Montgomery Billionaire Series

by Michelle Love

  Afterward, they lay, smiling at each other. Ran stroked her damp cheek, looking into her shining eyes. ‘I love you, Marley Griffin. I think I’ve loved you since we met. Even with the age gap, I feel I’ve met my soulmate. Will you have me, Marley? Forever, I mean? I know it’s fast, but I don’t want to wait. Marry me.’

  Marley smiled at him. ‘I will, Ran Mallory. I will marry you. You are the best thing to happen to me, and I’m so in love with you. Despite everything that has happened, that is still happening; you are the one bright star, and I cannot wait to be your wife.’

  Ran kissed her, overjoyed. ‘I want us to be married as soon as possible but at the same time, with what’s going on…’

  ‘Then we should keep it a secret until everything is…settled.’ Marley said firmly. ‘I don’t want to wait. We’ve done enough waiting. If Quilla were here, she’d be dragging us to City Hall right now.’

  Ran chuckled. ‘Yes, she would.’ For a moment he hesitated, then he said, ‘Marley…I know that it seems bleak at the moment and to even hope is so painful knowing that, in all probability, Quilla is gone. But we shouldn’t forget…Quilla negotiated Hayley’s freedom. She could do the same for herself.’

  Marley nodded. ‘I know, that’s the only thing stopping me from screaming. Quilla’s always been resourceful, but Gregor is pure psychopath.’

  ‘Keep the faith, my love.’

  They married two days later at City Hall, Ran making sure that their privacy was respected. Two clerks served as their witnesses, and afterward, Ran and Marley moved what little possessions she had – no more than a car full – to the big house. They had decided to tell the others that she was moving in with him; his sons weren’t surprised – only Jakob seemed a little….what? Marley could not make out the expression in his eyes. It wasn’t until later that it came to her.

  ‘God…it’s because if Quilla dies, I’ll be here as a permanent reminder of her.’

  Nothing Ran could say would ease her heart, and the relationship between his wife and his son did not improve.

  Quilla slept fitfully; her wrist handcuffed to the bed stand, and it was almost dawn when she felt Gregor lay down beside her and curl his arm around her waist. She hated every time he touched her, no matter how affectionately his caress. He must have sensed her being awake because he gave a low chuckle.

  ‘One day you won’t cringe when I touch you, my love.’

  I wouldn’t bet on it. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

  ‘Who is Padme?’

  Gregor looked surprised. ‘How do you know that name?’

  ‘You said it in your sleep last night.’

  ‘What else did I say?’

  ‘All you said was ‘Padme, please.'’

  Gregor sighed. ‘Padme was my first love. She was everything to me, the way you are now. But she betrayed me; she fucked around on me. You can guess who with.’

  ‘Jakob.’ A lump sat heavily on her chest.

  ‘Bingo.’ Gregor pushed her onto her back and stroked her stomach. ‘I loved Padme with everything I had and in the end, I took that love back, vowing I would never fall so hard again. And I waited. Waited for Jakob to find ‘the one.' I knew as soon as I saw you.’

  She studied him. ‘So that’s why you’ve done all of this. Revenge for Padme cheating on?’

  Gregor smiled coldly. ‘Not just that. Jakob, by betraying me, by driving Padme away from me, made me do something I never thought I was capable of. Jakob took her love, but I took her life. I sobbed as I stabbed her to death, my heart broke.’

  Quilla shivered, and Gregor smiled. She shook her head, frowning. ‘Why didn’t you just kill me that night in the bar? You had me, right there, you stuck that knife in my gut then walked away. You could have finished it then, left Flori, left Kit out of it.’

  ‘You don’t get it do you?’ He was angry now, and he got up off the bed and stalked around the room. ‘I had to have you…entirely, completely before I killed you. I had to make him suffer like I suffered. He made me kill her, he took her and threw her away. Now I get to take you away from him.’

  Quilla drew in a deep breath. ‘So, you are going to kill me then?’

  He stopped and stared at her for a long moment. ‘I don’t know yet, Quilla. Don’t make me do it.’

  She almost laughed. That’s all he was, a spoilt little boy who took no responsibility and whine about it. A damn crybaby toddler. It was at that moment, she stopped being afraid of Gregor Fisk and knew what she had to do now. She held her hand to him.

  ‘Come back to bed and show me how much you love me, Gregor.’

  For a moment, she thought he’d laugh in her face, but then he took her hand, climbing back on top of her and kissing her. Quilla made sure every part of her performed as she forced a genuine smile onto her face. ‘I won’t make you do anything you don’t want, Gregor, how could I? I’m yours…just yours…’

  Gregor grinned. ‘That’s right, beautiful, all mine…’

  And he began to make love to her again. Quilla closed her eyes, mimicking ecstasy, but the whole time, thinking, thinking, thinking…

  She knew now she was his weakness, and how she would make him pay. For Hayley. For Flori. For Kit.

  And for herself.

  ‘Holy shit.’ Carter read through the report again, looking up at Agent Kendrick. ‘This all confirmed?’

