Valentine's Billionaire Bad Boys

by Parker, M. S.

  Grainger would have no place to turn. Too many of the people he’d walked on to get where he was would only laugh if he tried to get help. He’d be alone—and that was exactly how Joel wanted him.

  He wanted the bastard to feel alone, helpless.

  Wanted to see that look in Grainger’s eyes before he killed him.

  But when that happened, Joel didn’t know what in the hell would happen with Tracy.

  Joel was tired of lies.

  He’d tell her the truth. But when she knew what he had done, the lies he had told, lives that he had most likely ruined, the people he had hurt—and the blood on his hands—what would she do?

  Shoving the thoughts aside, he muttered, “Think later.” Tumbling her onto her back, he slanted his mouth across hers. “Think later,” He repeated, his voice harsh and guttural. “Right now, I want to make love to you.”

  Under the cloudy gray sky, as the surf crashed against the rocks several hundred feet away, he stripped her naked, worshipped her body with his hands, his mouth, adored her with his eyes, and etched every last nuance of her in his memory.

  The clock was ticking…the game would be over soon.

  * * *

  From the cliffs, Vincent watched as his partner fucked Tracy.

  He licked his lips hungrily, wishing he was the one taking Joel’s cock into his body.

  It wasn’t a new thing. He’d been having fantasies about Joel Lockhart almost since he’d met the strong, intimidating bastard years earlier.

  Joel had confused the hell out of Vincent. It was pretty damn obvious that the bastard wanted something, but what in the hell it was, Vincent still didn’t know. It couldn’t just be Tracy. And if Joel just wanted in on the more lucrative aspects of Vincent’s businesses, then he would have acted years ago.

  No, Joel had waited years before even accepting an offer from Vincent. Vincent had made easily half a dozen proposals before had Joel accepted even the simplest one.

  And all the while, Joel had moved in silence, taking bits and pieces of land that Vincent had wanted. Buying up businesses that Vincent hadn’t even realized were on the market.

  A damn shark. A deadly opponent. Normally, Vincent would have had him dispatched and never blinked twice.

  But Vincent didn’t want to be rid of Joel Lockhart.

  Vincent wanted him.

  He knew damn good and well that Joel wasn’t into men. That didn’t stop the fantasies though.

  And they had become more frequent, more intense lately.

  Hell, there were even times when he fantasized about taking Tracy, driving his dick inside her tight, dry pussy, as Joel fucked him. Jealousy ate him alive. Not because his wife was fucking another man. But because she was fucking the man he wanted.

  Jamil’s appeal had palled, and Vincent had kicked his longtime lover to the curb, but now he wished he hadn’t. His balls ached, his cock hurt, and he needed to get fucked.

  Or fuck…narrowing his eyes, he focused on Tracy, watching as Joel pulled her to straddle him. Hell, that just might be the closest he got to Joel, fucking his whore.

  That’s all she was—she hadn’t made a sound of dissent when Vincent had turned her over to Joel. Didn’t have a qualm about committing adultery.

  Vincent was unable to comprehend just how badly frightened Tracy was of him, how terrified she was of telling him no on anything.

  The jealousy eating at him was tearing a hole inside him.

  And he had to fill it.

  * * *

  Joel smiled gently at her as he stroked his hands down her arms.

  “I’ll miss you,” she said softly, forcing herself to smile at him.

  His gaze held hers, burning with intensity. She went willingly as he pulled her against him, his lips moving against her hair as he said, “It will be just a few days. Stay at my house—”

  She shook her head. “No. I want to, but…if I do—he’s paranoid enough. I don’t want to give him anything to get suspicious about.”

  The intensity in his eyes seemed into ignite, the deep midnight blue of his eyes lighting, burning as he stared down at her. “You’re leaving him, aren’t you?” he whispered into her ear.

  Tremulously, she nodded. “Mama’s gone, now… I was going to anyway…” tears appeared in her eyes as she recalled the sudden death of her mother three days ago.

