In Bed With the Billionaire

by Jackie Ashenden

  Why she was crying now and couldn’t seem to stop.

  She cared, that was the problem. She cared about him.

  It’s more than that. You love him.

  Temple lifted her gaze from the gun to Theo’s face. Made herself look. Made herself see the lines around his mouth and eyes, the lines of an unbelievably difficult and harsh existence. Made herself study the shadows in the green depths of his gaze, the darkness of guilt and anger and pain. Because it didn’t matter that she didn’t want to see those things, they were there. They were part of him. They were part of what made him who he was.

  And they were the things that would take him from her in the end.

  “I don’t want to do this,” she said hoarsely. “I don’t want to.”

  “I know. I know you don’t. But I’d rather it be you. It’s justice, don’t you see? Justice for Thalia. For all those other women. For everyone I’ve destroyed.” He reached out and picked up the gun then took her hand, placing the stock of the weapon in her palm and closing her fingers around it. “Take your revenge, kitten. Please. Fulfill your contract. Let me go.”

  The gun was cold and heavy, but his fingers were warm and steady. He wasn’t scared, and she knew he must have come to the realization about how it would all end a long time ago. And had accepted it.

  Tears were starting to drop into the desk top, little glittering spots on the oak. But she didn’t look at them. All she could see was his face.

  He’s right. This is justice. This is your chance at redemption. Your chance to clean the slate.

  It would give meaning to everything she’d done to get to this point. All those deaths she’d doled out, the lies she’d told, the money she’d stolen, the people she’d betrayed, the father she’d killed. Avenge her sister. Achieve her goal.

  It would not have been for nothing.

  “Go on.” The emerald glitter of his eyes was almost mesmerizing. “Don’t be afraid. I know you won’t miss.”

  Temple took a shuddering breath and raised her arm, the muzzle of the gun centered on his forehead. And clicked off the safety.

  He didn’t close his eyes, keeping them on hers, and the expression on his face was so unbelievably calm. Almost as if he was at peace.

  Her arm began to shake, a tremor she couldn’t still.

  One bullet and all of this would be over. Her mission would be at an end, and she could go find her sister. Start another life somewhere else with a clean slate.

  With the blood of the man you love on your hands.

  The feeling in her chest was a wrecking ball, crushing all her insides, crushing her heart. Because she knew, she fucking knew, that if she did this, if she pulled that trigger, there would be no redemption. It would cripple her, stain her, for the rest of her life.

  She could live with the fact that she’d killed people for money. She could live with the fact that she’d killed her father.

  But she could not live with the guilt of killing the man she loved.

  No matter how much he wanted her to.

  “No,” she said, hoarsely at first. Then stronger. “No. I’m not going to kill you, Theo. I’m not.”

  The look in his eyes changed, the peace draining from them. “You have to, Temple. I need you to.”

  “No.” Slowly, she lowered her arm, her hand still shaking. “I can’t do it. I won’t.”

  He moved then, so fast she wasn’t expecting it. Reaching forward over the desk to grasp her wrist and pulling her arm back up, then leaning forward and pressing his forehead right up against the muzzle of the gun. His eyes were full of those sharp edges, like broken green glass. “Pull the fucking trigger.”

  She tried to twist her wrist out of his grip but he was too strong. “Fuck you.”

  His grip tightened. “Do it.”

  “No!”

  Theo’s mouth curved in a terrible simulacrum of a smile, and this time there was no gentleness in it, no bittersweet amusement, no regret or understanding. There was only a cold, burning rage. The flame that burned in the heart of a man who called himself Jericho. “You know what Dad used to tell me?” His beautiful, beautiful voice was twisted and broken. “He used to say that his blood ran through my veins. That I was a true Fitzgerald, his true heir.” The broken glass in his eyes glittered. “Every day he used to tell me how fucking proud of me he was and how, if I kept working hard, one day I’d have an empire even bigger than his.” He laughed and there was nothing warm in it, only ice. “And hey, what do you know? He was right. I do have an empire bigger than his.”

