Billionaire Romance Box Set: The Billionaire's Legacy: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Box Set

by Sarah J. Brooks

  “Oh my fucking…” I breathed, then lost track of my thought as he began to move his finger, slowly, to match the movement of his cock.

  My orgasm made me black out for a moment.

  When I came back to consciousness, the waves of sensation continued, and I moaned with each thrust until I climaxed again. This time, he came with me, and the intensity of the sensation was increased by our mutual sounds, each moan and groan a call to the other.

  After, we dressed and lay back on the floor together. I laid curled up in the crook of Brad’s arm, my arm over his chest, my head resting on his chest just near enough to his heartbeat I could feel it in my throat. The rumble of the engine was almost lulling me back to sleep when Brad spoke.

  “You won’t ever have a normal life with me, Cassie. I thought you knew that.”

  I paused, taking his words in. “I know that,” I said. “I expected some differences from my normal day to day stuff. I did not expect to be abducted, threatened, beaten.”

  I felt him sigh. I dared myself to ask the question burning in my mind, decided that now was the time.

  “Where is your son?” I asked. The words vibrated through the plane cabin. For a long moment, Brad did nothing. I held my breath waiting for his response.

  “Manuel Brown has him,” he said. “You know Manuel Brown as Mavin Toller.” Shocked, I lifted my head from his chest and craned my neck to look at him. He met my eyes. “Yes, it’s true.” He squeezed me, and I laid my head back down. He continued.

  “Manuel Brown was, I thought, a simple client. This was ten years ago. Maybe more. He came to me and said he had a building project that he wanted me to handle. I said my company would be happy to work with him, and he clarified that he wanted me, alone. A separate contract. He said he would pay me millions. My company was well established, but it was nothing like it is today, and I agreed, knowing that the money he would pay me would give me a true foothold in my dreams.

  “Then,” he said, “things began to get ugly. Manuel was a tough man to please, and it seemed like there was always something wrong, something slightly off, with his demands. He was impossible to reach, and he was… threatening.”

  I could feel Brad’s heart beating faster as he delved deeper into his memories.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t need to talk about it.”

  “I want to,” he said. “You’re in this now, Manuel knows who you are, and that’s my fault. It’s my job to keep you safe, and I haven’t been doing that. “Did you ever wonder how Legacy got its name?”

  I had. “Of course,” I said.

  “Years ago, not as many as how it feels, Manuel Brown abducted my girlfriend and my son.”

  I stiffened at the mention of his son… and of the girlfriend he had never brought up.

  “I did everything Manuel said I needed to do in order to get them back. I built warehouses all over the world. I made connections with criminal leaders in half a dozen countries. I organized trades and deals. And, for all of that, he… he killed Lorinda.”

  I gasped. His voice was dull, the words falling like weights out of his mouth.

  “Your son,” I whispered.

  “My son is alive, with Manuel. I don’t know where. All I have to go on is Manuel’s word that he’s alive, and that… that’s not worth much, but I have to take it. Legacy is named for Antoine. All of my wealth, all of the money I’d so desperately wanted, my empire, all of it came at the cost of my son, my own flesh and blood.

  “I built Legacy, built them all around the world, to serve as a reminder that my son is alive. Every penny I earn is one penny more to offer Manuel. You might think I like being a billionaire, Cassie, but I don’t care about money at all; all the money I have in the world is to buy my son back, at a cost Manuel says I’ll never be able to afford.”

  Brad was trembling and I felt him reach his hand up to his face, wiping away tears that had fallen. I held him close, tight, my mind reeling with this information.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. It was all I could say; there were no other words.

  Brad

  “Please,” I begged. “Please just give him back.” It was two days after the phone conversation where I’d heard Lorinda’s cry for the last time. I stood with Manuel at the entrance to a house in Mexico, the house where he had brought Lorinda and Antoine when he had taken them from Lorinda’s apartment in Mexico City. I hadn’t needed to track Manuel down; he had sent for me. The driver he’d sent waited on the street, leaning against the car with the door open, ready for me to get back in when Manuel decided he was done with me.

