My Billionaire (Trilogy)(Erotic Romance Stories)

by M. J. Bradley

  “This is the man that fired me,” he snapped, his face going red. “Now tell me — what the hell are you doing with him?”

  My Billionaire

  Book 3

  M.J. Bradley

  Chapter 1

  Jason sat in his chair and looked out the window — and watched as bright yellow sun streamed in, dusty and somehow alluring. He had opened the window a few hours ago. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d felt like he had to. He hadn’t left his room in a week — except to eat and use the toilet — and he was starting to feel like some kind of sub-human, something out of a horror film. Was he a creep? When he had first thought it he’d found the notion ludicrous. How could he be a creep? He was in love, and, what was more important, his beloved loved him back. No — there was nothing creepy about love. It was pure, special — it was worth more than anything on the planet. That was what he told himself, anyway.

  Then he looked at his wall. There were hundreds of pictures on it, overlapping each other and curling at the corners and falling to the floor. At first, when he’d been adding to it constantly, he’d thought it was sweet — he’d imagined showing Molly, and smiled as he imagined her face lighting up. “This is gorgeous,” she would say, and then she would kiss him. Now, though, he wasn’t so sure — was it sweet, or was it odd? Perhaps it was the ritual of it he had liked, finding the picture and printing it out and sticking it to the wall — now it was done, and he had found every picture he was likely to find, he didn’t know how he felt about it. It was undoubtedly lovely to look at — it had to be, because it was Molly — but that was all. It didn’t fill him with the same awe it once had.

  He sighed and stood up and rolled his neck from side to side. He wanted Molly — he had to have Molly. That was the main thing. Everything else was secondary to that. If he had to sacrifice everything to have her, he would — without a second thought. He looked down. The coin glinted, as if winking at him — it was in on the secret, too, he realized. It was the only one who knew the real him. Not even Molly did, not yet — not even she knew just how much he loved her. She loved him. She loved him. She loved him.

  Suddenly — he knew not how, or why, or when it had happened, or how to stop it — he was punching the wall. He struck it hard, his fist crunching into the printed pictures, and screamed out. He let the screams build up inside of him, wave after wave like a symphony, and then explode out of him, resounding around the room, mingling with the fist-on-paper sound of his fists. They were bleeding, but there was no pain — only relief. He punched the wall, over and over again. He wasn’t angry at Molly, he wasn’t angry at himself — he was angry because he and Molly weren’t together, right now. Knowing that they would one day be together was not good enough — he had to have her now. He wished he could just talk to her, could just make her understand. If he could just get her alone, she would understand — that much he knew.

  He fell back, his fists pulsing bloodily, aching horribly. He walked over to the side of his bed — where his bandages were — and wrapped his hands up. He let out an exasperated sigh when he saw it, next to the bandages — a knife, covered in dried blood. He hadn’t meant to do it — his legs were still aching, and had only stopped bleeding last night — but something had taken hold of him, something dark and inexplicable.

  When his hands were wrapped he walked over to the wall of pictures and started taking them down, one by one. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed or ashamed — he just knew now. He knew that he had to be ‘normal’ — he’d had a moment of clarity, an epiphany of sorts, when he’d hit that wall. He knew — he didn’t know how he knew, because to him it was perfectly normal, and he would have kept them on the wall in a moment — that this wasn’t normal. And if he wanted Molly, he’d have to be normal.

  He shoved the pictures into a black bag and felt vaguely sad — that had been his project over these past few weeks, and now it was nothing. When he was putting the pictures away, the coin dropped to the floor, and lay next to the overflowing bin-bag. He could put that in the bin, he thought — he could shed himself of this perplexing quest and go back to being himself. But he didn’t want that — he didn’t want to be himself. He picked up the coin, clenching it in his fist. He didn’t want his old life — he wanted his new life, the one he’d started with Molly, the one he had dreamed about every night for the past month.

  He put the coin in his pocket and threw open the door to his room. He knew he was probably imagining it, but he felt an ice-cold breeze crawl all over his body, as if he had just stepped out of a sauna into a freezer. He could hear his flatmates in the kitchen, talking and laughing — he hadn’t spoken to any of them for a while, and knew what they must think of him — and felt a longing. He wanted — a part of him wanted — to go in there and spend time with them and just be a normal student. But a bigger part — the part he knew, even before it spoke, that he would listen to — urged him to turn the other way and exit the flat. It told him to go outside, to get his haircut, to buy some nice clothes, and to become ‘normal’. He could almost hear it. “Be normal,” it told him, “and you can get Molly. Don’t worry, though — you are normal. You just have to be the normal that other people accept, and then you will have her.” It was confusing even to him, but still he listened to it.

  He ran out of his flat and walked through the streets. The sun was blood red and cascaded over the top of the city. The air was hazy — swirling, hot lines that circled in upon themselves and then dissipated and reformed. He took it all in with a smile — it felt strangely magical, fantastical to be outside. His heart was pounding, of course — he was incredibly nervous, though he knew not why. He thought it must be because he hadn’t been outside for so long, and felt a little depressed.

