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  Table of Contents

  Stolen By the Billionaire

  Copyright

  Prelude

  About the Author

  BOOKS BY J.S. SCOTT

  Stolen By the Billionaire

  Prelude to Billionaire Unveiled ~ Marcus

  J.S. Scott

  Copyright © 2017 by J.S. Scott

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations em- bodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organiza- tions, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Natalie Townson

  Prelude

  Dani

  A Year Ago…

  I knew I was going to die.

  The only question was how long I had to live before the rebel group of terrorists who had kidnapped me would finally execute me.

  I was hurting so badly that I was grateful when I lost consciousness. I had no idea how long I’d been imprisoned. It seemed like years, like I’d lived in this perpetual state of pain, deprivation and humiliation for what seemed like forever. I’d tried to keep track of the days passing by, but I’d probably lost a few.

  How long had I been like this?

  A week?

  Two?

  Had I lost more days than I’d thought?

  Death would pretty much be a blessing. I’m not sure how much more of their torture I can take. I’m not getting out of here. The U.S. wouldn’t bargain with terrorists, and I’m never going to escape. Even if I had the opportunity, I don’t have the strength to get away.

  It’s not that I wanted to die, but there was only so much agony a person could endure before they hoped for some reprieve, even if it meant they’d only find that relief from death.

  At least it was late into the night, a small portion of the twenty-four-hour day that I’d come to welcome because the terrorists were all sleeping. It was the only time I wasn’t terrified they’d decide to stroll in to torment me.

  I was curled into a ball in the middle of the dirt floor, trying desperately not to think about food, water, or the fact that every inch of my body felt like I’d been used as a punching bag.

  Reminding myself that my sacrifice had meant that some teenagers had been able to get their butts back across the border to safety was a fact I tried to hang onto with everything I had. I’d probably have to die so a bunch of kids could live.

  It was a decent tradeoff, right? If it was one or the other—which it had been—it was better for one person to die than a bunch of kids.

  My issue with my reasoning was that I really didn’t want to die. The survivor in me wanted all of us to live.

  Unfortunately, the tiny portion that was left of my rational brain told me that wasn’t possible.

  I tried to take a deep breath, but it hurt so bad to breathe. I exhaled gently, trying to convince myself that for now, I was alone and wasn’t likely to be disturbed until daylight.

  No sooner had I told myself I was safe for few hours, when a big hand slapped over my mouth with absolutely no warning. I fought the adversary, determined not to go down without a fight, even though I had very little strength.

  I always fought.

  It was just the way I was wired.

  The nighttime was mine, the only chance I had to think—if I could stay conscious, and it pissed me off that the few hours I had to rest were being taken away from me.

  I was sick of being a source of entertainment for the rebels whenever they wanted to torment me. I wished they’d just kill me and get it over with. If they did, the fighter in me would remain forever silent.

  “Danica. It’s Marcus Colter. I’m getting you out of here. Stay quiet.”

  The harsh whisper finally invaded my sluggish brain. Marcus Colter? What in the hell was he doing here?

  I had to wonder if I was getting delusional. Marcus was an international businessman, a custom suit-wearing billionaire. Yes, he did always seem to show up in dangerous areas of the world. But why would he be in the desolate camp where I was being held prisoner?

  I stopped trying to fight him, realizing that he was attempting to help me. “Marcus?” I said weakly once he’d uncovered my mouth.

  He didn’t speak, but he made a big slashing gesture for me to stop making any noise, and I could see it pretty plainly in my dimly lit prison.

  Normally, I didn’t like Marcus Colter. When we were in a civilized environment, we did nothing but antagonize each other. But right now, his voice gave me a glimmer of hope. At the moment, he was more friend than foe. Squinting into the darkness, I tried to make out the features of his face, but his form was pretty much a shadow, a man dressed entirely in black.

  He met no resistance as he picked me up. I wrapped my arms around his neck with whatever strength I could muster, staying as quiet as possible as he carried me past the tents and out of the place where I’d thought I was going to breathe my last breath.

  I buried my face in his neck, absorbing his scent like a sponge thirsts for water. He smelled like safety and freedom, and after all I’d been through at the hands of the rebels, it was an irresistible smell.

  It seemed like he walked for hours until we arrived at a Jeep. Marcus jumped in quickly, holding me on his lap, the vehicle sprinting into motion the moment we were settled.

  I couldn’t speak. Not only was the action difficult due to my dry mouth and my cracked lips, but everything that was happening seemed…surreal.

  Was I really being rescued or was I delirious?

  My brain was so muddled that I just didn’t know.

  Getting my freedom back wasn’t something I’d expected. I’d been resigned to the fact that I was never going to make it beyond the camp where I was being imprisoned.

  The only thing I knew is that I wanted this to be real. But it didn’t make sense.

  And why was Marcus Colter here?

  At one time, he’d done some private rescues of international prisoners, but his group had disbanded some time ago. My brother, Jett, had been injured in the ill-fated mission that had been the last for Marcus and the Private Rescue Organization. The only way my rescue could be happening is if he’d gotten the team back together again.

