Billionaire Bad Boys

by Holly Hart

  “Were you planning to tell me that at some point?” she yells.

  “I’m sorry, Cassie,” Carson sighs. “I’m the one in charge here, not you.”

  “That is good to hear,” says a voice from the doorway.

  Without looking up, Maks says: “Hello, Uncle.”

  Next to the Albanian guard is a barrel-chested man with a wide face and a pompadour of iron-gray hair. His hairy body is covered in a sheen of sweat under his Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts.

  “Aannd the sexiness factor in the room just went down, somehow,” says Tricia.

  “Not now, Trish,” I growl.

  Carson locks eyes with the newcomer.

  “Bogdan Nabatov,” he says. “I’m glad we finally get to meet.”

  The old man’s eyes flash anger and he tilts his head toward Maks.

  “You and I will have a long talk after all this is over, boy,” he snarls.

  Maks says nothing.

  “This meeting is about you and me,” Carson snaps. “Nobody else. I want just the two of us in a room. I think I have an offer you’ll appreciate.”

  Nabatov pulls a cigar from his shirt pocket and lights it. The stench of the smoke makes my stomach hitch.

  “You would like that, I’m sure,” he says. His English is much better than Maksim’s. “But I’m afraid we will all stay right where we are. I know what you did to my associates; I can assure you that won’t happen to me.”

  What Carson did? What did he do?

  “Fine,” says Carson. “I’m here to make a deal. To compensate you for your losses. And to prove that there is no investigation against you.”

  “Is that so?” Nabatov’s thick eyebrows go up. “Well, then. I am a reasonable man. Please go on.”

  “You let these two go,” says Carson, pointing to Tricia and me. “And I sign over my fortune to you.”

  What?

  I see naked greed in Nabatov’s eyes as the offer sinks in. His cigar almost drops from his mouth.

  “Carson, no!” I blurt.

  “I told you before,” he says, eyes never leaving Nabatov. “I’m in charge here, not you.”

  “Carson, I am not going to let you give up everything you’ve worked for just so a piece of shit like this won’t do something to me! I can handle myself!”

  “Well?” he says, ignoring me. “What do you say, Bogdan?”

  Nabatov sucks on his cigar for a moment before answering.

  “And how do you propose to do this?” he asks.

  “I know you’re under your brother’s thumb here in America,” says Carson. “You create a shill corporation and I buy it from you for everything I have, three billion and change. I get a worthless company, you get the cash. More than enough for you to go legit and give up nonsense like the Chase.”

  This is crazy. If I weren’t so desperately in love with Carson, I’d kill him myself for being such a fool.

  Nabatov chews his cigar noisily.

  “I would be amenable to that,” he says. “Of course, part of the money would have to go to compensate Mr. Buckner for his… troubles.”

  Carson frowns. “Buckner?”

  “Don’t ask,” I say.

  “How do I know you will keep your end of the deal, Mr. Drake?”

  “Simple,” says Carson. “You keep Cassie here until it goes through. I’ll make sure my lawyers fast-track it.”

  Fuck that! I open my mouth to say exactly those words, but Maksim beats me to the punch.

  “No, Uncle,” he says, looking up from the floor for the first time since he arrived.

  Nabatov turns slowly to face his nephew.

  “What did you say to me?” he growls, his heavy brows drawn down over his piggy little eyes.

  “I said no. You are not going to be hurting my friends. I won’t let you.”

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  57. CARSON

  “Stay out of this, Maks,” I say. “It’s between your uncle and me.”

  “And me!” Cassie snaps.

  “Excuse me!” Tricia gripes. “I’m sitting right here!”

  Maks steps slowly and deliberately toward Nabatov. The guards move to intercept him, but a raised hand from his uncle stops them.

  “Was that a threat?” the older man says, eyes wide. “From little Maksim?”

  “I won’t let you hurt them,” Maks says, his voice stronger this time.

