The Alpha Billionaire Club Trilogy (41 page)

T
hat was a fucking clusterfuck
. I’d had jobs that had gone wrong before. One memorable occasion things had gone so totally sideways, we’d had to refund the client’s money. A lot of the time, there were clients I didn't particularly like. If I had to like all the people I worked for, I'd have a lot of free time on my hands. But my inner radar had been pinging ever since we’d taken William Harper's case.

Emma didn't fit the profile of an embezzler. I still couldn't see her committing corporate espionage, even with all the evidence staring me in the face. And her reaction when I’d taken her to Harper had been completely over-the-top. Emma was not a drama queen.

In my gut, I didn't believe the last few weeks had been an act. At least, not on her part. Was that why I was feeling so off balance? Because I’d been lying to her? But, if I was right, she’d been lying to me.

And if I was wrong… If I was wrong, I’d just made an enormous mistake.

I got in the front seat of my SUV and put the keys in the ignition, but didn't start the vehicle. Something inside me wouldn't let me pull away from the curb without Emma.

It wouldn't hurt to double check. Clicking a button on my steering wheel I called into the office. It only rang twice before a deep, alert voice said, “What's up boss?" Hank Stevens, one of my best guys.

"We have ears on William Harper's phone?" I asked.

"Affirmative, boss. All’s quiet."

"No calls tonight? Nothing going in or out in the last twenty minutes?"

“Only the call from you twenty-four minutes ago lasting approximately nine seconds. Nothing else.”

That wasn't good. If Harper had planned to press charges against Emma, he would've called the police by now. He should've called them right away. If I hadn’t been so blinded by emotion, I would have forced him to call while I was still there. Emma had made a lot of accusations in those last few minutes. If even one of them was true, she was in danger.

“Pull the roster for the Vegas FBI office,” I said to Hank. “Look for an Agent Tierney."

"Yeah, just a second." I heard the tapping of the keyboard and less than a minute later Hank was back on. "Got it right here boss. Agent Alan Tierney. Works mainly with RICO cases."

Fuck. Emma was either exceptionally devious, or Harper had played us. Played me. Normally, the thought that I'd been played would be enough to get me monumentally pissed off. This time, I wasn't angry, so much as scared. Fear was not a familiar emotion for me. I didn’t get scared. In my business fear is a luxury, one I can’t afford. I plan my jobs and mitigate risk. But I don’t get scared. Not until now.

The things Emma had said on the way over: that Harper was working with the Russian mob, that they were trafficking drugs, guns, and worst of all, women. It was bad stuff. And I just delivered Emma to him. I'd had run-ins with the Russian mob in Vegas before, and if Harper was working with them, that meant one thing, one guy.

Sergey Tsepov.

I wanted Sergey Tsepov nowhere near Emma. I didn’t want him to know she existed.

On the other end of the line I heard, “Boss, you still there?”

“Yeah, I'm here. Do we have contact info on Agent Tierney?”

That kind of thing wasn’t usually available to private citizens, but we had access most people didn’t. And there had been more than one occasion when it had paid off to be able to call exactly the person we needed at the FBI. Like this one.

“Texting it to you,” Hank said. I hung up and waited. My phone beeped with the number a second later, and I placed the call.

“Tierney,” a gravelly, quiet voice said.

"Agent Alan Tierney of the Las Vegas FBI office?" I asked.

"Yes. Who is this?”

“This is Axel Sinclair. I need to know what you know about Emma Wright."

"I'm not at liberty to discuss anything that might impact an open investigation," Tierney said in a board, somewhat annoyed tone.

"I understand," I said. "You know who I am?"

"I know who you are, Mr. Sinclair."

"Good, that makes this simpler. Then you understand what I mean when I tell you I've been working for William Harper for the last month investigating a case of alleged corporate espionage in which Emma Wright was our prime target.

“Having found what appeared to be a ton of incriminating evidence on her laptop this evening, I brought her to Harper with the understanding that he’d be calling the police to have her arrested. Is this a problem in any way for you or your investigation?"

Tierney exploded into a long string of barely intelligible curses. That was bad. With every second that passed it was becoming clearer that for the first time in my career, I’d fucked up big time. Huge. And not with just anyone, I’d fucked up with the only woman I’d ever truly cared about.

I’d been enraged when I’d thought she’d lied to me. I’d felt so betrayed that I hadn’t thought it through. If I’d sat down with her, or let her make that phone call, done anything other than treat her like a fucking criminal. I cringed at the things I’d said to her.

