Jude gritted his teeth, his eyes flashing with annoyance.
“You can’t give me everything I want,” he snarled. “You’re not Marseille. You will never be my wife.”
“I am not your wife.”
Norah’s eyes shot up toward the doorway, and Jude turned to look, his ghastly face pale as Marseille walked into the living room.
“Thanks for calling me,” Marseille said to his mistress and Jude howled in fury.
“You dumb bitch! You’re ruining everything!” he screamed, lunging toward his girlfriend.
“Sit down, Jude. I will shoot you, I promise,” Norah snarled, butting the gun against his cheek.
“Mars! She’s crazy!” he cried, falling backward, grabbing his face but Marseille did not seem moved by his words.
“She’s pregnant?” Marseille asked him dully, and he stared at her with huge, pleading eyes.
“It’s not mine!” he cried. “The baby isn’t mine!”
“It’s his,” Norah retorted flatly. “A DNA test will prove it.”
Marseille sighed heavily and shook her head.
“I know everything, Jude,” she said quietly. “I just came from visiting your parents.”
Jude felt a rush of blood fill his ears.
“They’re liars!” he crowed. “They have always hated me, ever since I was a child! They sent me away to a horrible place. They wanted me dead.”
“The way you wanted Corey dead?” Marseille asked sadly. Jude’s face turned crimson.
“Corey tried to kill herself!”
“Who is Corey?” Norah demanded.
“His wife,” Marseille sighed.
“She’s not my wife! You’re my wife, Mars, you are!”
“She hates being called Mars.”
River stepped into the room from where he had been listening in the hallway and Jude’s knees buckled beneath him.
“You!” he spat. “You’re dead! You’re dead! I saw you die! I made sure you were dead!”
The rest of the platoon had made their way outside the Qalla, but something had stopped Jude.
“What is that?” Jude asked, whirling, grabbing River’s arm in the process. Both men froze, looking back at the structure inside the walls.
“Did you see that?” Jude demanded, but River shook his head. Jude pointed at the upper floor, and River’s eyes trained upward.
Now is my opportunity, Jude thought, excitement coursing through his veins. He had bided his time for two long years, waiting for his opportunity. Now was the time.
“Someone is in there,” he told River. “We have to go look.”
“How could they have gotten in?” River demanded, unconvinced. “There’s only one point of entry.”
“I’m telling you, someone is there!” Jude exploded. “If you don’t want to come with me, fine but I have to check it out before we get ambushed.”
Suddenly, there was a rash of screaming outside the walls and both men spun, Jude at the gate, River toward the house.
Jude watched with grim satisfaction as the insurgents readied their hand grenades for aim. As the posed them to throw at the Qalla, Jude turned to River in a feigned panic.
“Run!” Jude screamed. “Run toward the house, River and take cover!”
River turned to flee, assuming Jude was at his back but as he approached the structure, a series of explosions erupted, bright sparks against the rain.
Jude had unleashed a spray of bullets on the ambush but only after he was sure they had released every grenade in their possession on the house where he had sent River to die.
What Jude had not accounted for was Captain Briscoe watching his move from the cover of a low wall.
“I had always suspected you had something to do with what happened that day,” River muttered as Marseille gasped.
“You didn’t deserve everything you had,” Jude spat. “I got dishonorably discharged for what happened that day.”
River stared at him in disbelief.
“You expect me to feel sorry for you, Jude? You stole my life in every way possible, manipulated my wife and tried to kill me!”
“You don’t deserve Marseille!” Jude screamed. “She belongs with me!”
Marseille sighed and turned away.
“What are we going to do with him?” she asked.
“Oh, please, Marseille,” Norah pleaded. “Let me deal with him in my own way.”
Marseille turned to look at the blonde and then at the man she had spent the past six years of her life with.
“Mars, you know me!” Jude begged. “You can’t leave me! I need you!”
“You can have him,” Marseille breathed, touching River’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Mars!” Jude bellowed. “Don’t leave me here! Mars!”
But his cries fell on deaf ears as they slipped out of the apartment, closing the door firmly behind them.
He was alone with his enraged, pregnant mistress.
Epilogue: Sacramento, California - Christmas
“This one is from dad,” Marseille said, handing a box to River and he shook it. They were sprawled on the floor of their apartment, enshrouded in gifts from their family and friends.
“Slippers,” he declared, and Marseille laughed.
“Probably,” she agreed as he tore open the wrapping paper. “Right again! You have a real talent for guessing presents.”
“Maybe I should see if there’s a job in there for me somewhere.”
“You would make a wonderful Santa Clause,” Marseille joked.
River leaned across the mound of wrapping paper to place a kiss on her cheek.
“I’ll settle for construction foreman right now,” he told her.
They had relocated to the west coast in the wake of what had happened, trying to rebuild themselves as Mary and Stephen Jones of Sacramento.