  “And what will you do to stop me? Dance at me? Make me drink until I pass out?”

  Maks stops on the edge of the exquisite Persian rug, a few yards from where Nabatov stands in the arched doorway.

  “I don’t have to be doing anything,” he says. “That’s the easy part.”

  Nabatov frowns.

  “What the hell are you talking about, boy?”

  “All I have to be doing is not calling a phone number for a few days,” says Maks. “When I don’t do that, someone I pay money to will be sending a package to FBI office in New York City.”

  The older man’s face slackens and this time, the cigar actually falls out of his mouth to the floor.

  “Stupid little Maksim is not so stupid, Uncle,” says Maks. “Ever since I was being teenager, I make recordings. I take photos. I am writing things down. Just in case something ever happens to me; maybe someday you decide I need to be gone.

  “So I give sealed package to someone and pay them to be keeping it for me. If I am not contacting that person, they know something bad is happening. They deliver the package.”

  Holy shit, Maks. This is the life you’ve been living behind that smile? I glance at Cassie, who looks at me wide-eyed.

  “You think I don’t know what you were doing in Russia?” he continues. “I know all. You ruined lives of girls. You killed people. Now in America, you are making embarrassment of our family! You are like a rat in the sewer. This country is giving us everything, but you spit on it.”

  Nabatov tries to smile, but it looks ridiculous on him.

  “Maksie, Maksie, come on now,” he says. “We don’t need to do this. We’re family.”

  “No.” Maks waves a hand at me and the girls. “These people are being my family now. Not you.”

  Nabatov’s face hardens again.

  “If you do this, your father will go down with me,” he says coldly.

  Maksim’s eyes close for a long moment.

  “I know,” he says. “That is why I haven’t been doing this before now. But I must stop you. My friends must be going free.”

  The room is silent. I guess no one knows what to say next. I sure as hell don’t.

  “Very well,” Nabatov sighs. “We have what the Americans call a Mexican standoff. You may leave. Obviously, I have enough information on all of you to burn you if you try to talk to anyone. I will have to compensate Mr. Buckner, but that’s the cost of doing business.”

  Cassie and I exchange hopeful glances.

  “And you’ll return the money you owe her to the account in Grand Cayman,” I say. “That’s $2.75 million USD.”

  He flashes annoyance, but nods.

  “One more thing,” I say.

  “Do not push your luck, Mr. Drake,” says Nabatov. “My patience is not infinite.”

  “The woman in red.”

  His eyes narrow.

  “What about her?”

  “Do you know what happens to the quarries after the Chase?”

  “They take their money and disappear,” he says with a shrug. “It is no concern of mine.”

  “They disappear, all right. But not in the way you think.”

  “What are you talking about?” says Nabatov.

  “Yeah,” says Cassie. “What are you talking about?”

  Before I can answer, I hear the cough of a bullet, and see the guard closest to Nabatov dance a strange jog and fall to the floor. Two more coughs and the other two follow suit.

  “He’s talking about me,” says the blonde in the red dress as she enters the room from the hall.

  Her silenced pistol i
s aimed squarely at Cassie’s head.

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  58. CASSANDRA

  “Anna!” Nabatov cries. “What are you doing?!”

  The woman in the red dress stalks toward me. Her face isn’t the cool, flawless mask it was in her video the night I joined the Chase. Now it’s twisted with rage.

  There’s also a good-sized goose egg and a clot of dried blood on the left side of her jaw.

  I rise from my chair. Tricia moves to do the same beside me, but I stop her with a hand on the shoulder.

  “Don’t,” I say. “Leave this to me.”

  “You will pay for these men,” Nabatov says, waving at the men lying in pools of blood on the floor. “They do not come cheap.”

  “Shut up if you want to walk out of here,” Anna says without a trace of emotion.

  Carson glares at her.

  “I knew I should have gone for your throat,” he snarls.

  Without taking her eyes off me, Anna points the gun at him.