  “Shhh. It’s okay,” he whispered, stroking his hands down her back. “You’ll be away from here. Soon.”

  That was what she kept telling herself. Over and over.

  * * *

  As one day without Joel stretched into two, she worried the string of pearls around her throat and paced the house. He’d given her the necklace on Christmas day, and she’d worn the pearls to her mother’s funeral, knowing she would leave Vincent.

  He had nothing to control her with now.

  Nothing.

  Finally—finally—she started to hope for some sort of future. She was too afraid to daydream that it just might be with Joel. She was falling in love with him. Tracy didn’t know what would happen with Joel, if he would tire of her, or if—please, God—if he wanted her the same way she wanted him.

  She could dream about it though—something she hadn’t done in years.

  Tracy would have a life. Once she left Vincent.

  A life. She hadn’t dared dream of happiness, not for years, and she could now. Dream of happiness, of safety…of a life free from fear.

  But it would definitely be away from Vincent. Away.

  That was what mattered most. Away where she could make love to Joel without him coming in and watching.

  When the door creaked open behind her, she didn’t jump and spin around at Vincent’s voice. After all, he hadn’t touched her for months.

  And he wouldn’t now…

  Chapter Three

  Wrong.

  She had been horribly, horribly wrong.

  As she sat alone in the living room, a glorious black eye blooming across her face, she watched the digital clock as midnight struck. A new year started. And she made a resolution.

  She was getting away from this.

  And she wasn’t waiting for Joel to come back and get her either. He was going to be gone for three more days, and she was leaving now.

  For three years, her husband had kept her locked in a world of terror. She had tried to leave. Many times. But the bastard always found her. Somehow.

  He wouldn’t find her this time. Even if she and Joel didn’t last forever, Joel had given her something priceless.

  Strength.

  She wasn’t the weak, spineless woman that Vincent had tried to make her into. And she was no longer destitute either.

  Although she’d made a pile of money when she was modeling, in that life long before Vincent had seduced her into believing he loved her, all that money was gone. Well, not gone. She had no doubt that Vincent had doubled and even tripled it.

  But she hadn’t been able to get to it. The bastard gave her less than fifty dollars a week—enough for gas so she could drive to the gym, and of course, she was followed.

  She was penniless. She was married to a rich mobster, and she was penniless. Her car had barely enough gas to get her to town if she wanted to shop a little, but if she wanted clothes, she had to ask, and then the fucking housekeeper would go with her.

  Well, until Joel.

  Joel had taken her shopping. He’d taken her ice skating—he’d taken her for snow cones at the county fair in August. But that had been with his money.

  Now Tracy had money of her own. Mama—bless her—had left a very large amount of money to Tracy. In trust. Which meant Vincent couldn’t get it unless she let him.

  That had pretty much pissed him off. But he’d held his temper while she went through the heartbreaking process of burying her mom. Regardless of his treatment of her, there were limits to what Vincent could allow the public to see. He had an image to maintain, and sometimes it was the only thing that saved her. And he wouldn’t hit
her when Joel was around. But that time was over—her safe time was gone. That was very clear.

  When he had come to her room today, he had told her, in very specific terms, what would happen to her if that money wasn’t transferred to him. Originally he had wanted it transferred when the banks reopened on Monday, but he had decided to give her a few extra days after he’d busted her eye.

  She hadn’t once mentioned Joel’s name, although part of her had screamed out for him as Vincent hit her, as he took her to the floor, tearing the clothes from her struggling body.

  She had hit him that time. And he’d responded by closing his hands around her neck. Even as he squeezed the air from her lungs, she had fought. Two of his bastards had ended up coming in, holding her down and laughing while he raped her.

  But they hadn’t taken turns.

  Vincent had offered them the chance, but as she curled away from them, touching the pearls at her neck as if they were some sort of talisman, they had looked at her with fear in her eyes. Fear of what Joel would do.