Bile rose in my throat as I remembered her face, the bleeding cut on her forehead, the blood trickling from her nose. I’d done that to her. It had been an accident, I’d thought she was out of the way when I’d broken down the door. That didn’t change the fact that I was responsible. I hadn’t just handed her over to a man who might want to hurt her, I’d hurt her myself.

I’d
hurt
her. Hurt Emma.

For a second, I thought I was going to vomit. Then my brain kicked into gear. As long as she was okay, I could fix things with Emma later. First on the agenda was getting her out of harm’s way without making the situation any worse.

I looked at Harper’s McMansion, his attractive landscaping lit by accent lights, the windows dark, the house quiet. She was in there somewhere. I had to hope she was still all right.

“What happened to the evidence on the laptop?" Tierney asked, interrupting my thoughts. I noticed that he didn't ask what had happened to Emma. Clearly he was focused on his case, not his informant.

"At the moment,” I said, “the laptop is with Harper."

“You really fucked this one up, didn't you?” Tierney said, not hiding how pissed off he was. “Now you have to figure out how you're going to get the laptop back, and Emma away from Harper, without blowing your cover."

“Without blowing
my
cover?" I asked. My cover? I didn't have a cover, I wasn't working for the FBI. As far as I could see the best thing I could do was to bust into Harper's house, grab Emma, and get her out of there.

“Your cover,” Tierney repeated. “If he thinks you're still working for him, we have someone on the inside," Tierney said. "Maybe that could make up for the Charlie Foxtrot you made of my case. We were days from busting him and now we have next to nothing.”

“Look, I don't need to make anything up to you,” I said. “I just need to get Emma the hell out of there."

"If you want to keep your business open, you need to do exactly what I say,” Tierney shot back. “You've already interfered with an FBI investigation. I'm assuming the information you gave to Harper tonight is the evidence that Emma was collecting for me. Now Harper has all of our evidence and our informant. You’d better fucking fix this, without tipping him off that we’re on to him, or I’ll pull every string I can to get Sinclair Security shutdown in the entire fucking state of Nevada, do you understand me?"

"I understand you,” I said, my jaw tight.

I didn't like it, but I understood. As much as I wanted to grab Emma and run, Tierney had a point. By letting my emotions blind me and not giving Emma a chance to explain, I’d thrown a wrench into the middle of Tierney’s case. Assuming Emma had been telling the truth about what Harper was up to, I didn’t want to be responsible for fucking up Harper’s arrest. I had to get Emma out of that house.

I couldn’t do it myself. As much as I wanted to be the knight in shining armor for this one, Tierney had a point about not burning my bridges. If everything did go to plan, it would be better if I still had access to Harper. I needed a ringer, someone who wasn’t connected to my office but who I could trust to get the job done. Fortunately, I had exactly what I needed in a luxury hotel suite on the strip. I scrolled through the recent contacts on my phone and hit the name.

“I need a favor,” I said, as soon as he picked up the phone. “How’s your case going?”

“Dead for tonight. My targets are in their hotel room and their contact is in LA. Why?”

“I need an extraction. I have a plan. Can you head to my office? Call me when you get there and I’ll explain.”

“I’m on it.”

I hung up, resigned to waiting. My office was less than ten minutes from the strip and Griffen would move fast. I was lucky he was in Vegas. I ran the smaller West Coast offices of Sinclair Security, and my four brothers managed the larger East Coast division.

Griffen Sawyer was one of their best guys. A former Army Ranger, he’d spent a few years working shadow ops for the military, so far off the grid, his own family had thought he was dead. One day, three years ago, he’d abruptly quit, for reason’s he’d never explained, and come back to the States. My brother Evers had served in the Rangers with Griffen. As soon as Evers got word Griffen was back, he’d recruited him.

Griffen had started his current job in Dallas and followed it to Vegas. He’d been working here for the past few weeks, getting more and more frustrated as his quarry seemed to drink, gamble, and do little else. Like most of the men and women who worked for Sinclair Security, Griffen liked action. What I had in mind for Emma’s rescue should be right up his alley.

H
e’d tied
me to the chair as if the handcuffs weren't enough to hold me. I guess if I’d been a ninja, they might not have been. But, with my hands secured behind my back, I wasn't all that confident in my combat skills.

What was I going to do, jump up and try to kick Harper until he fell down, then stomp on him? I'm sure an MMA fighter could have handled that, no problem. The closest I'd come to MMA was a kickboxing class I took three years ago for two sessions before deciding that yoga and walking were more my speed.

Proving he was a creep, Harper had a length of rope in his desk drawer, and he used it to secure me to the chair, wrapping it all the way around my torso, over and over, until the highest strand was just at the base of my neck, making it a little hard to breathe if I struggled.

