Billionaire Unveiled Page 3

  Jett’s concern for his little sister had brought me here to Miami when I had other places I should be. I kept telling myself that I wasn’t here for me, but I knew I was bullshitting myself. For some reason, I’d never been able to forget the haunted look in Dani’s eyes after her rescue and on the way home to the States.

  Trying to kiss her on the jet had been an idiotic thing to do. Hell, even now, I don’t know what had possessed me to touch her. But for some reason, I hadn’t been able to stop myself.

  Unfortunately, I hadn’t known she’d been gang-raped over and over again. The way she had fought me, and the fact that I’d forced her into a full-blown panic, had left me feeling guilty ever since.

  However, the moment before it had happened, the instant she’d trusted me before things had gotten out of control—the chemistry that had flared between us had haunted my ass, too.

  I wasn’t going to even pretend that what I felt for Dani was brotherly, and that I was completely here for Jett.

  I’m here for myself, because I can’t forget her.

  Hell, for some reason, I hadn’t even been able to be with another woman since I’d kissed Danica. How fucked up was that?

  Not that I had relationships, but it would have been nice to have my healthy sex drive back again. One kiss and I’d practically been castrated. I hadn’t made an effort to fuck any woman since I’d felt the silky softness of Dani’s mouth beneath mine. The desire to get laid had been nonexistent. I was too obsessed with her.

  I reminded myself that I wasn’t pursuing her or any kind of relationship. I was just trying to save her ass…again.

  The hair stood up at the back of my neck, and it pulled my mind from my fucked-up thoughts.

  I shoved the picture back into my pocket and turned, already aware that I was being stalked.

  It was almost disappointing that my would-be robber wasn’t going to be much of a challenge.

  He was all of maybe fourteen or fifteen years old, and didn’t come anywhere close to my weight or my slightly-over-six-foot height.

  The punk spoke in a voice that was meant to be menacing, but wasn’t. Not to me. “Give me your wallet or I’ll put this blade through your heart, mister.”

  Yeah, I’d been a walking target for robbery or mugging since I was strolling through a less than desirable area of Miami late at night in a custom suit. Still, this little prick was either bold or strung out on drugs if he thought I would just hand him my wallet. “Not happening,” I drawled, annoyed. “Now beat it, kid.”

  He raised his arm in a threatening manner, wielding the knife wildly. “You think I’m a kid? I kill people like you every day, dude,” he replied in a cocky tone.

  If I ever laughed—which I didn’t—I probably would have snickered. But I didn’t show emotion—not ever. However, the youngster in front of me was rather amusing. He reminded me of an adolescent who had watched too many bad gangster movies.

  I reached out, and in a split second I’d snatched his wrist, squeezing a nerve on his lower arm until he was forced to let go, and the weapon dropped onto the sidewalk with the loud clatter of steel meeting the cement. I pushed him into the cold metal of the streetlight pole, his face plastered against the post, and the Glock I’d previously kept concealed at his temple.

  “That hurts,” the kid griped nervously.

  I leaned into his body and said close to his ear, “A bullet in your head would hurt a hell of a lot more. Go home, get off the drugs, and quit stealing from people to fund your habit.”

  “I live in a foster home,” he protested, his voice anxious as I pushed the barrel of the gun into his temple just a little bit harder, hoping to scare the bejesus out of him.

  “Then you’re damn lucky to have a roof over your head,” I growled. “Take advantage of it and quit being a little asshole. Keep this shit up and you’ll be dead before you’re legally able to drink.”

  I let go of him, but I put my foot over the knife on the ground before he could snatch it. “I said go home,” I warned in an annoyed tone.

  “Who the hell are you? I ain’t seen you around on the streets,” the kid asked hesitantly.

  “Somebody you don’t want to mess with,” I answered vaguely.

  The brat turned around and ran until he was out of my sight. I kicked the knife deep into the bushes next to the sidewalk, just in case he came back for it. I wasn’t about to make it easy to find.