  She knew what she was supposed to do now, while Vincent was out partying. She was supposed to put ice on her face to keep it from swelling. That way, when she had to cover the nasty bruise for a few days, or a week, the swelling wasn’t so noticeable.

  But she didn’t want to. She was tired of trying to hide what he’d done to her. Hell, it didn’t work anyway. Vincent could play the respectable businessman all he wanted, but they all knew what he was.

  Scum.

  A thug.

  A mob boss.

  Everybody in the small seaside village of Shreveport, Maine knew what he had done to her. They turned a blind eye for the most part, but they knew. She even understood why, in some ways. Vincent Grainger was a dangerous man. People who crossed him often ended up dead.

  Tracy decided that having background checks done on your potential mate should just be a way of life. If she’d done that…God, if only somebody had told her. Would she have believed them?

  Damn it, she didn’t know.

  Tracy wanted to think so, wanted to think she would have been smart enough to see the truth. She wanted to think, if somebody had warned her, she’d still be living a relatively happy life in New York, instead of trapped here, all but a prisoner.

  Even when Vincent wasn’t around, and that was often, she was watched. The four days a week he spent in New York City should have been a little less stressful, but it was worse…because all the servants watched her. He paid them well—everything she did was reported back to him. Every trip to the gym, everything she wore, everything she ate, everything she said.

  Closing her eyes, she felt the tears as they slid down her cheeks. If she had to fall in love and marry a criminal, why couldn’t it have been Joel? She didn’t know what kind of business Joel was in, but it couldn’t be completely legit. Legit businessmen didn’t do business with men like Vincent Grainger.

  At least Joel didn’t seem to want to see her hurt. And…he seemed to care. She saw something in his eyes when he looked at her, something…soft. Something sweet. He wanted her, but sometimes, the way he looked at her, she wondered if it was more.

  All Vincent wanted was to hurt her. And take everything that she called her own. Like Mama’s money.

  The money…hell, he wanted the money. Maybe she’d give it to him. So long as it was in the form of a remembrance gift. She’d scatter the money on his grave.

  Reaching up, she touched her fingers to the nasty bruise, wincing as pain streaked through her. There was another ache, deep and low in her belly. The tender flesh of her vagina felt bruised and torn. She wasn’t bleeding this time, although he had put her in that condition before.

  Part of her wondered, wasn’t he even the slightest bit worried about Joel?

  Swallowing, she shoved that thought out of her head. She had to do this. By herself. If she was ever going to be strong enough, she had to leave Vincent on her own.

  She’d been planning for months, ever since that cloudy day when Joel had asked her to come to him, to leave Vincent.

  She’d planned on doing just that, letting him take care of her and Mama.

  Part of her, even then, had known that she would leave Vincent. Joel gave her strength. But it was important that she do this alone. She had to know she could.

  Because while Joel wanted her now, he may not want her forever, and then she’d have to know how to take care of herself.

  And Vincent—as soon as he thought she was helpless, he’d come after her.

  So she’d been planning, researching…and now it was time.

  Rising, she moved to the elaborate curio cabinet across from her and took down one picture. Their wedding picture.

  The étagère across the room held two photo albums, things the housekeeper liked to put together, pretending that this was a nice, normal home. Three years of marriage…and her mark on this house was in a handful of photo albums, and the blood that washed down the drain after Vincent was done beating her.

  Taking those few things, she left the living room, moving tiredly up the stairs—soon. One way or another, soon it would be over.

  * * *

  Joel’s skin prickled as he sped closer to the Grainger mansion.

  He’d been gone five days. It should have been safe. Hell, Vincent spent most of his time in New York anyway. It should have been safe.

  There was so fucking much he had to do, he should have stayed longer—but fear had made him rush back.

  Tracy…she’d been hurt.

  Insane fury went through him at the thought, and he prayed he was being paranoid. Not because he didn’t want to hurt Grainger. He did. Badly. But he didn’t want to see her bruised…he’d promised her.