  Manuel laughed, and the sound of it chilled me. “Give him back? What have you done to get him back? You’ve disappointed me at every turn. Every project has lacked in some way. What kind of an operation do you think I’m running here, Mr. White? Give him back? You need to earn him back.”

  I looked over Manuel’s shoulder into the living room of the house. The smell was rank, and I could see the entire place was filthy. The house itself looked condemned, boards on the windows and spray paint tagging the entire front of the two story structure. Somewhere deep inside the house, music pounded, the bass loud and thrumming; I could feel it in my teeth. Suddenly, there was movement in the living room, and a man appeared with Antoine in front of him, a gun pointed at his shoulder. Antoine looked white with terror, and I blanched. My heart jumped into my throat, and my body reacted instantly, wanting to rush in and grab him, pull him to me, and run, using by body as a shield to protect him.

  “Antoine!” I screamed, trying to push past Manuel. I shoved Manuel’s chest, but he was stocky and strong; my shove didn’t move him so much as a centimeter. I felt my body bounce off of his, and I immediately pushed back, harder, but with the same result.

  “Daddy!” I heard Antoine scream, and Manuel yelled over his shoulder as he kept me at bay.

  “Get that kid out of here, you fucking idiot!” he shouted. The man holding Antoine disappeared. I screamed his name again.

  “I’ll get you back, Antoine! Don’t you worry! Can you hear me? I’ll get you back!”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Manuel said, pushing me back with one hand. I lost my balance and tripped backward, landing on my ass on the porch. “Get up, you fucking pussy.” He kicked me, and I rolled out of the way, got to my knees, then stood up. The pain in my body barely registered compared to the sound of Antoine yelling “Daddy!” echoing in my mind over and over again.

  “What do you want,” I pleaded. “Please, anything!”

  “I own you,” he said. “I own you and your life.”

  “Take me instead,” I begged. “Antoine is completely innocent. Take me, kill me, torture me, do whatever you want to me, just let him go.”

  He laughed again, tipping his head back and opening his mouth wide as he shook his head at my foolishness.

  “You’re far more valuable to me as a motivated agent, Mr. White. Kill you? No. Release Antoine? Never. You are my slave, do you understand? You will build, sell, organize, and distribute based on what I want and when. If you slip up, even once, Antoine is dead, and you will be too. Now, get the fuck off my property.”

  I stared into my glass of scotch and remembered the details, each moment, each word, of that conversation with Manuel, the first of many after he’d taken Antoine. I’d replayed it in my mind so many times, it seemed less like something that could have actually happened and more like a movie, some Oscar-nominated film that people would talk about, based on a true story, over their morning coffee or evening cocktails.

  But it had happened, even though my brain constantly tried to convince me that it hadn’t. “Please,” I said to the quiet of the cabin. “Please, end this. Give me back my son.”

  Cassie slept on the floor of the plane, and I looked over at her from the bar. I closed my eyes, put my head in my hands. I had told her too much. Manuel somehow knew I was telling her things, and my eyes suddenly flickered around the airplane cabin. There were cameras, of cour
se, and microphones. Safety features, all manufactured specifically for airplanes to keep from interfering with the plane’s signals, designed by my own team. Had he accessed them?

  No, I shook my head. Not possible. If anything, the plane was the safest place for us to be. Cassie mumbled something in her sleep and rolled over, wrapping the blanket around her, her arms drawn in to her chest in an almost hug.

  “Protect Cassie,” I thought out loud. “Get Antoine back. Do it now.” I commanded myself as Manuel had commanded me so many times. It was no longer an option; this had gone on long enough.