  The boy was a bully, and I hated that. I probably should have called the cops and let them take him to jail, but I had bigger things to worry about. And although it was probably wishful thinking, maybe the punk would straighten himself out someday.

  Problem was, he was obviously hooked on something. It wasn’t hard to read the desperation of an addict. Fucking hell! I hated seeing a guy that young screwed up on drugs.

  Shoving the gun back into its concealed holster, I pulled my jacket closed. I hadn’t even taken the safety off. The kid might be a juvenile delinquent, but I still wasn’t about to shoot a boy who probably wasn’t old enough to vote. My only purpose had been to scare the shit out of him.

  I brushed off my suit jacket because it was one of my favorites, and then proceeded to walk to the end of the block and to my destination.

  When I arrived, I realized the bar was basically a dive, the neon sign in the window blinking like Christmas tree lights.

  “Real fucking classy,” I muttered to myself, unable to see Dani in this place.

  However, this was where she was meeting up with Becker. This sleazy bar was the best the jerk could do? Danica was a goddamn Lawson, a woman who had more money than she could ever spend. And this is where the two lovebirds were trysting?

  Jett had told me where his sister was going for the evening. I wondered if he knew that it was a haven for prostitutes and drug dealers.

  Probably…not. My buddy would most likely lose it if he knew his little sister was hanging out in this dive.

  I shook my head as I peered into the front window. If Jett had known, he’d have been here, even if he was recovering from his latest procedure. Dani’s brother would have a damn heart attack if he knew she’d even set foot into this neighborhood and this shithole of a bar.

  My eyes scanned the general layout of the small club from the large, very dirty window out front. I didn’t see Becker, but I did finally spot a woman alone at the bar. Her hair color gave her away, the deep-red strands now long enough to brush her shoulders.

  I grimaced as I noticed the short, black, leather skirt she was wearing, and the skimpy green top that barely covered her breasts. Her black stiletto heels were secured over the lower rung of the round stool, and she was sipping slowly on some fluffy drink that was topped with whipped cream.

  “What in the hell are you doing, Danica? You sure as fuck don’t belong here,” I said in a raspy voice.

  The clothes, the location, the boyfriend…everything was wrong. The Danica I was acquainted with wanted nothing more than to chase down a story that she thought needed to be told. She wore a T-shirt and jeans because it made it easier for her to go after her story.

  She didn’t wear several inches of makeup like she was sporting now.

  She didn’t need it.

  She never had.

  Dani Lawson was drop-dead gorgeous without makeup and with hair of whatever color she wanted to tint it.

  Protective instincts rose up inside me, emotions I definitely didn’t want but couldn’t seem to contain.

  Unlike Jett, my obsession to watch over Danica was far from platonic, even though I’d never fucked her.

  As usual, my cock was standing at attention just from watching Dani sitting at the bar. She was my only weakness aside from my family, and I had a love/hate relationship with the youngest Lawson sibling because of it.

  If I wanted to be truthful with myself—which I really didn’t—I’d had blue balls for Dani almost from the first moment I met her. Maybe that’s why we were always fighting before I’d rescued her in the Middle Ea
st. Of course, she had been under the false impression that I’d broken her older sister’s heart. Or maybe it was because I was generally an asshole, and she had no problem standing up for herself. She was the only woman who’d never had a problem getting into my face if I pissed her off, and she’d actually made fun of me on occasion.

  I definitely hadn’t liked that, but I did grudgingly admire her for her outspoken, smart-ass demeanor.

  I still remembered the stories she’d told about her captivity on our way back from Turkey to the US. That time, she’d been different from the woman I’d previously known. Her vulnerability had practically destroyed me because I knew how she’d been before being kidnapped.

  My fists clenched in anger as I remembered her frightened, expressive eyes, and I wasn’t sure how she’d even managed to survive the emotional and physical torture.