  Kendrick nodded. ‘Every word. Gregor Fisk has form. His first girlfriend back in college, Sue-Lin Chang, was murdered, stabbed to death, gutted practically. Fisk wasn’t even questioned, so powerful was his family.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘They died in car wreck, mother, father and eldest son. Convenient, huh?’

  ‘Wow. Just wow. Anything else.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Ali came in, looking excited. ‘Steve asked me to run a check on the first victim. Wealthy Chinese family in Seattle and guess what…they have a private snow cabin in the North Central Cascades up near Mazama.’

  Carter was on his feet. ‘Let’s get everyone together…’

  ‘Already on it. Let’s go.’

  ***

  Like everything in life, the moment came unexpectedly. Quilla was almost dropping from exhaustion, the physical strain the constant demands for sex placed on her was shattering. Gregor had made her go on top, riding him and as she moved, he gazed up at her.

  ‘How come you wear your hair up so often now?’

  Quilla smiled. Because I’m hiding something, moron. ‘Just gets it out of the way.’

  ‘Let it down. I love the way it falls across your tits.’

  Quilla winced; she hated the coarseness of the word. ‘Really, you want it down?’ Oh god…here it comes…

  Gregor nodded. ‘Take it down.’

  Your choice, asshole. For a moment, she went through her plan. Get him to the point of orgasm, take the sharp edge of the tile….she closed her eyes, increasing her thrust, hearing him moan. She went through her checklist. Clothes near to hand, tire iron to break the door down, grab his gun, put a bullet in his head….run…

  It was time. She drove herself on and on, hearing his groan, knowing he was near. ‘Gregor, grab my hips, help me take you in…’

  Grinning, he did so, his fingers biting into her fleshy hips. She smiled and reached behind her to undo her hair, her fingers closing around the tile shard, feeling for the sharp edge, locking her grasp. Gregor grinned as her hair tumbled down over her breasts.

  ‘Christ, Quilla, you’re so fucking beau…’

  Lightning quick, she slashed across his throat with the tile, using all of her strength. Blood, hot, sticky blood, spurted out and covered them both, Gregor clutching at the wound, his eyes wide, terrified and furious.

  ‘Fucking bitch!’ The curse was gargled out, full of venom.

  Quilla tipped herself off him and dived towards her clothes as Gregor rolled off the bed, his hand clamped at his throat. He came for her, grabbing her leg as she went for his gun. The pistol skittered out of reach as Gregor pulle
d her back to him, his fury all consuming, the adrenaline making him superhuman despite his injury. The tile had obviously not severed a major artery and Quilla cursed herself. Gregor forced her onto her back, his face set in a grim smile.

  ‘I told you not to make me do this, Quilla…’

  He grabbed his knife and she felt the cold steel against her belly.

  ‘Goodbye, beautiful Quilla…’

  Quilla kicked and fought but then…pain. Unimaginable pain.

  Gregor drove his knife into her belly mercilessly, over and over, quick, deep stabs and Quilla groaned in agony. No…no…this is not the way this ends. She plunged her thumbs into his eyes, deep, and Gregor screamed, dropping the knife. She kicked him away and scrambled, bleeding heavily, towards the gun. She flicked the safety off just as Gregor, roaring, came at her again.

  Quilla didn’t hesitate; she rammed the muzzle against his head and fired. The back of his head exploded, and he collapsed, dead, but she kept firing, emptying the gun into Gregor’s head until, sobbing, she dropped the empty gun. It’s over. Bent double, desperate to keep the blood inside her, she managed to drag her clothes on, packing a clean shirt against her wounds. The pain was so intense it was almost unbelievable. The evening had fallen and across the snowfield, she could see lights on in the cabin.

  Every movement was agony, but she searched Gregor’s pockets for his keys. The jeep stood outside, but she’d bleed to death before she made it down the mountain. The other people in the cabin across the snow field were her only hope. Dragging on her t-shirt, her jeans, grabbing a flashlight, she staggered out into the snow. It was deep, the snow, the fresh powder having fallen earlier that day, and each step brought a moan of sheer agony. The shirt covering her wounds was soaked through; her blood started to spatter the pure white snow, and she could feel her body shutting down. She used the flashlight, blinking it urgently at the opposite cabin, praying, hoping against hope that they would see it.

  Help me…

  She staggered another few steps then collapsed into the snow, all her strength leaving her.

  I’m sorry, Jakob, my love, my heart, I tried...

  She laid there, her finger still on the flashlight’s on/off switch, flicking it with the last of her strength.

  I’m dying…

  There were more light, voices, male voices….was it Gregor? Come to finish her off? No, it couldn’t be, he was dead, she’d killed him…

  ‘Sweetheart, can you hear me? God, she’s covered in blood. Let’s get her inside…’

  Hands lifting her, cradling her. ‘Can you hear me, lovely?’

  ‘She looks familiar.’

  Warmth, the cold air had gone, she was inside. Her clothes were being pulled away. ‘She’s been stabbed, oh God, poor kid.’

  ‘I’m calling 911.’

  Quilla. My name is Quilla. I don’t want to die. But she couldn’t speak, black spots encroaching on her vision. Lightheaded now.