  “I have even less reason to keep you alive, Mr. Drake,” she says. “That goes for the rest of you, as well.”

  We lock eyes and I can see the madness there. She was good at hiding it, but whatever circumstances have changed the situation, she’s a complete wild card now.

  “This is what I was trying to tell you,” Carson says to Nabatov. “Anna here is the reason the quarries disappear after the Chase. She kills them!”

  My heart skips a beat, but I don’t let it show on my face. That’s right, blondie, keep looking right at me. You don’t need to be pointing that gun anywhere else.

  “Let me guess,” I say. “After you kill them, you steal their winnings.”

  “Stupid sow,” she chuckles. “Money means nothing. Power is everything.”

  “Money is power.”

  She smiles without humor. Those cold, dead eyes are starting to scare me as she gets closer.

  “Power is power, sow. It is a gift from Satan. It’s why we offer him the desecrated virgin when the summer sun is at its hottest.”

  Suddenly my mind is whirling, extrapolating from what she just said. It’s crazy, but it explains so much.

  “Let me guess,” I say. “You’re the one who suggested the Chase to Nabatov in the first place.”

  Nabatov looks down at the bodies of his henchman, then back at Anna.

  “Is what she says true, Anna? Did you have me start this so you could kill these women? Are you insane?”

  “What difference does it make to you?” she says. “You made a fortune from it. It doesn’t have to end. We just need to eliminate these people.”

  She slides a hand around my upper arm and places the barrel of the silencer against my temple.

  “This one is coming with me,” she says. “The rest I will leave for you, Bogdan. Do with them what you will. My time grows short.”

  “I will not be a part of this!” Nabatov shouts.

  “Very well,” she says, pulling the barrel from my scalp and aiming it at him. Two more coughs and Maksim’s uncle is dead on the floor.

  That was exactly the distraction I needed.

  I aim directly for the enormous bruise on her jaw and drive the side of my head into it. The sound it makes is like two bowling balls colliding.

  She stumbles backwards but keeps the gun pointed forward. She squeezes off two more rounds into the room, but the only thing they hit is the far wall, thank God.

  Before I know what’s happening, Carson is rushing toward her. I grab her gun hand just as he leaps in the air and comes crashing down with a diagonal blow right into her skull.

  What the hell was that? Obviously Carson is still keeping a few secrets from me.

  I flip Anna backwards with a wristlock that sends her sailing to the floor. Her head connects with the hard oak and she lies there, motionless. Two massive head traumas have left her with a concussion.

  Carson and I stand there, breathing heavily.

  “That bruise on her jaw?” he says. “That was me.”

  “Yeah?” I huff. “And what was with that flying punch?”

  He shrugs.

  “I got some skills,” he says. “No biggie.”

  Neither of us sees Anna move until it’s too late. She grabs the gun and sits up on the floor, angling the barrel toward Carson’s chest.

  Suddenly my mind fills with images of him: the gawky teen who kissed me for the first time under the bleachers, the dashing playboy who restarted my heart for me when I didn’t even know that it had stopped.

  If I lose him, I’ll die myself. I can’t let that happen.

  I react without thinking, grabbing him and pivoting my weight to throw him out of the line of fire. My back is now to Anna, shielding Carson from the gun.

  Three loud coughs split the air.

  No ricochet cracks, which means they all struck flesh.

  I hear a faint thump.

  My heart races as I grip Carson tighter than I ever have before. Which of us is hit?

  “Cassie!” He’s groping me with both hands. “Are you all right?”

  I open my eyes, and realize I’ve been groping him. No bullet holes.

  “I’m fine,” I breathe. “But what…?”

  We both turn to see Anna’s prone body on the floor, bleeding out from three exit wounds in the front of her sundress. Her eyes are open, staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

  Behind her stands Tricia, eyes wide, chest heaving. She’s still in the shooter’s stance.

  “This was… on the floor,” she breathes, her eyes round and unblinking. “One of these guys… he dropped it… when he got… y’know. Shot.”