  I suppose it wasn’t impossible that he’d pulled a group of guys together. But my brother was definitely out of commission, and so were a few others who’d been wounded in the helicopter crash that had ended PRO’s existence.

  I wanted to thank him for risking his life to save mine, but I couldn’t quite get the words out of my mouth. Maybe I’d always hated him for what he’d done to my older sister, Harper. But the incident with my sibling had occurred over a decade earlier, and I was grateful that Marcus Colter had snuck over the border and into Syria to rescue me. The mission was almost suicidal, yet he’d done it.

  I moaned softly from the pain as the Jeep came to an abrupt stop and Marcus shifted my body to get out of the vehicle, then handed me over to somebody in a helicopter.

  I made it out. I’m going to live.

  The realization that I wasn’t going to die at the hands of my black-hearted tormentors was almost too much to comprehend.

  Tears of relief trickled down my cheeks, but my body was so weak that I couldn’t move. My mind was sluggish from deprivation and torture, but I knew everything I needed to know:

  I was safe.

  §§§

  I felt much better a few days later as I ended my call with Harper
to let her know I was still alive, and that I was getting more physically stable every day.

  Maybe I did need to gain a few pounds, but with my love of all things junk food, I’d regain the weight I’d lost. I was well hydrated with the help of IV fluids, and my brain was finally functional again.

  Dropping my cell phone onto the bedside table, I mumbled to myself, “I need to get the hell out of here.”

  There was nothing I hated more than hospitals, and I’d already been in the large medical facility in Istanbul much longer than I could tolerate.

  Truth was, I wanted out of the Middle East. I wanted to be back on U.S. soil.

  “Talking to yourself again?” Marcus Colter drawled as he strolled through the door of my hospital room.

  I wished I could deny his claim, but I’d been completely alone until he’d walked in, and it was obvious that I was done with my phone call. Honestly, I did tend to talk to myself a lot since I was usually alone. “I’m bored,” I said. It was a lame excuse, but it was partly true.

  I hadn’t been out of my hospital bed except to use the restroom since I’d been admitted to the hospital. I wasn’t used to being idle. My job as a foreign correspondent kept me traveling and extremely busy almost every minute of the day.

  I looked up at Marcus as he stopped at my bedside, noting that he looked as handsome as ever in a custom suit and tie that almost matched the gray of his eyes.

  “You’ll survive,” he drawled with very little sympathy. “You need to stay until your condition improves. You have to be strong enough to travel.”

  As usual, I wanted to slap the smug look off his face. Unfortunately, I’d seen the exact same expression too many times in the past. Everywhere I went, it seemed like Marcus was there. If a certain area of the world was a hot spot, I never had any question as to whether or not Marcus would show up. He always did, although I had no idea why he always seemed to be in the most screwed up places in the world. Being a journalist, I had good reason for being wherever there was trouble. But Marcus was a businessman, and he no longer did any work with PRO. So why was it that he was always in the middle of anything bad that was happening on the planet?

  “I’m better,” I argued. “I’m strong enough.”

  Marcus lifted an arrogant brow. “You wouldn’t make it past the hospital door before you collapsed,” he observed. “You’re still too weak.”

  I wanted to challenge him by getting up and walking out of the hospital, but I was still attached to the IV, and I already knew how much effort it took just to get up and go to the bathroom. I’d done it many times since they were pumping me full of fluids. I crossed my arms over my chest. “I want to go home, Marcus. If I have to, I’ll have one of my brothers come get me.”

  I knew I was acting like an ungrateful brat, but the truth was, I was feeling really edgy and anxious. Fear was getting the best of me at the moment, and I couldn’t stop the nightmares I’d been having, or the feeling that the rebels might somehow find me.

  He shook his head. “They wouldn’t do it. I’ve already talked to everybody in your family. Nobody is letting you out of the hospital until you’re stable. It’s a long damn trip back to the States. You need more time to get stronger.”

  I let out an irritated sigh because I knew he wasn’t bluffing. Marcus wasn’t the type to not back up every word he uttered. If he said he’d talked to my family, I knew it was true.

  Honestly, I wasn’t sure exactly how I felt about Marcus Colter now. My phone call with Harper had been intriguing. And it had let the eldest Colter brother off the hook for being an asshole to my sister, Harper. It was hard to believe it had been Blake, Marcus’s identical twin, who had slept with my elder sister and broken her heart over a decade ago. That had been one of the reasons why seeing Marcus unsettled me, but it wasn’t the only one.

  Marcus could easily be the most stubborn, cynical, irritating ass I knew, and he hadn’t changed a bit since the last time I’d seen him.

  However, he had saved my life.

  Before, I’d always had a reason to dislike him over what had happened with Harper. Now, I wasn’t sure how to treat him. Yeah, he was still a jerk sometimes, but other than his overinflated male ego, I really had no reason to hate him anymore.

  “So when can I go?” I asked in an annoyed tone. “I’ll go stir-crazy if I stay here much longer.”