  Her breathing was coming hard and fast, her heart tearing itself apart in her chest. “So?” she demanded. “What the fuck is that even supposed to mean?”

  Theo stood up in a sudden surge, holding her wrist, pressing the gun hard to his forehead. “What does it mean? It means that every day—every fucking day—I have to wake up to the fact that everything he said is true. Every. Fucking. Thing. His blood is in my veins. I am his heir. I am a true Fitzgerald.” He was breathing hard, anguish in his eyes. An anguish that broke her a little bit more. “How do I live with that? How the fuck can I go on knowing he was right? How the fuck can I deal with the fact that I’m not just Evelyn Fitzgerald’s heir. I am Evelyn Fitzgerald!”

  She didn’t know where the anger came from, the anger that broke her paralysis and made her remember that she wasn’t just a woman completely at the mercy of the clawed and sharp-toothed creature that was tearing great holes in her chest. Maybe it came from the pain and the guilt burning in his eyes. Pain and guilt that burned inside her too.

  “I don’t care,” she said fiercely. “I don’t care who the fuck you think you are. Do you think you’re the only one who has to live with guilt?” She shoved the muzzle of the gun hard against his forehead, breaking the hold he had on her wrist, forcing his head back. “Do you think you’re the only one who has to live with every fucking mistake they’ve ever made?” The rage surged inside her, hot and raw, like a forest fire burning out of control. “Boo hoo, little boy. I killed my goddamn father! I’ve killed so many other people I can’t even remember who they were, but do you see me begging for death?” She was panting now, meeting his furious green gaze head-on. “Do you see me forcing a person I care about, a person I love, to kill me? To take my life because I’m too fucking scared to live with what I’ve done?”

  His chest rose and fell, fast and hard. “Temple—”

  “No,” she said furiously. “No, you don’t get to talk. You’ve had your goddamn turn! It’s my turn now.” She jabbed the gun against his forehead again, relishing the catch of his breath. “You’re a coward, Theo. You’re just a fucking coward. And you’re taking the easy way out. Because if I can live with everything I’ve done, then you can too.”

  “You don’t understand,” he said and his voice was cold. “You can’t possibly understand.”

  “No? Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’ve got no damn idea.” She heaved in a breath, the tears coming again, pouring down her face. “But then, you don’t know either. You don’t know what it’s like to have someone I love asking me to kill them. Someone who matters. Someone who should fucking know better!”

  He began to shake his head. “Temple, no.”

  “No, what? That you can’t matter? That I can’t love you? Well, too fucking bad. You do matter. And I love you. And I’m not going to kill you.” She lowered her arm. “I told you once I didn’t know where my line was. Well, I know now. You’re my line, Theo. You’re my fucking line in the sand, and I’m not crossing it.”

  His expression burned, full of fury. “Then I’ll do it myself,” he said in a voice she didn’t recognize and made a grab for the weapon in her hand.

  But he was too slow. She was already turning, drawing back her arm, hurling the gun at the window of the office. The glass shattered, the gun crashing through it and out into the garden outside.

  She was shaking as she turned back to him, anger and grief raging inside her, the wrecking ball of that heavy feel
ing, the weight of all that love crushing every part of her.

  “Go and do it then.” Her voice was nearly as cracked and as broken as his. “Go and find your fucking gun. Take the easy way out. But don’t kid yourself it’s justice. Don’t kid yourself it’s some kind of noble gesture. Because it’s not.” She swallowed, her throat aching and sore, her cheeks wet with tears. “All it is, is selfishness.”

  Bright gold flared in his eyes. “And so? Don’t you think after sixteen fucking years in hell, I’ve earned a little bit of selfishness?”

  “No. If I haven’t, then you goddamn well haven’t either.” Temple lifted her chin, ignoring her tears. “You need to find your line in the sand, Theo. You need to find the line you will not cross. Because until you do, all you’ll ever be is your fucking father.”

