Billionaire Unveiled

By: J.S. Scott

“Son of a bitch!” I cursed in an irritated voice as I approached the block where the bar I was seeking was located. “How in the hell did she get mixed up with a loser like Gregory Becker?”

Becker was a rich bastard, but it was doubtful that much of his wealth came from his legitimate businesses. He’d been a suspect at the CIA for a long time, but as of yet, nobody could make any charges stick with solid evidence or intel.

Stopping under a dim streetlamp, I pulled out the picture Jett had given me before I left Seattle, a photo that had been taken by a local newspaper in Miami. Dani had been captured in full color right next to Becker, his arm around her waist, both of them looking pretty damn happy at a charity event the asshole had donated to a few weeks ago.

There had been other photos, and other events where Dani had been by Becker’s side. When Jett had asked Dani what she was doing in Miami, and if she was really seeing Becker, she’d told her brother that they were dating and it wasn’t all that serious. Apparently, no matter what Jett had told his little sister, she’d refused to heed his warning about Becker. There probably wasn’t a single wealthy businessman who didn’t know Gregory Becker’s reputation. Rumors were constantly flying about his involvement in human trafficking, illegal arms dealing, and a hell of a lot of drugs. He was also supplying much of that ill-gotten money to rebel troops in Syria. That little bit of info wasn’t common knowledge. I’d learned that from some of the CIA intel.

How in the hell could Dani be mixed up with somebody who supplied money to rebel groups similar to the one who had held her captive and tortured the hell out of her?

Yeah, maybe Danica wasn’t immersed in the world of international business, but she had to know about Becker. If she hadn’t discovered his dirty secrets before, Jett certainly hadn’t held back on telling her all about the new guy in her life. Shit! Didn’t she trust her own damn brother?

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.

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