DOM DIARIES : THE CHASE: A Billionaire searches for love.

by Jax Hart

  “RING ROUND THE ROSY, pockets full of posy. Ashes, ashes. We all fall down.” I hummed the rest of the tune under my breath as I sat in the chair by the window.

  The sea taunted me as it broke against the rocks below.

  Just like I broke.

  Pieces of me are all over him. I left them behind as I rushed, desperate to escape.

  Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s laughing. Knowing, he ruined me, just like he said he would.

  He took what he wanted.

  Whenever he wanted.

  And I was powerless to stop him.

  I tried, but I’ve learned some things are fated. Destined to happen, despite your every effort to stop it. Just like a tide. The power of the moon and sun are too strong to ever break their hold on the ocean; pushing and pulling. Tugging and stretching the water in their game of war.

  I laughed, the laugh of a truly mad woman.

  It was us.

  I was the sun and he was the moon. Our push and pull too strong for either of us to fight. The difference was he never tried to question or control it. I, on the other hand, ran as many times as I could, denied what was right in front of me.

  He is the other half of my soul.

  But what do you do when the other half of you—has none? Or worse—somehow came into this world without one. Maybe, it got lost in the stars, never returning to earth.

  What irony, a real Greek tragedy.

  So, who am I now? Besides a woman walking around with half a soul, a wrecked heart, and a broken mind?

  I stood, opening the window letting the breeze flutter the hand-made lace curtains.

  I still felt him.

  Knew he was just as mad as me, looking for me, hunting for any trace of me on every corner of this earth.

  He wouldn’t stop.

  He swore he’d never let me go. I was his for eternity and beyond. And I know someday, someway, in this life or in what lies beyond—I’ll never escape him. His darkness is in me now. The half of my soul bound to the dark hole of his.

  A soft knock on my door had me turning from the breathtaking shores of the tiny Greek island where I sought refuge. My eyes appreciated the view, but my heart couldn’t feel it.

  “Jessie?” The kind old woman came in, carrying a tray with black coffee strong enough to wake the dead, and a pile of freshly baked Greek pastries. “You’re too skinny, eat.”

  “I can’t.”

  She sighs, placing the tray down on the dresser. “Whoever he was…he’s not worth it.”

  “No, he isn’t. But all the same, it is what it is. I-I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same.” A tear slid down my cheek.

  “Ah, you can heal now. The tears are ready to fall. Let them.”

  So, I did. I finally let go of the scraps I was holding myself together with. She held and rocked me like a baby as I let myself weep for the naïve girl I was before I met him and for the woman I am now, missing him and wishing I never left.

  I cried in her soft arms for at least an hour. Finally, I raised my head.

  “Do you need a doctor?” She asked in a sympathetic voice.

  “No. He didn’t hurt me in that way. Besides, I’ve had my period since I left him. No one can know I’m here. He’ll find me if you tell anyone.”

  “Who is this man…so powerful that you fear?”

  “Christos Devillo.”

  A stunned look passed over her face as she digested my words in silence. She crossed herself then stood. “The devil must never find you. I’ll keep you safe. Rest, eat. Someday, you’ll dream again sweet child.”

  “I can’t imagine I ever will. All I do is have sweet nightmares of him. I’m so ashamed. The things he made me do…things I wanted to do. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror.” I broke off, hoarsely.

  “Eat.” She replied, patting my hand while walking out talking to herself in Greek as she went.

  But I couldn’t even look at food. I felt sick—sick to my stomach every waking moment. My mind is consumed with memories I both wanted to forget and re-live at the same time. I’m at war with myself. I pick up the coffee, taking a few slow sips. I close my eyes remembering how it all started, months earlier.

  It was a day much like this one. So beautiful—one would think it couldn’t be real, much less the portal to hell. I never imagined a man so dark—even the devil himself would make the sign of the cross if they ever met, was lying in wait for me.

  But I’m still conflicted even now what I would’ve done. What choice would I have made, if I knew the trap I’d be caught in? The wave of lust and shame that would crash over me, holding me under, drowning me in a sea of desire, turning me into a woman I hardly recognize.

