Kidnapped by the Billionaire(44)

He turned away without speaking again, grabbing his phone and punching  in the number of the first of the contacts he had to call, pushing all  thoughts of Violet from his head.

Fifteen minutes and four calls later, he'd managed to get a good idea of  how the land lay after Fitzgerald's sudden death. Several factions  within his little empire were now jockeying for position to take over  where he'd left off, and some of them were throwing around accusations  that Elijah had killed Fitzgerald and was hoping to take over himself. A  number of people thought this was a great idea, and he'd already had  one contact offer to back him should he want to make a move. And the  rest? Well, they just wanted him dead.

After he'd ended the last call, he leaned back against the kitchen  counter, where he'd gone to keep his conversation private, and stared at  the floor, turning things over in his head.

Jesus Christ, fucking Gabriel Woolf and his friends had a lot to answer  for. It wasn't only that they'd killed Fitzgerald and ruined Elijah's  revenge plans, they'd also cut the head off a hydra. A hydra that was  now in the process of growing new heads, probably more than one.

That was the problem when you got rid of one fucking dictator; there  were always plenty more who rushed to fill the power vacuum.

Elijah let out a breath. If he wasn't careful, he'd was going to end up  with an even bigger mess than he first started with, not to mention the  fact that he'd have to ingratiate himself with yet another power-hungry  prick who wanted in on all that money. Plus there were all those  international connections that Fitzgerald's death had left hanging, not  only Jericho but the links to the Triads and the Russians.

You still want to take that shit down, you know what you have to do.

Yeah. He'd have to take over. Make sure the whole network was destroyed  properly. Because the authorities could only do so much, while he could  move outside the bounds of the law if he had to.

Something in him staggered at the thought, burdened by the sheer weight  of it. But he'd been doing this for seven years already, a few more  wouldn't hurt.

Guess that means taking down Jericho isn't a kamikaze mission after all?

He shifted against the cupboard at his back, the edge of the counter digging in.

He'd thought it was. He'd thought taking Jericho down trumped  everything, even his own life. But  …  if he wanted to take down the guy's  empire and Fitzgerald's as well, dying wasn't exactly the way to  achieve it.

What about Violet?

He'd been resting back on the counter with the heels of his hands and  now he found he'd curled his fingers under the edge of it, gripping on  tightly as if to stop himself from doing something violent.         

     



 

You can't let Jericho have her.

He hadn't given any thought to what would happen to her after he'd  brought her to the meeting with Jericho. All he'd imagined was gunning  down that bastard and finally bringing all that time in his own personal  hell to a close. But now  …  he wanted to think about what would happen  to her. He wanted  …  shit. He wanted to make sure she was safe.

A strange, foreign realization, since caring what happened to someone  hadn't exactly been high on his list of priorities, not for a long time.

Straightening, Elijah walked to the kitchen doorway, looking out into  the cavernous apartment space. Violet was standing by the windows,  talking on the phone, her back to him. The fading evening light touched  the tips of her hair in rose gold and turned the exposed skin on the  back of her neck the same color. She looked small against the high  windows. A brave woman and strong, yet vulnerable too.

A certainty he couldn't remember feeling before settled down through him, and ignoring it seemed wrong.

No. He couldn't let anything happen to her. He wouldn't. He would find a  way to make sure she stayed safe, and fuck whether that mattered or  not. Because the fact was that it did.

She mattered. To him.

The thought sat in his head, and by rights he should have shoved it away  since feeling anything at all for anyone wasn't allowed. But he didn't.  He let it sit there, the dark, hunger inside him rousing in response.  Wanting. Wanting her.

Over by the windows, Violet must have ended her phone call because she  lowered the phone slowly, her head bending. Her shoulders slumped, as if  something heavy had just fallen on them, and he didn't like that,  didn't like it at all. She had enough to bear as it was.

Pushing himself away from the door frame, he began to walk over to her.

She must have heard him approach because she turned suddenly. Her face  had that white look again, the same one she'd had earlier in Zac's  study, and her mouth was a hard, straight line. "Oh hey," she said  flatly. "You finished your calls?"