  She goggles at Anna’s body. “Did I do that?”

  I grab her in a fierce hug as tight as the one I used on Carson.

  “You sure did, babe,” I whisper in her ear. “You saved all of us. You’re a hero.”

  Carson joins us. We stand there, holding each other, trying to process what the hell just happened.

  After several moments, we look up to see Maksim standing across the room, staring at us. Tears are streaming down his face.

  I smile weakly and hold out an arm to him.

  “Room for one more,” I say.

  He bolts across the room and grabs the three of us in a vise grip. We stand that way for a long time.

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  59. CASSANDRA

  Carson and I don’t speak on the ride up in the elevator, which is okay. There’s not a lot left to say right now, really.

  We waited at the Brighton Beach house until the Company cleanup team arrived. My father was more than happy to dispatch them, once I’d explained what happened to us.

  I’ve done this many times in my career, so it’s second nature to me. For the others… well, they had a lot of processing to do. You can’t go through something like that and not be fundamentally changed by it, even if you know in your heart that you only did what you had to do.

  Dad assured me that the Company wouldn’t have a problem with two players like Bogdan and Anna being taken off the board. Minimal questions. All he asked in return for helping me was that I visit him and Mom in Virginia next week to talk about my life.

  I’m not sure that’s a better fate than what Anna had in store for me, if I’m being honest.

  A blue light inside the elevator glows as we reach the top floor. Then the doors open, and I forget to breathe for a full ten seconds.

  It’s the most spectacular apartment I’ve ever seen. The floor-to-ceiling windows, the marble floors, the crystal light fixtures hanging from the twelve-foot ceilings. The art on the walls: Picasso, Matisse, Pollock, Warhol.

  “It’s stunning,” I say. It’s the only word I can think of.

  Carson smiles. “Would you like a tour?”

  “Now? Don’t be stupid.”

  I reach down and grab the hem of my dress, pulling it up and over my head in a single movement. Then I jump onto him and wrap my limbs around his body like a four-armed octopus, my heart po
unding.

  My mouth is mashed against his so hard it’s almost painful.

  He grabs hold of my back and reciprocates, twisting his fingers into my hair.

  “I was so scared,” he breathes in my ear. “When I realized what was happening. And then I saw Anna, what she was going to do…”

  “Shhhh. It’s over.”

  “I couldn’t lose you. Not again. I would have given everything I had not to.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

  He carries me down the opulent hallway into a bedroom that’s easily three times the size of my apartment. He drops me gently on the bed before ripping off his shirt and sliding off his shorts.

  Our lovemaking is urgent. Not like the night at the Regent; that was pure desire. This is something else, something deeper. Assuring each other that we’re still here. That everything is okay. That we’re together.

  Carson reaches behind me and unclasps my bra, freeing my breasts to brush against the skin of his chest. I don’t ever want to get used to that feeling of his skin on mine; I want it always to be as new and thrilling as it is now.

  I pull off my own panties and lie back on the bed, pulling him down on top of me.

  “Carson,” I moan as his lips find my neck.

  “I love you, Cassie,” he whispers in my ear.

  Hot tears squirt from the corner of my eyes. I never though I could ever feel like this. I never understood what life could be like. A whole new world is opening for me.

  “I love you, Carson,” I whisper back. “God, I love you so much.”

  With the words comes a new urgency. He presses his body hard into mine, and I open my legs wide for him. No foreplay, no athletic sex games, no furious passion.

  Just the unyielding need to become one.

  I hold my breath as his hard shaft enters me. His strokes are slow at first, our bodies still gripped together, our mouths and tongues locked on each other. Neither of us wants to let go, even for a moment.

  Then the urgency builds, and his thrusts become deeper. We disengage from kissing and I place my chin on his shoulder. Soon he’s driving harder, faster. I wrap my arms tight around his neck and my legs around his waist, matching each stroke with a lift of my own.