  My eyes scanned the outside area of the club just to make sure that Becker wasn’t arriving to meet Danica. Not that I really cared, but I wanted to be prepared if I was going to meet more resistance than just Dani’s when I went to take her out of this place.

  I’d promised Jett that I’d get his sister away from danger, and this place reeked of evil. Dani didn’t belong here, and whatever crazy bullshit Becker was feeding her needed to be cut off now.

  As I stepped up to the glass door, I saw a drunken patron sidle up to the bar, using the stable surface to keep him upright.

  “Don’t touch her. Don’t you fucking touch her,” I growled as I yanked the door open.

  Danica’s squeal of alarm rang through the rancid air of the bar just as I stepped inside.

  There was a male hand on Dani’s ass that didn’t belong to me, and anybody touching her there who wasn’t me was completely unacceptable. The trashed male was twice her size, and as his fingers curled around her wrist to try to drag her off the barstool, I lost total control of my reasoning ability. It was something that had never happened to me before, but as I stepped forward, it felt pretty damn good to plant my fist in his face and watch him hit the dirty floor with a satisfying thud.

  Dani

  I hated this bar.

  I hated this area.

  I hated the hooker skirt and top I was wearing.

  And I really hated the sickly sweet drink I was sipping.

  However, I also wanted to see Greg Becker, and I knew he’d arrive here eventually. He was habitually late for almost everything, so I knew I’d have to be patient.

  “Hey, little lady,” a tall, drunk man said to me as he stumbled to the bar. “A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be alone. How much?”

  My skin crawled as the guy’s hand squeezed the cheek of my ass through my tight leather skirt, and his face moved so close to mine that I could smell his rotten breath.

  I should expect to be propositioned. I’m in a bar where most of the women are prostitutes. This is where they get most of their hookups.

  Nevertheless, I let out a squeamish scream as the cheek of my butt got palmed and squeezed even harder.

  “Not for sale,” I said in a warning voice, ready to forcibly remove his hands from my body. He was so drunk that he’d probably fall over if he didn’t have any support.

  I never got the opportunity to test my theory and shake off his grip. One very large fist to the drunk’s face and he toppled like a ton of bricks.

  I jerked my head to the left to see who had rescued me.

  Then I took a second look.

  Marcus? What in the hell was he doing here?

  “Let’s go,” he grumbled as he clasped my hand and pulled me awkwardly off the barstool.

  I stumbled over the unconscious man at my feet, barely avoiding putting a stiletto in his privates. “I can’t leave. I’m meeting someone,” I protested.

  “Not anymore,” he answered in a graveled voice.

  I was already outside the door when I dug my heels in, trying to yank my hand from his. Marcus was wicked strong, and I’d be compelled to keep moving if he kept dragging me along. “What are you doing here?” I asked breathlessly, stopping him temporarily, but still unable to break his grip.

  “Taking your ass back to where you belong.”

  “I belong here. I have a date, Marcus. I can’t just leave. I need to see Greg.”

  “Didn’t anything Jett told you sink in?” Marcus replied stiffly. “Becker is an asshole and a goddamn criminal.”

  “I heard Jett. I just didn’t agree,” I said huffily. “I’m old enough to decide who to go out with, for God’s sake.”

  “Not if you’re making the wrong choices,” he replied in a clipped voice.

  I both loved and hated his arrogant voice. The tone, the confidence, and the blunt, no-nonsense inflections in the deep baritone were uniquely Marcus Colter, but the things he said annoyed me to no end.

  I yanked on my imprisoned hand again, but couldn’t free myself. Marcus had a tight grip on me, but he wasn’t hurting me. “And who are you to decide if my choices are right or wrong?”

  “They’re wrong,” he said flatly. “Let’s move.”

  I had to either stumble along behind him or go face-first into the pavement. Since I was a survivor, I followed him.

  I cursed myself for sharing so much with my brother, Jett. He’d obviously sent Marcus in his place since he disapproved of me seeing Becker. I hadn’t expected that, nor did I want it.

  “Marcus, I have to go back,” I argued. “Greg will be at his bar any minute.”