  A woman whose body and heart are held captive to her master.

  A master whom I’ve run from.

  A master who at this very moment—is hunting me. But I’ve covered my tracks well. And if and when I decide I want to be found—it will be on my terms, not his.

  Maybe I’ll go outside today to dig my toes into the warm sand. Through the pane of the window, the deep blue Aegean Sea beckons.

  He’ll never find me here, on a remote island so small it barely qualifies as one; nestled against a smattering of rocks a swim away from Santorini. It’s the perfect place to hide. Christos would kill Andre if he ever found out he’s the one helping me. I worked with Andre on the Oasis. The massive yacht where I thought I’d work for half a year. Andre kept going on and on about his sweet Greek grandmother and the small island he grew up on. He often talked about how he was worried that she lived alone above the family owned café that’s been in his family for generations. I held onto the hope, through nights of sweet torture, that if we ever reached the coast of Greece, I’d be able to run and find this place until I could make plans to escape Greece for good.

  The old woman took one look at me and ushered me inside. I was so broken that she washed me like a child, braided my hair, and sung me to sleep, cooing soft lullabies in a language I can’t understand.

  Maybe tomorrow, I’ll leave this room.

  Maybe tomorrow, I’ll take a bite.

  Maybe tomorrow, I’ll hate myself a little bit less.

  Even now, weeks later, my traitorous body still remembers his touch. I spend hours huddled under my sheets, touching myself; pretending he’s telling me what to do, just like he always did.

  He made me do things that would make a call girl blush.

  I hated it.

  Loved it.

  Hated him.

  Loved him?

  It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is surviving the aftermath of what he did to me.

  I also considered myself a strong woman. I grew up with boys. Played baseball, rode dirt bikes and while the other girls spent time on hair and makeup, I was in the engine room of my neighbor’s fishing boat learning how to fix a broken carburetor.

  But who’s going to fix me?

  With a shaky breath, I placed the empty coffee mug down. I needed to get out of this room, if I was going to start living again.

  I took a hot shower, combed out my long hair and twisted it into a bun. Yaya has been so good to me. She works in her café all day, then sits with me at night. I need to earn my keep. Maybe keeping busy will help my mind escape him.

  I quickly dressed in the white shorts and T-shirt Yaya gave me. They belonged to her niece who is away studying at a university. I’d be safe right now if I had stayed at mine. But stupid me, thought I was going to see the world.

  What a naïve, foolish girl I’d been. Picking up a bright green apron, I fastened the strings and walked down the back stairs.

  “Jessie?”

  “I’m fine Yaya. As fine as I can be. I thought I might help. Maybe you could teach me more Greek?”

  “What if someone recognizes you?”

  “How? He never took me anywhere. No one knew we were together…but I guess we weren’t. Not like normal people are, anyway.”

  She smiled, patted my hand, an
d led me over to the coffee machine. “The first thing you must learn is how to make Greek coffee. Everyone thinks Columbia has the best coffee. They lie. It’s us Greeks.”

  My lips smiled for the first time in weeks. My light had gone dark since that night in Capri. The night where I saw him for who he truly was and ran like hell.

  I grabbed a note pad and began writing down everything Yaya was showing me about how to whip the Greek coffee before adding hot water. But I couldn’t concentrate. A man with dark hair that shined bluish-black in the sun was walking by outside. He was dressed in an expensive suit, and for a moment I thought it was him. But then he looked at me through the window as he swung a giggling toddler in his arms.

  “Jessie?”

  Yaya, asked me to attempt my barista skills. As I whipped the coffee grounds into a creamy foam that rose higher and higher, making a Greek Frappé, I was jolted back to where it all started. I am so far from the girl I was that day and now I mourn her loss.

  1

  Late Spring

  JESSIE

  “DID YOU PACK EXTRA SUNSCREEN?”

  “Yes,” I rolled my eyes, clutching the plane ticket that would fly me to freedom.