  “You just got hydrated. It’s going to be at least another week.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s just a plane ride to get back home.”

  Really, all I wanted was to get out of the Middle East and back to the U.S. I’d feel safer, but I didn’t want to tell Marcus how nervous and tense I was feeling. Technically, I was in a safe place, and I didn’t want to sound crazy or paranoid.

  The two of us had always had a fairly level playing field. This area was my turf, the place where I did most of my reporting.

  Now, it was the setting for most of my nightmares.

  He dropped a large bag he’d been carrying onto the bed beside my hip. “Here’s something to combat your boredom.”

  I rummaged through the sack, finding some books I’d wanted to read, a deck of cards, some of my favorite junk food, and a small chess set. “You play chess?” I asked. “Obviously I can’t play alone.”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “How did you know that I played?” I queried.

  He shrugged. “Jett might have mentioned it.”

  I smiled. “None of my brothers can even challenge me anymore.”

  “I’ll win. I always do,” Marcus told me arrogantly.

  I eyed him carefully as I opened a bag of chips and started munching on them like I’d been deprived. I let the salty taste flow over my taste buds, and I nearly moaned with satisfaction. He opened the small chess set and started setting up the pieces as I watched. Marcus radiated power, control, and a hefty dose of self-confidence, which was a nice way of saying he could be an arrogant prick. But that didn’t mean I could ever forget the fact that his mere presence filled the room with tension.

  I’d done little but trade jabs with Marcus in the past, and I wasn’t sure quite how to interact with him now that I knew he wasn’t responsible for sleeping with Harper and hurting her so badly.

  “Chips?” I asked, offering him the open bag.

  He frowned. “No, thanks. I avoid processed foods and excess salt. That stuff is bad for you.”

  I shrugged, pulling the chips back. I was only giving him one shot. I was greedy when it came to my snacks. “If I give up everything that isn’t good for me, life would be boring.”

  After being deprived of food for so long, I planned on devouring every healthy and unhealthy bit of food I could get.

  “Your brother, Jett, says the same damn thing,” Marcus answered in a disgusted tone.

  “I guess it’s a family thing,” I joked.

  “I suppose.”

  “Do you think Harper and Blake will end up together now that the whole mess from ten years ago is finally settled?” I wanted my sister to be happy, and I was pretty sure Blake was the only man in the world who could make Harper settle down. In the decade since they’d parted, my sister had dedicated herself to her career as an architect, and I’d never seen her interested in another guy.

  “I have no idea,” Marcus answered as he took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “I try not to get into other peoples’ business, especially my family when it comes to their love lives.”

  I shifted position, sitting up in the bed so I could study the chessboard. “She loves him,” I said confidently. “I’m not sure she ever stopped.”

  “I don’t think Blake did either,” Marcus admitted.

  I nodded. “Then I’m sure they’ll sort everything out.”

  “I hope so,” he said in a graveled voice. “If they don’t, he’ll be moping around like an adolescent.”

  Deciding that I wanted the black pieces, I spun the board around. “I don’t believe that you don’t care whether or not
your twin is happy.”

  “I didn’t say that I didn’t care,” he reminded me.

  So he does care, but he tries not to get involved? If I judged by Marcus’s attitude on the surface, I’d be tempted to believe he really didn’t give a crap about anybody but himself. But his actions told another story. He’d immediately found Blake once Harper had come to him about my kidnapping, and told his twin brother to straighten the mess out. He’d thrown the two of them together on purpose. I was sure he had.

  “So you’d be happy if it happened?” I queried.

  He didn’t answer immediately. Marcus’s gaze was on the chessboard since he got the first move with the white pieces, a position that gave him a slight advantage.

  “Regardless of what you might think of me, I want my brother to be happy,” he replied simply.

  I soon found out that prying information out of Marcus was going to take more energy than I had. Unfortunately for me, the guy was an amazing chess player, and I was beyond sorry that I’d allowed him any advantage after he kicked my ass.

  Thankfully, he wasn’t the type to gloat too much, but it annoyed me just the same.

  §§§

  It took almost a week to the day I entered the hospital to get back out again. I still had some healing to do, but I was relieved when Marcus’s jet finally got into the air to take us back to the U.S.

  Tate Colter, Marcus’s younger brother and the pilot of my rescue mission, had left yesterday morning, eager to get back to his wife, so I no longer had the distraction of his company. I liked Tate, and I was just as grateful to him as I was to Marcus for risking his life to save me and keeping me company while I’d recovered. I hadn’t gotten a chance to thank the rest of the team because I’d been too sick when they’d left, but I was truly thankful to all of them.

  I leaned back against the leather headrest as Marcus’s large jet climbed to its cruising altitude. “Thank you for coming to get me,” I said in a breathless voice.

  Never once had I mentioned my experience with my kidnappers. I answered questions, but I hadn’t wanted to talk about it. I still didn’t. But I’d thanked Tate before he’d left, and I knew I owed Marcus for taking such a major risk for somebody he barely knew.