  “He owns that shithole?” he asked without slowing his pace.

  “It’s not that bad,” I lied. “It’s a friendly, local place.”

  “Yeah. Just one big happy family of criminals and hookers,” he rasped.

  “Not everyone is born rich,” I shot back at him as I worked to keep pace with his long stride.

  “No. They aren’t. But Becker is rich. The bastard doesn’t need you to meet with him there, and he could keep you out of his dishonest endeavors.”

  I was silent for a moment before I replied, “What makes you think he’s dishonest?”

  He slowed down a little as he turned his head toward me and grimaced. “Apparently, you’re the only one who doesn’t know he’s a crook, and a traitor to his own damn country.”

  I ignored his accusations. “Stop. Please. I have to go back.”

  “We’re getting the hell out of here, and then you’re going to tell me how exactly you two got together in the first place.”

  “I can’t go with you.” I started struggling hard to free myself from Marcus. I twisted my arm, hoping he’d be forced to let go of my hand.

  “Stop. You’ll injure yourself,” he demanded.

  “I’m not going with you,” I argued.

  “Yeah, you are,” he insisted.

  A startled scream exited my mouth as Marcus bent over, lifted my body off the ground, and threw me over his shoulder.

  I pounded on his back, fairly certain my ass was probably hanging out of the short skirt I was wearing. “Put me down,” I said, angry now that he was carrying me like a caveman.

  His rock solid body bearing my weight effortlessly, he moved in long strides that ate up distance rapidly, ignoring my protests. The only thing I could see—unless I strained my neck—was the back of his suit jacket.

  Dammit! This couldn’t happen. I had to be at the bar!

  “Hello, George. We’re ready to go back to the penthouse,” I heard Marcus say to somebody I couldn’t see.

  “Yes, sir,” the other man—obviously named George—replied, his voice not betraying a single iota of alarm that his boss had come back to the vehicle with a woman slung over his shoulder.

  “Oooff!” The air was forced out of my lungs as my back landed against the soft leather of a car seat. My head was spinning as I tried to get my bearings, suddenly upright again after being carried upside down.

  Marcus entered on the other side of the car, taking up the vacant space in the backseat beside me.

  The vehicle was in motion before my head
cleared.

  “Dammit!” I cursed, pushing the hair back from my face as I straightened myself up in the seat. “Do you understand that you just pretty much kidnapped me?”

  “You left me very little choice,” Marcus replied nonchalantly.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm my nerves. “You had a choice. You could have just left me alone. I’m a grown woman. I’ve traveled the world alone. I can make my own damn choices.”

  I still couldn’t figure out why Marcus was even in Miami, and at Greg’s bar. The only reason I could come up with was my brother.

  “Jett was concerned,” he confirmed.

  I sighed. The last thing I wanted was for my youngest brother to be upset. Jett had been through so damn much, and he deserved a little bit of peace. “He doesn’t need to worry. I’m all grown up. I have been for years.”

  “Why are you here, Danica? What happened to your career? You haven’t been outside of the US for months now,” he asked in a graveled voice.

  I didn’t lie to him. “I needed a break. The places where I really needed to be—I just couldn’t go to right now.”

  After what had happened to me, I’d needed some serious counseling, and I still wasn’t done going to therapy. I wasn’t able to go back to reporting in the Middle East without fear, and that had always been my beat. It was a fear I hadn’t been able to conquer, so I’d finally given the network my notice and struck out on my own to work as an independent journalist. My sister, Harper, thought I’d pushed too hard to go back to work, and maybe she was partly right, but my kidnapping had irrevocably changed me. I’d never be the same woman I was before I’d been taken as a hostage.

  “You should take as much time off as you need. Nobody expected you to bounce back and be working again.”

  “I wanted the distraction. I couldn’t stand being alone with my own thoughts,” I admitted. “But I couldn’t do it. I’m not the same person anymore, and I’m not quite sure who I am.”