  “Don’t be depressed,” a voice told him — he actually heard it. He turned around, gasping, and a passerby gave him a worried, angry look. “Don’t be scared. I’m your friend. I’m here to help you.”

  “I’m not crazy,” he whispered, as if saying it aloud would make it true. “I’m not crazy.”

  “I know you’re not,” the voice said. “I’m just here to help you. You want Molly, don’t you?”

  The voice sounded like his own, and it sounded real — he kept looking around, staring frantically at every pedestrian, checking to see if their lips were moving. None of them were — or, if they were, but they were talking to someone else. No one was talking to him. He ducked his head and ran towards a cluster of trees in a park a few hundred yards away. When he got there his palms were sweaty and his chest heaved.

  He slumped down against a tree where no one could see him and buried his face in his hands, and cried — he didn’t know why, but the tears came, and he let them, random, confusing pain washing out of him. He didn’t know why he was sad — he hadn’t been sad a few minutes ago, and he didn’t feel particularly sad. But he must be sad, otherwise he wouldn’t be crying. The tears washed out of him, as if cleansing his body. When he finished, he felt better.

  The next time the voice spoke, he didn’t shy away from it. It was right — he wanted Molly. Anyone — even a random voice that may or may not have existed — that could help him with was an ally.

  “Okay — enough crying,” the voice said. “It’s just me and you from now on. I want to help you — I’m going to help you. You’re — no, we’re going to get Molly. She’s going to kiss us and love us, but only if you do what I say. You have to stop this creepy shit. No more pictures, no more beating people up for no reason. Molly wants someone normal. I know you know this, but somehow you think that you are normal already, and yet you still have to be normal — you hear how stupid that sounds. You are not normal, but I will teach you how to act normal enough to get Molly. And then we can do what we want with her.”

  Jason liked the sound of that — all except that very last bit, actually, now that he thought about it. What did the voice mean, do what we want with her? What did it want to do with her? Jason just wanted to love her, to be with her and be l
oved by her. He didn’t want to do anything harmful or weird. He just wanted what he knew she wanted — to be loved. He would be the one to love her, and she would be the one to love him — that was all. There was nothing else he wanted.

  “What do you mean?” he said, feeling faintly foolish. Who the hell was he talking to? He was aware that it could be a voice in his head — but it didn’t sound like it was coming from his head. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere behind him, from a person a long way off.

  “We can do whatever we want with her,” the voice repeated, as if giving instructions to a child.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “What do you think I mean?”

  “I don’t know — that’s why I’m asking.”

  “What do you want to do with her?”

  “Love her — be with her.”

  “Then you’ll be able to do that.”

  “Okay. But what do you want to do with her?”

  “We’ll come to that later. Just know this — you’ll get to love her, if you do what I say.”

  Jason smiled — he did want that. “Okay,” he said. A man walked passed as he said this, and shot Jason a mocking look. Jason clenched his fists and his heart pounded in his ears — he could feel the red mist descending and his sense receding. All he could think about was walking over to the man and bashing his brains in, kicking him and punching him until there was nothing left but a pile of red pulp and bones and brains.

  He stood up, and the man turned and stared at him, that silly look still on his face. He would not have that look in a minute, Jason consoled himself — in a minute his face wouldn’t be able to show anything.

  He took a step forward. “No,” the voice spat. “Don’t bother. If you get in a fight now, and get yourself hurt, what good are you to Molly then?”

  Jason stopped. The guy was still looking at him, squaring his shoulders, getting ready for a fight. Jason wanted to fight him. No — he didn’t want to fight him. He had to. There was something inside of him, pulsing red, like a caged lion finally set free. All he wanted was to inflict pain. “No,” the voice repeated. “It’s this — or Molly. It’s that simple.”

  He took a deep breath — then another — in and out, slowly letting the anger filter out of him. The man stared at him, and then burst into laughter when he turned around and walked away, through the trees and away from the man. “You better run!” he called after him. “You coward!”

  Jason ignored him, and listened to the voice, which was talking to him: “That’s good. Now all we have to do is get you cleaned up. Let’s go get that haircut and then we’ll buy you some nice clothes. When Molly sees you she’s not going to be able to resist.”

  Jason smiled. He hoped — he knew it was true.

  #

  Chapter 2

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  Molly was furious — she could barely contain her rage. She had never felt like this before. All she wanted to do was hit Damien in the face as hard as she could, over and over again until he bled. No — not until he bled. She wanted to hit him over and over again until he wasn’t beautiful anymore. That was all he had, she thought in rage — his beauty, and his money. Without those, what was he? What did they have in common? She was questioning everything. She felt like her whole world had been shaken by some uncaring god from far away, who, as soon as his mischief was complete, had disappeared into the ether.

  Damien was just standing there, with his back to her, staring out the window. She had begged her parents to go away for an hour so she could sort this out — her dad had been hard to persuade, and she thought he was going to hit Damien. She had never seen him so angry. He’d had tears in his eyes, and his cheeks had been flushed, and his fists shaking — but he had went. It was Mom that had done it — if she hadn’t begged him, he would have hit Damien, and then everything would have been a hundred times worse. The last thing she wanted was for her dad to get hurt, or to end up in prison.

