The Debt: The Complete Series (An Alpha Billionaire Romance)

by Kelly Favor

  It was a relief to forget about Chase being gone and not knowing where he’d disappeared to. It was nice to think about someone other than herself or her mysterious boyfriend, if just for a few moments.

  It was late when the front door opened.

  Faith had dozed off in the bedroom, and she jumped when the door creaked open and she heard voices and laughter.

  Immediately, her stomach lurched and she felt very afraid. Someone had broken in again and there was nowhere to run. She grabbed for her phone and saw a text there from Chase that she’d missed because she’d been sleeping.

  Be home in a minute.

  He’d sent it just around half an hour ago. Still, it was little consolation, and she was furious thinking about how unconcerned he’d been with her waiting around for him all night without a clue as to where he was.

  The voices downstairs grew more raucous.

  “Baby?” she heard Chase yell, and then whoever was with him laughed.

  Faith felt another shot of fear rushing through her body, and she wondered why. Why was she scared when she knew Chase was down there? Whoever he was with—it didn’t matter.

  Chase would never hurt her and he’d never let anybody hurt her.

  But she was afraid, and that made her even angrier.

  She walked out of the bedroom and looked down the stairs to see a shock that almost made her turn and run.

  Boogie was standing there with Chase, and the two of them were both holding beer cans and their eyes were bloodshot, as if they’d been partying together.

  “There you are,” Chase said loudly, and she knew instantly he was drunk. It reminded her of her father, and that made her stomach turn sour.

  “Here I am,” she said, raising an eyebrow and folding her arms. “I guess you figured I’d be dumb enough to wait around for you. Turns out you were right.”

  “Baby,” Chase said, holding out his arms. “Don’t be like that.”

  “Aw, she’s just a little bit mad,” Boogie said, swigging from his can and pulling out what looked like a cigar and stuffing it in the corner of his mouth. “You know how the lady-folk get when their men go out partying at night and leave ‘em home alone.”

  “Lady folk?” Faith said, her tone acid. “You don’t even know a thing about me.” She turned to Chase, who was smirking like a guilty teenager. “And you brought him into the house after what he did…the guy broke in and stole from you.”

  “I told you, it’s complicated,” Chase said as he walked up the stairs. “Don’t be mad. Let me explain.” His voice was thick and his words slightly slurred. His eyes were glassy.

  On the first floor below them, Boogie was lighting up his cigar with a blue lighter and puffing on the stogie with a smirk.

  Faith turned and walked upstairs away from Chase—and Boogie blew a large plume of smoke upwards as she left the area.

  Before she knew it, Chase had caught up to her. She shouldn’t have been surprised. He moved at easily five times her speed without even trying.

  “You’re really pissed off at me?” he asked, like he was shocked.

  “Yes,” she told him. “But I don’t want to talk about it right now. Not with Boogie right downstairs. I can’t believe you brought him into the house—especially with me here!” Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Baby girl,” Chase said, trying to stroke her cheek.

  She moved back a step. “Don’t. Don’t touch me.”

  Chase sighed and rolled his eyes. “Boogie’s not that bad,” he said, as Faith went into the bedroom. She tried to close the door on him but he easily pushed the door open.

  “Just leave me alone,” she said. “Please, just leave me alone, Chase.”

  “Listen,” Chase said. “Will you listen, Faith?”

  “No, I won’t. I don’t want to talk to you when you’re like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Drunk.”

  Chase threw his head back and laughed. “I’m not drunk, baby girl.”

  “Don’t call me baby girl. Just go. Or better yet, I’ll leave.” She started to walk past him and he grabbed her arm—not hard—just enough to stop her progress.

  “You’re being ridiculous,” he told her. “Boogie and me—“

  “Stop trying to tell me about Boogie! I don’t give a fuck. Understand?” She glared at him and her entire body felt like ice, she was so furious.

  His eyes grew surprised, and wounded, as he saw her expression. “Fine,” he muttered. “Me and Boogie are going out. You can do whatever you want.” Chase turned and left the room in a hurry.

  Faith started to cry silently, as she heard his footsteps heading downstairs and then his and Boogie’s voices mingling together. At first, she couldn’t hear what was said. But then Boogie’s voice grew loud.

  “Shit, boy—you need to man up and control your bitch! You know that, right?”

  “Come on, Boogie. Let’s go,” Chase said, ignoring his comment.

  “Take a hit of this blunt, boy.”

  “Can’t do it, Boogs. Drug testing.”

  “Fuck that shit,” Boogie cackled, as the front door creaked open. “I’ll get you a clean piss test motherfucker.”

  “Whatever you say,” Chase laughed, but his voice didn’t sound very happy.

  And then the two of them left the apartment and the door swung shut with a slam. Faith startled a little, and then she resumed crying, alone in the bedroom.

  I can’t believe him, she thought.

  He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.

  She almost left Chase’s home and went back to her apartment.

  Not just once, but many times over the course of the following hours, Faith was so close to grabbing her things and going.

  But something stopped her. She couldn’t understand it herself. Why stick around for a man who treated her this way?

  As she curled up in his bed and smelled the scent of him in the quilt and the sheets, breathing him in, she knew the answer all too well.

