresses my hair. "It's OK," he murmurs. "It's over. It's all over."

  "But," I protest, pushing away from him. I stare wide-eyed in horror at the two bodies on the floor. "How--why--?"

  "I'd begun to suspect Francesca," says Jack, his voice grim. "I called her after you'd left and she told me she was doing a little clean-up work. Her voice sounded strange. So I got dressed and headed out to find her when I got your call. I heard most of it over the phone. I wish I'd arrived sooner."

  I shake my head. Maybe veteran cops can handle this kind of violence with ease, but for me, it's overwhelming. Nauseating. Disturbing beyond belief. I step out of Jack's arms into the hallway, needing to get away from the dead. I hug myself as Jack calls in police backup. He hangs up moments later and joins me in the hall.

  "The authorities are on their way. We're in for a hell of a ride, but we'll come out on top."

  "And you?" I search his face. "You're going to stay?" I don't know why, but I half expect him to fade away into the criminal underworld.

  "Of course," he says, a sad smile on his face.

  "So you're not--you never went rogue?"

  He shakes his head. "No. Never. Though Blake did his best to force me to. Turned my own support system against me. Planted evidence. Made me paranoid, made me think I'd been cut off. It makes sense, now. And best yet, we've got his confession on camera. Everything laid out. It will take months to get through all the investigations, but it's laid out, clear as day. My name will finally be cleared. I'll be vindicated."

  My mind reels. "But your undercover identity. It'll be comprised."

  His grin is almost savage. "Fuck that. I'm sick of that world. I can't wait to be done."

  "Oh," I whisper, sagging against the wall. Everything is falling into place. I can already hear the sirens. "What will you do?"

  Jack laughs and looks up, shaking his head. "Who knows?" His grin softens. "Become a beat cop, maybe. Go back to wearing a uniform. Or retire. Maybe I'll quit. After all these years, I think I've earned myself a little rest." He pauses. "And you?"

  I laugh,
a bitter sound. "This was my very first case. After how badly I've fucked this up, I doubt they'll give me much choice. I'm sure they're going to fire me."

  Jack shakes his head. "I very much doubt that. You exposed Blake. Something nobody's been able to do in over a decade. You trusted your instincts. I think they'll ask you to stay. Take on another mission. Another identity."

  I search his face. Try to divine what he wants. Try to figure out what I want. Do I want to continue working undercover? Another identity would mean leaving him. Taking on a new name, infiltrating a new organization. Cutting all ties with my past.

  Again.

  I open my mouth to answer, when we hear yelling from below, voices echoing up the stairwell, the shouted commands of officers on their way up.

  It sounds like a flood of them. The authorities. They're here.

  Jack turns with me to face the stairwell, setting his gun on the floor and then taking my hand.

  He looks sidelong at me. "You ready?"

  I nod. The shouts are louder, men running down the hall just around the corner, coming toward us. "Yes," I whisper.

  Jack squeezes my hand, then raises it to his lips. "Here we go."

  ***

  The next month is indeed insane. We're interrogated once, twice, three times. We have attorneys assigned to us, our cases reviewed, our stories checked, double checked, triple checked. None of it makes it into the media, however, and for that I'm grateful. Each and every day I spend waiting for the final shoe to drop, for a verdict to come through--and eventually we go to trial.

  It's grueling, but right from the get-go I see that Jack was right. The video-taped confession that both Francesca and Blake had made before dying seals the deal. As soon as I realize that, I relax and focus on presenting the facts as calmly and professionally as possible.

  I only see Jack in court. We'd agreed to keep our contact to a minimum in order to prevent any suspicion of collusion tainting the case, so each day I get to stare at him on the stand or sitting to one side, thinking of how much I miss him, and each night I pleasure myself, thinking of his body, his lips, his hands, his burning eyes.