  I began to type into my iPad, snippets of thoughts, phrases, all of which I would share with Simon, who was meeting us when we landed. The formulation of a plan began to develop in my mind, and, the deeper I got into my plan, the faster my pain dulled. I had never been a victim, and I would not let Manuel Brown make me one. A victim would not get his son back, and that’s what Manuel was counting on. He was counting on me being emotional, paralyzing myself out of fear.

  I wrote down one more phrase, and I closed my iPad.

  “I am not a victim,” I said out loud. “I am Brad White, billionaire owner of Legacy properties. I do not lose.”

  Cassie

  I waited nervously in the bar, my back to the wall to take out one direction for me to look, and I surveyed the entire room. The bar was dark, smoky, and crowded. It was a little after five o’clock, and the bar was a mix of people getting off of work and singles meeting their dates for the night. Music played, the bartender joked with the people at the bar, and the tables were full of people laughing and talking. I observed all of it as if it was a dream; I felt like I wasn’t even there. I had my phone in one hand and my purse in the other, my drink sitting on the bar gathering beads of moisture, in case I needed to make a quick exit.

  I was waiting on an informant. He was a friend of Patrick’s, a friend from the NCA, and he had been the “friend” Patrick had mentioned. At least, he was supposed to be.

  How will I know I can trust you? I’d texted when he had reached out to me to meet him.

  I will bring you something of Patrick’s, something he gave me to give to you.

  How will I know it’s his?

  You’ll know, had been his response.

  So, out of desperation, I’d agreed to the meeting. After Brad had confided in me the story of Antoine and Lorinda on the plane, I’d decided that I needed to change the focus of my research. Rather than looking at Manuel Brown and trying to figure out who he was, what I could do to protect myself, I knew I needed to do whatever I could to help Brad find Antoine.

  My first step had been to go through everything I had of Patrick’s. All the files, all the folders. Then, go through my own research once again, only this time paying attention to things I had glossed over before.

  Then, out of nowhere, Patrick’s friend had texted me. Patrick’s words from his final email echoed in my brain: You have friends; they will make themselves known to you as needed. You are protected.

  The door to the bar opened and I snapped back to attention. The man who walked through was tall, tall enough to need to duck to get through the door. I put him at at least six foot five, and I kept my eye on him as he surveyed the room. He moved to the side of the door and took out his phone, began to text.

  My phone buzzed and I looked at it.

  Where are you? his message said.

  The bar, I texted back. His eyes scanned the bar as he looked for someone texting; it was a good technique. His eyes landed on me, and I nodded. The slightest nod of his head back showed me he had seen me, but he walked in the opposite direction, making a loop near the bathrooms and sauntering around several of the tables. He was wise; he was making it look as though he was looking for a table, but all the ones he wanted were taken. He finally shifted his gaze to the bar and began to scan the open seats. Slowly, steadily, he made his way toward me. He sat down next to me, finally, but didn’t look at me.

  “Hello, friend,” he called to the bartender. “Can I get a pint and a menu?”

  “Sure thing,” the bartender said, and, within a few moments, the bartender brought him a pint, slightly overflowing, and a bar menu.

  “Scratch the menu,” my stranger said. “The pint’ll do.” I watched him as he spoke. He had dark, curly hair, and a jaw cut severely from his chin to his ears. He was thin; ten more pounds of either fat or muscle would have done him good, but he was quite attractive all the same.

  The bartender nodded. “Open a tab?”

  My stranger took out his wallet and slapped down a five in response. “Keep the change.”

  The bartended nodded, “Thanks,” and moved back down to a group of college age locals.

  “Your drink is getting watered down,” he said, still not looking at me.

  “I like it that way,” I said.

  “I sincerely doubt that’s true,” he said.

  “You said you would bring me something. Something to show me you are who you say you are.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He tossed it onto the bar between us, and sipped his pint while I grabbed it.

  I turned to face my drink, and I opened the small, white piece of paper. It had been folded in half, then in half again, and the ink written on it brought tears to my eyes.