  She was addicted to him—addicted to everything he’d come to mean to her.

  Despite his awful behavior, her feelings for him were real and strong and couldn’t be wished away.

  And so she waited for him, sleeping a little, crying a little, staring at the walls and ceiling as she restlessly tossed and turned in the quiet room of the silent, empty apartment.

  Faith was frightened of what Chase and Boogie might have gotten up to. She didn’t have a clue where they’d gone, and it was late at night.

  Finally, just as she’d miraculously dozed off again, and was sliding into a deeper, more peaceful sleep—the front door opened once more.

  She awoke with a fearful cry, sitting bolt upright. “Hello?” she cried out.

  There were footsteps and then what sounded like a low groan from downstairs.

  “Hello? I’m going to call the police!” she shouted, her voice sounding high-pitched and fearful in her own ears. Faith grabbed for her phone and got ready to dial 911.

  “It’s just me,” Chase called up. His voice sounded tired and hoarse.

  Relief flooded through her, but that was quickly followed by a fresh burst of anger. He once again hadn’t called or texted her—he didn’t give a shit about her feelings or her concerns.

  Faith got out of bed and walked downstairs, finding Chase standing in the kitchen with the refrigerator door open, his back to her.

  “You scared me,” she announced, as she came into the room.

  “I figured you were gone by now,” he said flatly. He didn’t sound drunk anymore, but he also didn’t seem to care that she was there, waiting for him. He was staring into the fridge, finally grabbing a carton of orange juice and pulling it out, opening it and guzzling from the carton directly.

  “Maybe I should go,” she said softly. “You don’t care either way.”

  Chase finally turned around and looked at her.

  Instantly, she saw that he had an enormous gash running along his hairline. It wasn’
t bleeding, she saw. The cut was crusty with dried blood.

  “Oh my God!” she cried, her hand rising instinctively to her own head. “You’re hurt, Chase!”

  He smiled grimly. “I’m fine.” He took another swig of OJ and then wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing,” he said, waving the question off dismissively, shoving the carton of orange juice back into the refrigerator and then shutting it.

  “I’m so sick of you keeping things from me,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. Her hands curled into tight fists. “What is wrong with you?”

  He stared at her evenly. “I told you already that I’m fucked up. I never pretended I was some squeaky clean guy.”

  “Oh, so that makes everything okay.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You’re just full of shit,” she replied.

  He grinned. “Everyone has an opinion, don’t they?”

  She glared across the room at him. “Why are you punishing me, Chase? Is it because I was dumb enough to let myself actually care about you?”

  Chase shook his head. “You’re the one coming up with all this stuff. I never said any of that.”

  She felt a sob starting in her chest and held it back. She refused to cry anymore over this. He was juvenile, infantile, and he was a selfish jerk.

  Enough was enough.

  Faith felt her shoulders sag as she gave up on the entire thing. “You know what, Chase? I can’t be the only one trying to believe in the good person inside of you. It’s just too much work when you don’t even believe it yourself.” She turned and went to gather her things.

  Inside, she felt empty and cold and lonely. But she knew that ending this was the right thing to do. Chase had made it clear what his priorities were, and they weren’t her or this relationship.

  He was too busy feeling sorry for himself about whatever demons that haunted him—and since she couldn’t know exactly what they were, she was lost.

  She was defeated.

  Purse on her shoulder and her bag in hand, she made her way to the front door only to find Chase standing in front of it.

  “Don’t go,” he said. His eyes were steadier.

  “You must’ve sobered up,” she said. “But it’s too little too late, Chase. I need to go.”

  “You can go—“

  “I know that, thanks.”

  He smiled sadly. “I just want you to listen to something I have to say before you leave.”

  “No.” Faith shook her head and gripped her bag more tightly. “I’m done hearing your excuses.”

  “It’s not an excuse,” he said. “It’s an explanation.”

  “Same difference.”

  Chase’s jaw worked as he took in her anger. “Sit down for ten seconds so I can tell you what happened.”

  “No.” She glared at him.

  “Why, are you afraid I might make too much sense?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll try and manipulate me again. It’s what you do.”

  He flinched a little. “If you would just hear me out—“

  “Why should I hear you out?” she said, her voice rising, and she felt heat blossoming in her face. “Do you ever stop and think that maybe everyone hates you because you’re an asshole who only thinks about himself and his own problems?”

  Chase’s face paled. “Yeah, I’ve thought that. I know I’m not a nice guy.”

  “But you’re content to be an entitled, spoiled jerk who treats the people around him like they’re disposable, interchangeable. I could’ve been anyone,” she said. “You just wanted a girl who’d cater to you, worry about you, and let you fuck her whenever you felt like it. I could’ve been any one of a thousand girls.”

  “That’s not true,” he insisted.

  “But I got lucky,” she said, her voice sounding more and more bitter. “I won the Chase Winters lottery.” She rolled her eyes and laughed at her own sarcasm.

  “Stop it,” he said. His voice had taken on a desperate quality.