  “I still think this is a bad idea. Take a semester off, but don’t drop out of school.”

  But it was too late. I withdrew, packed up my dorm room and found a job as a female deckhand on one of the world’s most luxurious mega yachts.

  I wasn’t changing my mind.

  “My flight leaves at six. I need to go.” I pulled my mother in for a long hug, wishing I could be different for her. But no matter how much I tried I couldn’t change who I was: a tomboy, thirsting for the tang of salt tickling my tongue and the fresh ocean breeze tearing through my long, wild hair.

  Over my mother’s shoulders, my eyes met my father’s. I blamed my restlessness on him. I’ve spent my life on the ocean. My father’s a graduate of the Naval Academy in Annapolis. I grew up a navy brat, moving from port to port.

  I tried, I did. But college just wasn’t for me. I felt suffocated—landlocked. I lasted two years at Southern California State before dropping out earlier this semester. My mother was sorely disappointed. But how can I make her understand that being a domestic housewife would be a prison sentence for me? The knot between my shoulder blades tightened. Mom’s eyes were full of the lost dreams she had for me. She wanted me to meet a preppy LA businessman, buy a house in the Hollywood Hills, and spend my days shopping or at the Country Club.

  I’m never going to be some man’s trophy wife. My nails are broken, my toenail polish chipped and I hate wearing makeup. The only designer brands I wear are my True Religion Jeans and Old Navy flip-flops.

  A smile broke out on my lips as I met my father’s knowing gaze, his eyes were filled with understanding. I let mom go and crossed the carpet to hug him. “Damn, I wish I was going with you. Live your dreams, my Jessie girl. Don’t worry about your mother; she’ll get over it.”

  I hoped he was right. I’m their only child and the light of my father’s eyes, but the pain in my mother’s heart. A honk sounded out front. My driver had arrived. I slung my backpack over one shoulder, gave one last wave and bounded down the front steps. Excitement ran through me like an, electric current as we approached the airport. I was almost free.

  My nose pressed against the small window as the plane sped down the runway until the wings caught air. I watched until the lights of San Diego faded away. I was too excited to sleep even though it was a red-eye flight. I spent hours daydreaming, ignoring the snores coming from across the aisle, finally reading on my Kindle until my eyes closed.

  When I landed in Rome, I found a private car waiting to drive me to the coast. My clothes were wrinkled from spending hours on a plane, I probably smelled, and my hair was a tangled mess. But none of that mattered when we reached Capri. My lungs filled with the tang of salt and my nose with the rich fragrance of flowers spilling down stucco walls.

  The port was full. Yachts more impressive than the next sat side by side in the water. When my feet hit the dock, I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. I got to live and work here? Go to bed every night rocked by the swells and waking every morning on water the most gorgeous mix of turquoise and blues.

  “Jessie?”

  “Yes, that’s me,” I had answered the deckhand who waited for me with a clipboard in his hands.

  “Welcome to Capri. She’s too big to dock, so we need to use the tender to ferry you over.”

  I nodded, holding my hands up to shield my eyes from the bright sun as my gaze cut across the water to the impressive vessel sitting like a queen on her throne at the back of the harbor. Excitement raced through me.

  I felt free, knowing I had followed my heart and dreams when I left California to find myself.

  If only I knew the devil who laid in wait for me. He had set his trap and like a fool—I fell right in.

  2

  CHRISTOS

  WITHOUT TAKING MY EYES off her picture tucked carefully amongst the financial reports in my hand, I made my threat. “Give us control of your company, or I’ll sink it.”

  “I started that company in my basement twenty years ago,” the man stammered, with a sweat-covered brow.

  “It’ll end there too…if you don’t give me control. Your debt to profit ratio has been off for years. One phone call. One phone call is all it will take to put you in jail.” I plucked the glossy eight by ten photos of him leaving his mistress’ apartment from my folder, then dropped the financial audit of his company with all of the discrepancies highlighted. “I’m guessing you stole from the company to pay for her penthouse?”