When he was done tying me, and he’d taken his time on that - letting his hands graze my breasts as often as possible, he’d taken my laptop off his desk and locked it in a safe in the bookshelves across the room.

If I'd had any idea how I was going to get out of this, having my laptop locked up would've been a real problem. But since I wasn't going anywhere anyway, losing the laptop was just one more thing in my already huge pile of troubles.

Harper leaned against his desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at me for a long moment before giving me a suggestive smile that made me want to throw up.

"Emma, Emma, Emma. I was beginning to think Sinclair would never run you to ground. Honestly, I figured a girl as clever as you would've had her evidence together by now. You should know, if Sinclair hadn’t caught you tonight, I would've had you brought to me in the morning. Corporate espionage is a serious charge," he said shaking his head in mock disappointment.

I kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t going to play his game. He wanted to banter with me? I didn't even want to be in the same room with him, much less have a conversation. I thought about mentioning that I was working with the FBI, and Agent Tierney would be looking for me, but I wasn't sure it was a good idea. Wouldn't that just make me more of a liability to Harper? I didn't want to encourage him to get rid of me.

Until I knew what Harper had planned, I didn't think I should push him any further than I had to. I resolved to stay quiet and keep my mouth shut. My resolution didn't last long.

Harper pushed himself off the desk and uncrossed his arms, his long gangly limbs framing his bulbous pot belly, making him look like a human size orangutan. He ambled closer, then reached out one hand and grasped my breast through my sweater. I cringed in revulsion. At my reaction, he squeezed, his grip painfully tight.

The way he’d tied me wasn't exactly artful, but it had the effect of forcing my breasts into even more prominence than usual. I was instantly grateful I’d chosen a chunky, thick, cotton sweater. I could still feel his hand touching me - so gross - but it wasn’t as bad as if I'd been wearing a T-shirt.

"Get off me," I ground out, fighting back the bile rising in my throat. If he wanted to do more than grope me, he’d have to untie me. My mind instantly shied away from the thought of him doing anything else. His hand on my breast was bad enough. Squeezing hard, he reached for the other breast.

"Don't complain,” he said. “I’m just trying to help you get used to it. Where you're going, a little groping is just the beginning.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't want to think about that. I didn't want him to confirm my worst suspicions. As he'd already proven, Harper didn't care about what I wanted.

He moved even closer, straddling my legs and dropping both hands to my chest, squeezing and mauling my breasts while he leered down at me with a revoltingly greedy expression. My vision grayed out at the edges as I went light headed with fear.

“I knew your tits would feel this good,” he said. "I don't have to pretend with you anymore. I know you know everything. I know you've been talking to the FBI. And I know they don't have anything, or you wouldn't be here right now. So I can tell you Tsepov has plans for you.

“Girls like you, that red hair, that white skin, all these curves? You’re worth a lot of money. In a few minutes I'm gonna call him to pick you up, and in twenty-four hours you'll be out of the country. No one who knows you will ever see you again."

Harper’s cheeks were flushed, and his eyes glittered as they looked down into mine. My chest rose and fell in his hands as I gasped for breath, fear so tight around my ribcage I couldn't seem to get any air. Harper touching me, leering at me, was bad enough.

The threat of being taken by Tsepov was something else. I could survive an assault. I knew I could, I had to believe that I could because I was being assaulted right then. And I had no intention of dying.

A lifetime of assaults? I couldn't do anything but survive that, if they were determined to keep me alive, yet I knew it would be the worst kind of survival. My heart would beat, my lungs would draw air, but if Tsepov got me it wouldn't be
me
who survived. Everything that was
me
would be gone.

Harper inched closer and I caught a glimpse of his erection pushing against the front of his khaki pants. It wasn’t very big, but it was way too close to my face. The width of the chair and its height meant the best he could do was thrust his hips somewhere in the direction of my neck, but still, it was clear what he wanted. He wasn't going to get it. If that erection got anywhere near my mouth, he’d regret it.

Maybe he sensed his danger because he turned his attention back to my breasts and started trying to pull off my sweater. He’d tied the ropes too tightly, and the sweater had a crewneck, so he couldn't do more than ineffectually yank at it. He took a step back and let go, glaring down at me.

"I know you're a hot little slut," he said. "I had a guy watching you with Sinclair, and I know you fucked him the second time you met him. If you want things to go easy with Tsepov, I suggest you play nice before he gets here.”

“Fuck you,” I spit out. “I’ll take my chances, but if you fucking try to touch me again, I'll bite anything I can reach."