  “Why should I stop?” she asked. “You didn’t stop when I asked you to. When I asked you to stay home with me you didn’t listen. When I begged you not to go with Boogie, you ignored me.” Tears blurred her eyes. “But now you want me to stop. Isn’t that convenient.”

  “I know I fucked up,” he told her. “And if you’d listen to what I have to say, I could explain why—“

  “No!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

  Her voice had never been so loud in all of her life. It felt, in some strange way, as if she was saying no to much more than Chase Winters and his behavior—she was saying no to all the things that had happened in her life that she hadn’t been able to defend herself against.

  To her mother and father being drunks.

  To living a life that made her feel like a loser.

  To feeling less than everyone else, like she didn’t matter.

  To being judged for what she had or hadn’t done right.

  To having to watch her sister go through all the same things and being powerless to stop it, to being powerless to help her.

  No.

  For the first time, it felt as if her voice had come out, fully and completely.

  Chase looked down at the floor. “Please,” was all he said, his voice a husky whisper. “I…I can’t lose you.” He swallowed and when he looked at her again, his eyes were also filled with tears. “I’m in love with you.”

  “Then don’t treat me like shit,” she said, and her voice had stayed strong.

  “That wasn’t why I did what I did.”

  “Fine,” she said, relenting. “I’ll stay for a few minutes and listen. But after that, I’m still going home. I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Okay,” he said, agreeing to her terms. He walked away from the door, looking bent over, as if he’d aged a decade in the last ten minutes. He made his way to the couch and sat down.

  Faith put her bag down and stood where she was, her arms folded. “I’m listening.”

  He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair, revealing the gash on his hairline once more. It was swollen and some of the blood crusted around it looked fresh.

  “I did go to Coach and tell him what happened with Velcro and Monique,” Chase said.

  “You did?”

  He nodded. “You seem surprised.”

  “I’m not surprised. I just didn’t know, because you never told me.” She met his gaze, refusing to back down.

  He smiled ruefully and nodded his head. “Point taken.” He sighed again. “I met with Coach and then he made a call to the head office and it must’ve made them nervous. Because within minutes, Joe Stallsworth himself showed up to meet with me.”

  Joe Stallsworth was the owner of the entire team—notoriously hands off and reclusive. He wasn’t well liked by fans, media, or players.

  “That is serious,” Faith admitted. “What did they tell you? Are they going to do anything about Velcro?”

  “Well, that depends on your definition of doing something. If covering up the problem and sweeping it under the rug is doing something, then yes—they are.”

  “They’re covering it up?” she said, her stomach twisting. “They told you that?”

  “Not in so many words,” Chase said, smiling bitterly. “But they brought in some big-shot lawyer and the three of them basically made a case that people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. And the team knows that I live in the biggest glass house in the entire state.”

  “You didn’t beat a woman and knock her unconscious,” Faith said, her blood boiling.

  “I’ve done plenty of bad things, though. Things that the public doesn’t have a clue about.”

  Faith walked a little closer to where he was sitting. “What’s so bad, Chase? Tell me.”

  “That’s not the point,” he muttered. “Even if I tell you every sin—every person I robbed, every guy I smacked around for a few bucks, every time I helped Boogie m
ove drugs—that’s not going to change anything.”

  “I never said it would,” she replied, softly, realizing he had just told her…some of it, anyhow.

  “The owner of my team and Coach made it clear to me that if I go tell anyone—the cops, media, even confess to my priest—they’ll come after me. They’ll let loose all the dirt they have on me, and I’ll be a bigger story than Velcro by the time they finish with me. So in the end, they’ve got me by the balls and they know it.”

  “They’re just trying to intimidate you,” she said, but in her heart—she knew that it was likely more than just intimidation. They wouldn’t let Chase Winters get away with airing their dirty laundry in public.

  “They kept talking about how we don’t want to give the league a black eye, that we need to keep it private, let the team handle it internally. Coach kept telling me that they would get Velcro help, counseling—all bullshit.”

  “Oh Chase,” she said, feeling sorry now, despite herself. He looked so broken-down and fragile. His large, muscular body seemed to be not enough to protect him against the ravages of this cold, hard world he lived in.

  “It’s finished,” he said. “So I let it go.”

  “What about the video tape from the hotel elevator and the hallway? What about hotel security and what they saw?” Faith asked, feeling like there must be some way to make it better, to prove to Chase that he hadn’t lost the battle so soon.

  But he just laughed hopelessly. “I mentioned all of that, and Mr. Stallsworth told me that they’d checked with the hotel and the cameras had malfunctioned somehow during that timeframe. He told me there’d been some glitch and they hadn’t recorded anything—what a coincidence--but he assured me the team was investigating the incident.”

  Faith went and sat down on the couch beside him. She put a hand on his shoulder—his muscles felt as tense as a coiled piece of steel.

  “So they’re denying the whole thing,” she said. “Is that it?”

  “That’s what they do, Faith.” He turned his head and met her gaze. “That’s what they did for me, and that’s what they’ll do for all their star athletes. They can’t afford for the public and the media to know the truth about the league and how it’s infested with criminals. Then people might not want to pay big money to watch us run around and throw balls and celebrate in the end zone like overgrown children.”