  There was a terrible, terrible silence.

  He just stood there and right before her eyes, his expression began to close up, the shutters coming down, the sharp emerald ice freezing out all the brilliant gold. “Get out,” he said curtly. “Go while you have the chance.”

  She raised a hand, wiping futilely at the tears on her cheeks. “Come with me. If we go now we can—”

  “No.”

  The denial was hard, flat, and what was left of her heart lurched. “You’re going out into the garden aren’t you?”

  He put his head back, drawing himself up to his full height. Tall and strong and so vitally alive. “This is my reward, Temple. This is what I promised myself. This is all that kept me going all those fucking years, and I don’t give a shit what you think about it. I am owed this, and I’m taking it.”

  And just like that all her rage seeped away, leaving her feeling small and cold. A shadow of herself. “You can’t,” she said in a thin, thready voice. “You can’t. You have to … hold on.”

  “Hold on to what?” His tone was bitter, like arsenic. “To hope? There’s no hope, not for me. There never was.”

  The tears refused to stop falling no matter how much she wiped them away. “There is hope. There’s always hope, Theo.” She didn’t know why she was saying such shit, not when hope had always been in short supply for her. And yet the words kept coming anyway. “You … just have to believe in it, even if you can’t see it. Even if you don’t think it’s there.”

  “That’s the problem with you, Temple,” he said coldly. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re too fucking young.”

  Desperation rose inside her. “Promise me you won’t do this, Theo. Promise me you won’t use that gun.”

  But his gaze had shifted to someone behind her. “Get her out of here, Dmitri.”

  “Theo.” She should be turning, preparing to fight off the man behind her, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn away from the man in front of her. The man who’d finally be the one to break her. “Theo, promise me.”

  His green eyes were the last things she saw as something hit her hard over the back of her head.

  Then there was nothing but darkness.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Jericho stepped out into the darkness of the garden. He could hear sirens in the distance, but it wasn’t likely they were coming for him. Not yet. He had a bit of time.

  It was cold tonight, the sky clear, but the stars were lost in the glow of the City of Light.

  His breath fogged in the air.

  He walked carefully over to the patch of lawn beneath the window of his study, where broken glass glittered in the light, and after a minute of careful searching he found the Glock in the shadow of a rosebush at the edge of the lawn.

  Truth was, he didn’t need this particular gun, not when his house had an armory down in the basement. But something inside him wanted the Glock, and right now, he couldn’t bring himself to deny the urge.

  Bending, he picked it up from the dirt and brushed it off. The stock fitted perfectly in his palm, the light gleaming along the short, stubby barrel. And he was sure, if he concentrated, that he could feel the warmth of Temple’s hand lingering in the metal.

  Is that why you wanted this gun? Because she was the last one who’d touched it? Fuck, you’re an idiot.

  He stared down at it, rage simmering inside him.

  Yeah, he was an idiot. A fucking fool to think she’d grant him any kind of mercy. She didn’t think he deserved it, not even after sixteen fucking years. Well, shit, he didn’t need her approval. He knew what he’d earned and what he hadn’t.

  His life hadn’t ever been his, but couldn’t he have his death? Wasn’t that allowed?

  “Do you think you’re the only one who has to live with guilt?”

  Christ, what did she know? Sure, she’d done some bad shit, but not like he had. Her father’s death had been taken in self-defense and the contracts she’d taken on had all been for assholes who’d deserved it, or at least that’s what she said.

  She was a child. She knew nothing.

  “Do you think you’re the only one who has to live with every fucking mistake they’ve ever made?”

  His hadn’t been mistakes. He’d known, even back when his father had introduced him to the Lucky Seven, deep down he’d known what kind of place it was. What kind of people operated it. What kind of people forced others into slavery.

  He’d known because he’d been one of those people. Purposefully he’d allied himself with his father, and purposefully he’d closed his eyes to what was going on around him. He’d helped his father’s business become more efficient, more profitable, and those were not mistakes in any way.