  As he used his personal key at the front door, he could hear the voices.

  Simmonds wasn’t there to open it, and that alone meant something was wrong.

  The very first thing he heard was Vincent’s low voice as he said, “Tracy, you are going to be very, very sorry for this…and I want you here to enjoy every second. Get your ass to your rooms.”

  Joel ran into the grand room in time to see her lifting her chin into the air. “No,” she said coolly. She stood there, calmly, confidently, her eyes clear, not darkened by the fear that was so often in her eyes. She wore gym clothes, and in her hand she held a gym bag.

  Tracy had never looked lovelier to him in that instant, as she faced down her abusive husband.

  Pride burst through him, but it died as he saw the bruise on her cheek. “Vincent, you’re a dead man.”

  Vincent jumped at the sound of his voice, and Joel had the pleasure of seeing one of the most feared men in the United States pale. But then he sneered. “She has something that belongs to me, and until I get it, our deal is off.”

  Joel smiled, a chilling smile. Without looking at Tracy, he held out his hand as he stared at Vincent. “The deal is off. She’s leaving…with me. And you can go fuck yourself, Grainger.”

  As Tracy’s hand folded around his, they both watched Vincent’s face go ruddy with rage. “She’s my fucking wife, even if she is your whore!”

  Joel didn’t remember letting go of Tracy’s hand, or flying across the room. As he knocked Vincent to the floor, he growled, “Don’t you call her that. Not ever. She never sold herself—she did what she had to in order to keep you from hurting her. That’s not a whore. That’s a survivor.” Kneeling, he drew the gun from his back and placed the muzzle of the Browning at Vincent’s chin. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

  Vincent’s eyes widened, darting away, before meeting Joel’s eyes again. “You won’t,” he rasped.

  Dropping his voice to a gentle whisper, Joel said, “Believe me—there’s nothing I want more. Nothing I mean more. You don’t leave here alive…is that understood?”

  “Get away from him, Mr. Lockhart.”

  He cut his eyes to the side, keeping the muzzle of the gun right at Vincent’s chin, pressing until it pushed against flesh and met bone
. When he saw Simmonds standing just behind Tracy, holding a gun to her head, fury arced through him. “You hurt her, old man, you die.”

  “Get away from Mr. Grainger, sir, and she won’t be hurt.”

  “Not yet,” Vincent rasped. Joel wanted to knock his teeth down his throat, but Tracy…she was more important.

  Slowly, Joel rose, stepping over Vincent’s body toward Tracy. “Come here, Tracy,” he said quietly.

  “No,” Simmonds said, shaking his head. “Put the gun down.”

  Joel laid it on the étagère shelf at his right, taking one small step away, still focusing on Simmonds. “Let her go now, Simmonds. You don’t want me angry.”

  Simmonds gave a stiff smile. “I can’t do that just yet, sir.”

  “No!” Tracy screamed, shoving backwards toward the older man standing behind her. Simmonds fell back, swearing, and Joel heard the thick, wet thud of bone hitting something solid. His eyes cut to Grainger to see the man on his feet, drawing his gun.

  Fuck…she had blinded Joel to the necessary things. His worry for her had made him forget, and now…

  But before Vincent could level the gun, there was a cracking sound. Vincent’s hand fell to his side, the gun falling from his fingers. Blood started to pour down the side of his face as he went to his knees, his eyes moving to Tracy.

  “You…bitch…” and then he hit the floor.

  There were shouts coming from all over the house as Joel turned to stare at Tracy. In her hand, she held a gun. The gym bag was open at her feet, but it wasn’t clothes in there.

  It was money—a lot of it. The money her mother had left her, Joel guessed, but he didn't have that much time to dwell on it.

  Two of Grainger’s men burst in behind her and Joel dove for her, grabbing her and shoving her to the side. He slid behind the men and grabbed the closest, jerking his head. When he heard the snap of his neck, he let him go and turned to face the other one.