His fist flashed out and smashed into the side of my face. My head snapped back as pain exploded in my nose, my cheek, my eye, everywhere. I didn't care. I’d meant what I said, and I'd say it again. Just because he planned to hurt me didn't mean I had to go quietly.

Harper must have read something in my eyes, or he had a low tolerance for backtalk because he went to his desk and took out a roll of duct tape. Who had duct tape in their desk? But then, he’d also had the rope he’d used to tie me up. Either he'd been planning this, or he was one weird fucker.

Tearing a strip off the duct tape, Harper pressed it over my mouth, but not before I let out an ear piercing scream. It wasn't much. The houses in this development were too far apart to hope anyone had heard me, and it was unlikely a neighbor was out walking their dog at this hour. But as the sticky tape sealed itself over my lips, my scream gave me a moment of satisfaction.

"I was just trying to help you out," Harper said, pacing to his desk where he tossed the roll of duct tape in a drawer and picked up his phone. "I'm going to have you either way. Tsepov will see to it. It was up to you whether it went easy or hard. Since you didn't want to cooperate…"

Harper shrugged his shoulders as if to say
It's all out of my hands now
, like he was innocent and this was all my fault. Had I said Adam was the King of Assholes? I was going to have to demote him because it was clear William Harper held that title.

Harper picked up his phone and made a call. A moment later he said "I've got Emma Wright and the evidence. The FBI isn't going to be a problem any longer." He paused, then scowled. "No, I can keep her overnight if you want."

Another pause. My stomach churned. I wasn't sure what I wanted to hear him say. As creepy and awful as Harper was, I had a feeling he was a much safer option compared to Tsepov. Then he said, “Fine, fine. I'll be here."

He put the phone down on the desk and leaned back against it as he had before, his arms crossed over his chest. He studied me, this time his eyes lingering on my face as opposed to my breasts.

“Tsepov wants you untouched and unharmed,” he said. “You're not exactly unharmed, but most of that was Sinclair's fault, not mine, so I'm not going to worry about it. We’ll have to wait for a bit, Tsepov's men are tied up and can't come get you for an hour or so. Too bad he won't let me touch you. I'd risk it anyway if I could trust you not to talk."

I shook my head, then realized he wouldn't know if I was saying I wouldn't talk or assuring him that I would. I didn't even know which would be the better answer. I was too scared, and I felt too helpless to think things through. Worse, I had the sick sensation that, at this point, nothing I did was going to save me.

Harper pushed himself off his desk and strolled to the corner of his office where he had an antique bar cart. He poured himself a drink in a cut crystal glass as if he were entertaining company and not holding a woman hostage while blood dripped down her face.

Making his way back to the desk, he assumed his comfortable leaning position again and continued to examine me. I was starting to feel like a bug trapped under a microscope.

"I like seeing you so scared, Emma,” he said. “You were always so superior. So confident. So together. Everyone at the office likes you. Have a problem? Bring it to Emma, she’ll figure it out. But you wouldn't give me the time of day, would you? I asked you out once, and you turned me down flat. Me! William Harper! Not just your boss - I own the whole fucking company. Do you have any idea how rich I am? Richer now since I hooked up with Tsepov.

“You wouldn't believe how much money drugs bring in. Not to mention importing and exporting weapons. First it was Central America, before my time. Now it's Africa, and, the old favorite, the Middle East. All these wars, all this terrorism. It's great for business. Everyone wants guns these days.

“But I have to admit, the girls are my favorite part. I couldn't believe how easy it was, especially in a city like Vegas. So many young women, running away from home with dreams and no one to care what happened to them. How does it feel to know you're going to be joining them soon?"

Tears streamed down my face as I listened, unable to respond to the ugliness spewing from Harper's mouth. He had no remorse. He didn't care about anything but the money. He got off on breaking the law. On being the upstanding businessman William Harper to the world and knowing he was in bed with the Russian mob on the side.

I was beyond trying to figure out if I had any more options to get away. I was too tightly tied. My head was pounding, my face hurt, I was bleeding, and I was so scared I could barely breathe.

Then, a loud, melodious chime cut through the house, echoing down the empty hall to the office. I didn't realize what it was until Harper's head snapped up, and he looked out of the office in the direction of the front door. The doorbell?

Panic hit me, and I realized I was nowhere near the height of my fear, not yet, because at the thought that the Russian’s goons were at the door to collect me, my chest tightened even further, and my lungs froze.

Harper pushed off the desk and headed for the door of the office, muttering under his breath, “He said they would be another hour."