  It was the receipt for my breakfast with Patrick…on the day of my abduction. When I had gone to the bathroom, before I had been gone for too long, he must have paid for breakfast. Kept the receipt… as a business expense? Then, realizing it would serve as a way to identify someone, to build trust.

  “I trust that means something to you?” the stranger asked.

  “What’s your name?” I asked in response.

  “Julian.”

  “Yeah, Julian, this means something.”

  We talked to each other without facing one another or looking at anything other than our drinks for more than an hour. His body got closer to mine as we talked, shoulder to shoulder, and I could feel warmth coming off of him.

  Once more, during our conversation, the bartender had returned. “Get you another, Friend?”

  “No,” Julian said. “I’m set, thank you.”

  “Miss?” the bartender looked at me.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” I’d said.

  We finished our drinks and Julian finally looked at me for the first time. Our eyes locked, and I felt a jolt of … something. Not electricity, not desire, exactly, but his eyes—his eyes were so green, so intense, I think I gasped to myself.

  “I want to meet you again here tomorrow, same time. I’ll have information for you. You know some of what Patrick investigated, but, as he told you, it was just the tip of the iceberg. I’m going to do some recon. When we talk tomorrow, I’ll have some answers. I’ll have a way to help you move forward.”

  “Why are you helping me?” I asked.

  “Patrick was a good man, and he liked you more than I think you probably know. He kept his distance out of respect, but…” he stopped, almost as if he didn’t want to speak too much of Patrick’s truth. “But, he would want me to help you.”

  I stood up, nodded, and threw a five down by my empty glass. It was understood that I would leave first. He would wait, walk slowly and indirectly to the door. No sign that we were together. No sign we had even said more than hello.

  I walked down the street back to Legacy London. The chill in the air gave me goosebumps and I breathed in, realizing that my breath held the tinge of excitement, the possibility of getting answers, getting Antoine back to Brad, and having a future with the man that I loved.

  The Billionaire’s LEGACY

  His Fate

  An Alpha Billionaire Romance

  Sarah J. Brooks

  Cassie

  I woke up in the plush bed in Brad’s London suite, stretched, and smiled. I’d never in a million years ever thought that I would come to think of a hotel as “home.” Even though I knew, as a journalist, I’d likely be traveling
the world and would be spending most of my time in hotels, far more than in any sort of home I had to call my own, I’d still always imagined that they would be simply a “home away from home.”

  Another thing I never imagined was having someone I loved sharing the bed beside me. I reached for Brad’s side of the bed and felt his warm frame there, his warm, regular breath showing me I was not alone in the room. I reached my hand across his waist toward his chest. He grabbed it and squeezed my fingers lightly, then held my hand to his chest. I slept again.

  When I woke a second time, the sun was brighter in the sky and there was movement from the street below. I felt to Brad’s side of the bed, but it was empty, and I could hear him in the kitchen, probably brewing coffee. The doorbell rang and he answered it, then closed it again, and the smell of bacon and eggs filled my nostrils. I’d give Brad one thing: he knew how to get me out of bed in the morning!

  I dressed in jeans and a sheer, light colored shirt with a pink cami under it. He’d given me the shirt, and it felt perfect on me when I wore it, accentuating all of my features and revealing just enough—without too much. I brushed my hair and put it up into a messy bun, applied some make up, and made my way into the living room.

  “Good morning, Gorgeous,” Brad said, greeting me with a cup of coffee and a mimosa. I took the mimosa first, and he set the coffee on the table and picked up his mimosa.

  “Cheers!” I said.

  “Cheers,” he said. “To a future of safety. A future that will bring my son back and we can be together, a family of three.” He clinked glasses with me and smiled. “I have a plan.”

  I sipped the mimosa, feeling the sweet taste of the bubbles slide down my throat, pleasantly scratchy.

  “I have some ideas, honey,” I said. “I think that, if we work together, we can get Antoine back. But, I think it’s going to take the two of us, together.