  “Are you going to say anything?” she snapped. “Or are you just going to stand there, trying to look cool?”

  He was shaking — he had been shaking a lot over the past few weeks, she realized then. Now she knew why — he had known that the man he’d fired was her dad, and he had given him his job back, thinking that would instantly make everything better. No — it didn’t make anything better. The only reason he’d given him the job back was because he was her dad. If he’d just been another ant under Damien’s boot, he wouldn’t have hesitated crushing him.

  Still he didn’t move. He looked like Gatsby — or like a man trying to be Gatsby. She smiled at that — that was what he was, all he was. He was just a man with a big house who had, for some reason that she doubted even he understood, had fallen for her — and he hadn’t been able to let it go. Well — she was ready to let it go right now. Her family would be back in less than an hour, and she would choose them — that was what she told herself. But could she abandon Damien? Could she go on without him? She had become so attached to him so quickly — severing that attachment would be impossible, wouldn’t it?

  She gasped — Damien turned around. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, silent, body-convulsing sobs. She wanted more than anything to go to him, to comfort him and tell him that everything would be okay — but she wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t do that. They had to confront this. Molly wasn’t one for elephants in the room, and there was no elephant bigger than your boyfriend firing your dad.

  “Don’t cry,” she said, hating herself a little bit — and yet unable to stop. “You look so pathetic when you cry.”

  He looked at her like a man who had lost all hope, and she questioned herself yet again. Was this the right thing to do? Was it so bad that he had fired her dad? Then she remembered something. “I could buy everything you own a million times and still have pocket money left,” she said, staring at Damien, watching his face. Sure enough, there it was — an almost imperceptible twitch of recognition.

  “Molly — I’m sorry. I really am. I should have —”

  “You said that to my dad, didn’t you?” she said. “You rubbed your wealth in my father’s face when you were on his case at work, when he was working damn hard to make sure your company was running effectively. Why?”

  He shrugged and then fell onto the bed. “I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t. I just — sometimes I like to remind people that I am rich. I don’t know why. I wish I did.”

  “It’s despicable,” Molly said. “It’s horrible. It’s — it’s — why the hell would you do that, Damien? Did my dad even deserve it, or was that just for your own amusement, too?”

  He was staring fixedly at the ground, his lips trembling and his eyes pits of red. At length he said, “No — your dad’s work was fine. I — I just — oh, Molly, I don’t know. You can’t ask me why I do things — I don’t even know why I do things. I just do them. I don’t think about them.” He stood up abruptly and walked over to her. She didn’t back away, but her whole body tensed up. There was a part of her that wanted to run — there was a part of her that wanted to pull him close. “I didn’t think when I came over to you that day in the supermarket — I just did it. And it was the best thing I ever did. Don’t you see? Sometimes good things can happen when you just do things. But sometimes bad things can, too. I don’t claim to know everything — but I know one thing. I love you, Molly. I love you more than anything.”

  She took a step back — she was scared that if she stayed so close to him she would fall into his arms and he would make everything go away. Suddenly she was seeing everything clearly — she didn’t really know him. He was just a rich man who had taken her away for a few weeks and tricked her into thinking she loved him. Could that be all it was? She didn’t want to believe, and she did want to — she didn’t want to because it had seemed so magical, so significant and important, and she did want to because it would make what she was about to do much easier.

  She barely had the
breath to say the words. “You have to go,” she whispered, and then, louder: “Get out — Damien, just get the hell out.”

  Her heart was thumping horribly. This was the end of something, she thought — this was the end of something beautiful. She wished that it was night — the sun was glaring down stubbornly, filling the room — so that she could look at the stars. Maybe looking at the stars would make everything better. Maybe looking at the stars would make her remember what she used to know without being told — her life means nothing, and neither does Damien’s, and neither does anyone else’s, not really, not in the grand scheme of things. That depressed her like it never used to, reminding her that something had changed — Damien had brought color and meaning to the world, and when he left it would once again be grey. Maybe she should change her — no. No — he was going to leave. That was what was going to happen. There was nothing else for it.

  He had been staring at her, watching her face, maybe waiting for her to cry. Now he stood up straighter — something must have changed in the way she was looking at him. He craned his neck to the side and bit his tongue. He looked angry, like he was about to snap, and Molly was momentarily scared — but then he deflated at stared at the ground, a glistening tear sliding down his cheek.

  “You really want me to go?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “But why? What have I really done?”

  She laughed. “You think I’d choose you over my own family? No — this has opened my eyes to things. Damien, we don’t — you don’t even really know me.”

  Quickly — so quickly that she didn’t have time to react — he grabbed the back of her head and guided her lips to his. She didn’t try to resist — in that moment she didn’t want to resist — and slid her tongue into his mouth hungrily. One last kiss, she told herself — she would share one last kiss with him and that would be it. But when she kissed him she couldn’t stop. He massaged the back of her head, running his fingers through her hair and sending tendrils crawling down her back. She shivered and breathed in deeply — Damien knew that breath, and responded to it eagerly, pulling their bodies close together.