  “Fucking bastard,” he breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  Flipping the file shut, I stood towering over him. “I’ll give you five minutes to make your decision. I’m sure you’ve heard of my reputation and know what I’m capable of. I won’t stop with shredding the company you built from scratch. I’ll evict your children from the beds they sleep in, wipe out your savings account…hell, I’ll fuck your wife—just because, I can.”

  “Do it. What do I care? She sucks in bed.”

  “Nah, I bet your bald, fat, face just couldn’t get her wet.” With one hand on the door, I fired my parting shot, “your mistress fucks like a dream though.”

  He reared back as if my words slapped him in the face. He lunged for me, tripping over the feet of the rolling office chair, falling flat on his face.

  “Four minutes.”

  “You’re the devil.”

  “So, I’ve been told,” I smirked leaving him on the floor. Entering my private office, I shut the door and walked to the bank of windows overlooking London. My palms rested on the cold glass as I looked at the city below. I’m half-British, half-Greek and was educated in the best private schools’ money could buy. I’m in the prime of my life but can’t feel a damn thing.

  My mother said I was damaged and mourned the loss of a son still living, but my father…he used my condition to his advantage. I’m a trained soldier, but my battlefield is a boardroom. The pathetic man who I just left at my feet; my latest casualty.

  Opening the file, my eyes roamed over her face.

  It’s almost time.

  Christ, I’m fawning over her photograph, again. Something only lovesick fools do.

  I’m no lovesick fool.

  But I am sick.

  Depraved.

  All I feel is the pleasure of the flesh, and I want my pound. I’m a façade. Everything about me is. My lips curved into a sardonic smile. My eyes twinkle when I force a laugh, faking emotions that I don’t feel. I’ve forged relationships; bonds that others think are real.

  They’re not.

  I had learned at an early age how to blend in. How to exist in a world driven by emotions, thoughts…feelings.

  The only thing I can feel is physical pain and pleasure. I push myself in the gym, and just as hard at work. I pick apart companies, selling them off in pieces; dismantling
lives—breaking them apart. It’s the only thing I’m good at. My lack of emotions is a gift in disguise if you work in the profession I do—mergers and acquisitions. I’m the best in the world at what I do. My ruthlessness knows no bounds and it terrifies my conquests and keeps competitors from trying to interfere in my deals. Part of the reason why I couldn’t come wrap this deal up sooner, is because the CEO of the last company I tore apart was found hanging from his necktie.

  I should’ve felt something. Anything.

  But, as always, where my soul should be was nothing but a barren wasteland.

  My finger traced over her face. “I’ll have you soon, my beauty. Just wait. You’ll see how good it will be—to be, my little-caged bird. Fly now when you can—I’m coming for you. There’ll be no escape from the things we’ll share. I’ll be so deep in you—you'll be the one to get lost as I make you come so hard, you’ll forget your own name,” I vowed, uttering the words in a silky caress only I could hear.

  Picking up the satellite phone on the desk, I dialed George. He’s loyal as hell to me. Not only do I pay him the salary of a CEO to make sure he stays discreet, but he was my father’s butler for years.

  Where one might say I have no heart, no soul because I was born that way—my father gave away his. He craved money…an empire to be his legacy long after he was gone. He groomed me, used my condition to make ruthless business decisions other men would find difficult. My family’s impeccable bloodline dates back to Ancient Rome where men fought lions and conquered empires.

  My ancestors fled to Greece when their great city fell. Centuries later my father, Roman Devillo, married a fair English rose. Their marriage was fiery passion, screaming matches, flying vases, and crashing hearts. It made me grateful that I am the way I am—unable to ever be caught in the hell called love.

  I was born in Greece but schooled outside of London. My dueling accents making my origin hard to place, but my looks are from my father.

  Tall.

  Dark.

  Handsome as hell.

  Every woman’s dream until I become their nightmare when they realize I can never love them back. All I do is take them over the edge as I plunder their bodies, filling them, stuffing them so good—I break them. After me, they’re shattered. Ruined for any other man’s touch.