  He turned the gun over in his hand, running his fingers along the barrel. The muzzle against his forehead had felt … right. Pity she hadn’t had the guts to pull the trigger.

  “Do you see me forcing a person I care about, a person I love, to kill me? To take my life because I’m too fucking scared to live with what I’ve done?”

  Jericho took a breath and for a moment all he could see was the anguish and rage in her golden eyes. A person I love. Him. She was talking about him.

  He tightened his fingers on the gun. No, she was wrong. It wasn’t love, it was a combination of sex, physical chemistry, and a common experience, nothing more. She was so young she probably wouldn’t know love if she fell over it anyway.

  Would you?

  Love. He knew love. Oh, not the twisted form his father’s took, but the look in Violet’s eyes every day he came home from school. Every day she was there to greet him, reaching her little arms up for a hug, the lisp in her voice as she’d said his name. She’d been the only bright spot in his life. The only good thing.

  But it hadn’t saved him. It had only made him endure sixteen years of living in hell. Sixteen years of being the Devil himself. Love was the whole reason he was here in the first place, and right now, it was just another thing he didn’t want to feel.

  He glanced up at the window of his office. He’d always envisaged the police finding his body in front of the computer, having committed suicide after the break down of his empire, but what did it matter if it was out here? In the garden, out in the night air? Hell, if he turned a little bit to the left, he’d see the Eiffel Tower, and that wouldn’t be a bad last thing to see. He’d always loved Paris after all.

  It’s not her.

  No, it wasn’t. But maybe she was right. Maybe that had been an unfair thing for him to insist on. He just hadn’t expected her to care so deeply.

  “You’re my line, Theo. You’re my fucking line in the sand, and I’m not crossing it.”

  His chest felt tight, and it was difficult to breathe. The sirens were coming closer. Perhaps they were coming for him after all, in which case he needed to end this and quickly. Especially because Dmitri would be coming back soon, having seen Temple safely stowed on the jet back to the States. And he hadn’t told Dmitri of his final plans for himself. A shitty way to treat a friend, but that couldn’t be helped.

  Lifting the gun, he placed the muzzle against the side of his head. It felt cold.

  He looked at
the lights on the iconic tower, shining in the night. Christ, why weren’t there any stars? There should be stars, there really should be.

  Of course, Temple had a line. He always knew she would. She was at heart a good person.

  “You need to find the line you will not cross. Because until you do, all you’ll ever be is your fucking father.”

  He closed his eyes. He had no lines. He’d systematically destroyed every one in pursuit of his goal, because even having one would have given away his intentions.

  No. You do have a line.

  Violet. Yes, he had Violet. But that was all. That was the only one.

  It’s not all. You have one other.

  His breath rushed into his lungs, then out again. A desperate sound, like someone drowning.

  You have her.

  The sirens were close now, shattering the night, and he could see lights flashing. If he waited any longer, the garden would be full of police, and this final choice would be taken from him like every other fucking choice in his life.

  Because he didn’t have her. She was gone, and he’d been the one to send her away.

  “I killed my goddamn father … I’ve killed so many other people I can’t even remember who they were, but do you see me begging for death?”

  No, but then she was stronger than he was. She was stronger than anyone he had ever known.

  “There’s always hope, Theo … You just have to believe in it, even if you can’t see it. Even if you don’t think it’s there.”

  Why was he thinking this? Why could he not stop thinking about her? He had to pull this fucking trigger and end it, take the reward he’d promised himself. Because she was wrong, there was no hope for him. He was damned, and he had been from the moment he’d been born.

  “Promise me, Theo.”

  So much desperation in her voice. So much pain. Why did she care so very much about him? What had he ever done to deserve it?

  “You just have to believe…”

  Jericho opened his eyes. His hand was shaking, and he could feel the muzzle of the gun moving icily on his skin in time with the movement. All it would take was a single muscle impulse sent from his brain to his finger, and that bullet would fire, and all of this would be over. His pain would end.