He ignored the question, moving over to her, closing the space between them. "What's wrong?"

She lifted a shoulder. "Oh nothing. Just … " She stopped and tossed the  phone negligently down onto the couch cushions. "It doesn't matter."

He didn't stop to think why he wanted to push her to tell him, or even  why he wanted to know. Maybe it had something to do with what he'd just  realized himself. Whatever it was, he responded without thinking,  reaching out to her and taking her chin in his hand, turning her back to  face him.

"Tell me," he demanded, knowing he sounded rough and demanding and not  giving a shit. Because her eyes had that bleakness in them again, the  one she was trying to hide, and he didn't like it. Not one fucking bit.

Her gaze flicked away from his, but she remained still, and for a  terrible minute he thought she might cry again. And he couldn't have  that, not when her earlier tears had almost torn him open.

"It's my mom," she said eventually, her eyes at last meeting his.  "Remember what you told me a couple of days ago? That no one was coming  for me? Well, looks like you were right."

He frowned. "No, I wasn't. Your friends came for you."

"My friends. But not my family."

"What are you talking about?" For reasons he couldn't have explained, he  released her chin and opened his hand, letting his palm slide down the  column of her neck to rest on her throat, gripping it lightly. Gently. A  possessive hold.

Her eyelashes fluttered, lowering, and he felt her lean into his palm as she drew comfort from the touch.

Oh Jesus  …  this woman. What the fuck was she doing to him?

"Mom didn't want to speak to me. Her secretary tried to fob me off, but I  made her put me through. And  …  she hadn't realized I was missing. Dad's  been dead for two days and she didn't even know I was gone. She hadn't  even bothered to ring me to tell me he was dead." Violet's voice was  flat, but he heard the raw undercurrent beneath. "I know we never got on  well, but this  …  She didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to see  me. I told her I'd come home, but she wasn't interested." Another pause  and then her lashes lifted, her blue-green eyes staring straight up into  his, and he could see her pain. Unhidden. The look of a woman who'd  lost everything. "First Theo. Then Dad. And now my mom. Is it me, Eli?  Is it something I did? What's wrong with me?"

It felt like a hook caught in his chest, tugging hard, tearing painfully  at him, and this time he couldn't tell himself he didn't know why it  hurt. He knew. It was because of her. Because he wanted to make it  better for her, wanted to take that pain away.         

     



 

He tightened his grip on her throat, keeping it gentle yet firm, so she  felt the pressure instead of that pain. "There's nothing wrong with  you," he said roughly. "You just had shitty luck with your family."

Her jaw was tight, her mouth whitening. "Yeah, really shitty luck. And  now I don't even have that. I've lost them all. Every single one of  them."

"No. Not all of them. You had a lead about your brother."

"Yeah, a lead. Great. It's probably nothing."

"What is it?"

"It's stupid. And doesn't mean-"

"Tell me, Violet." He applied a little bit more pressure, letting her  know this wasn't a request, her pulse beating fast beneath his palm.

Her eyes widened, a flare of heat leaping high.

Ah, fuck, yes. That's what he could do for her. That's how he could make  it better. Give her pleasure, make her feel good. And maybe this time  he wouldn't take anything for himself. He'd just do it for her, because  she needed it.

But first, he wanted answers about her brother.

She took a small, sharp breath. "I lived in Paris for a while, came back  earlier this year. But while I was there, I did a little bit of asking  around about Theo. He used to love the city, always wanted to go. We  used to talk about going there one day together  …  Anyway, I left my  number in various places, plus a picture of him, and a little while  afterward someone rang me to tell me to go talk to this café owner in  Montmartre. So I did and I showed her the picture and she told me that  yes, she'd seen him. About six months ago he used to come in every day.  Then one day he vanished and she never saw him again. She couldn't tell  me anything more so I let it go." She swallowed, and Elijah felt the  movement of her throat against his palm, making him spread his fingers  out over her skin, soaking up the warmth of her.