  ‘I can’t stop this bleeding…Jesus, I think I’ve lost her…’

  No, no, I’m still here…

  I’m still here…

  I…

  Treasure Me

  Mallory

  By Michelle Love

  Venice…

  Quilla opened her bedroom door a crack and peeked out. Jakob Mallory heard the door open and sat up, looking at her, watching for her reaction. Quilla padded quietly over to the couch, her face splitting with the widest smile he’d ever seen and from that second, Jakob knew he’d found the one. He wanted to pull her onto the couch with him and kiss her. Instead, he gazed up at her, drinking in every feature, the soft face, still holding onto the last vestiges of puppy fat, the color of her honey-skin, the dark green eyes, the long dark hair, messy. That smile.

  ‘You stayed,’ she said, and her voice broke a little and Jakob realized how much it meant to her that he had made the decision not to run out into Venetian night and find another fix.

  ‘I did. You were right. I want to be better, Quilla. I want to get straight, be the man who deserves a woman like you risking her life for him.’

  She perched on the side of the couch. She smelled of cinnamon and sleep, and he breathed the scent in, his entire body responding to her.

  Her big eyes searched his. ‘Would you like me to help? Like I say, I’ve been through this – well, not me personally, but my mom used to try and come off heroin periodically so I know the drill. I know you’re not on heroin but…’

  ‘Cocaine. And yes, please. You’re the only one I trust to get me through this.’

  She flushed with pleasure. ‘Then you’d better grab a shower because we need to get you some new clothes and some supplies.’

  He smiled, wanting desperately to brush that lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek back behind her ear. ‘I could call the airport; see if my bags were taken off the plane. Otherwise, yes.’

  His bags were still at Venice airport so after a good breakfast, they took a cab and retrieved them, Quilla helping to lug them up to her apartment – ‘Their apartment,’ she’d called it, absent-mindedly, which made him feel strangely warm inside.

  He took her to lunch at Quadri where they ate langoustine with lemon aioli and drank an entire bottle of wine. Quilla grinned at him. ‘Enjoy that because it’s water and juice from now on.’

  He loved that she could make light of something so serious – for the love of God, they were talking about addiction - but her attitude was so matter of fact it gave him hope that he could do this, could drag himself back from the edge. He would do it for himself, but also for her. Her mom…he would get the entire story from her, he decided. She was an unusual woman, this Quilla Chen.

  She might have made light of it, but there was no doubt that, she knew what she was doing. His body bucked against the withdrawal; he became edgy and tired, desperate for a fix one moment then raging at himself the next. Quilla did not back down even when he was begging her to unlock the door; at night, she dragged her mattress from the bed and slept in front of the door so he couldn’t pick the lock or bust his way through. There was enough reason still left in him, even at the worst of it, that he knew every minute meant his life got better. Even when, on the fourth night, he awoke screaming from the most gruesome, terrifying nightmares and had lashed out, his arms flying everywhere, she had launched herself onto him, wrapped her arms around him and held him down, soothing him, calming him until exhausted, he fell asleep in her arms.

  When he’d woken up the day that he’d declared himself, that they’d made love for the first time, he’d known something was going to happen; his gut instinct told him that this, she and him, them, was inevitable…

  Now…

  Now, as Jakob sat on the place, crossing the Atlantic on the ten-hour journey back to Seattle, he closed his eyes and tried to capture that feeling. Those feelings….all of the firsts – the moment his lips touched hers, the first time he’d kissed those gorgeous breasts, felt the hard nipple against his tongue, the taste of her, the moment his cock slid inside her.

  Anything, anything to try and forget that once again, she was lying on an operating table, her life hanging in the balance as surgeons tried their hardest to repair the violence that Gregor Fisk had visited upon her – again.

  The phone call at the hotel had been the best and worst of his life. His father. They’ve found Quilla…Gregor’s dead…but she’s been stabbed and, son, I’m so sorry, it’s bad. Please come as soon as you can….

  He’d been in a cab to the airport moments later; he hadn’t even bothered to pack the few clothes he’d brought with him to London. As the cab weaved its way through heavy London traffic, Jakob called the airline and begged them to put him on the first plane. He’d have to change in San Francisco, but he could be home in fourteen hours.

  Now, as the plane flew over the coast of Greenland, Jakob stared out at the view below him, not seeing anything but imagining he was hearing the doctor’s voice telling she didn’t make it.

  No...no�
�she will, she’s a fighter. He wondered if Grady had called that doctor in New Orleans, the one who had saved Flori. God, so much pain, so much violence…knowing that Gregor was finally dead didn’t help matters. The damage he had wrought would not be easy to repair.

  Stop it. Try and think positively. Think about the time in Venice with Quilla, think about…

  Venice…

  It was evening, and they were walking hand-in-hand through St Marks, disturbing the pigeons on the palazzo. He couldn’t take his eyes off her; the sultry heat, the low sun made her honey-skin glow, her lovely dark hair pulled up into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. Her back was bare, her pale pink dress tied as a halter, and he trailed a fingertip down her spine. Quilla shivered then chuckled. ‘That feels good.’

  He stopped walking and took her in his arms. ‘You feel good.’

  ‘Cheesy.’

  ‘You bet your sweet ass.’