Marseille’s father had been surprisingly resourceful in locating fake identifications for the couple, something Marseille had been curious about but dared not question.
Some things are best left unknown, she thought, a dark cloud formulating over her good mood. I lived that way for a long time. No need to open another can of worms.
She looked at her husband, wondering if she would ever learn what he had done to warrant such a low-profile lifestyle.
I bet if I ask him, he’ll tell me.
She did not ask.
“Are you thinking about him?” River sighed, sitting back on the sofa cushions at his back. Marseille tried to force a smile, but it came out like a grimace as she shook her head.
“Not him exactly,” she replied. “I just can’t wrap my mind around being married to such a sociopath.”
“You were never married to him,” River reminded her. “So, you don’t need to feel too badly about it.”
Marseille grinned.
“Yeah, I guess I should count my blessings,” she agreed, but she lowered her eyes.
“He’s a killer. He had no qualms about taking a life,” she muttered. “I know, I keep bringing it up, but I just don’t understand how someone can live with themselves after that.”
River was silent for a long moment, his mind shifting to another place.
Maymana, Afghanistan – 2015
“You can’t go over there,” Anwar told him. “The soldiers won’t see us coming, and they will shoot to kill.”
“I am one of them, remember,” he told the leader. “I want you to keep going with the others. I am going home.”
Anwar stared at the American suspiciously.
“How are you going to do that?” he whispered. “You can’t prove your identity to them.”
“They will have a record of me somewhere,” he replied. “I will just approach them and tell them what happened.”
Anwar shook his head.
“You will get yourself shot, Askar. You look like one of us now, sound like one of us now. You will not be well received. Have you forgotten what the last bout of Americans did to us? They turned
us into spies and almost got us killed. If we hadn’t kept running…”
River stared at him, realizing that Anwar was likely right.
How long had they been traveling through the country? How long had it been since he had even spoken English to anyone? They would surely regard him dubiously.
What was he going to do? He finally had an opportunity to get back to the States, to Marseille. How could he let it go? He would never forgive himself if he didn’t try.
But he hadn’t survived that long to die on his own rescue mission.
There was only one way to ensure he made it back.
“Run,” he told Anwar. “And don’t look back. I was never with you. You never met an American. Tell the others. Forget you ever met me.”
“Askar, what are you going to do?”
“I am going to go home to my wife.”
He thought of where he had buried the dead soldier, taking his uniform and fleeing the jurisdiction.
He had sought out another squadron weeks later. River had stumbled into the base, claiming he had been captured and escaped. He was immediately sent back to Virginia to be treated for exposure and psychological damage but the first chance he got, he ran, leaving the thought of Elan Jennings in the unforgiving shallow grave in Afghanistan.
Was his body ever recovered? He wondered. It was a question River often asked himself.
Are they looking for me?
He had no way of knowing, but he did not intend to raise his head high. He was fine living as Stephen Jones.
“What are you thinking about?” Marseille asked softly, crawling toward him to lay her dark head in his lap.
His fingers twirled around the strands of her tresses.
“Your question,” he replied. “How people can live with themselves after taking a life.”
“It’s different during wartime,” Marseille said quickly, raising her head to look at him apologetically. “I didn’t mean – “
“No, no,” he told her gently, replacing her head in his lap. “But what’s the difference really? All’s fair in love and war, right?”
Nothing Butt Billionaire
A Billionaire Romance
Olivia Summers
Nothing Butt Billionaire
Copyright 2017 Olivia Summers
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to a person, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
WARNING:
Due to mature subject matter, such as explicit sexual situations and coarse language, this story is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older, and all acts of a sexual nature are consensual.
Chapter One
The sunlight dappled lovingly through the palms casting diamond-like prisms on the drying droplets of water. A violent storm had just swept through the private island of Urchin Caye, and Garret Elgin studied the destruction it had caused with surprising impassiveness. His mind was not on the near hurricane that his haven had endured. It was, after all, hurricane season in Belize. His staff was already tending to the havoc wreaked on the island.
He had much bigger problems on his mind.
He paced around the dome-shaped solarium, pausing every minute or so to glance toward the beach but the brilliant sun obstructed his clear view of the dock. As in the last moment, there was no sign of life on the water but for the birds diving in for their lunch, escaping the current with squirming fish in their beaks.
What the hell is taking them so long? He wondered, glancing at his Rolex once more. The storm let up yesterday. There is no excuse for this delay.
Garret was not a man who enjoyed waiting on others although he was apt to make his associates spend hours killing time. He loathed that gold and diamond Rolex, despite its overpriced tag.
It had been a gift from Sonia on their twelfth wedding anniversary, and he only wore it to fuel his rage. Looking at it kept the hatred he felt toward the conniving witch alive and volcanic.
When the divorce is finalized, I will mail this to her one piece at a time, he vowed. On second thought, he might just keep it as a tribute to the bile the marriage had created in his gut.
Again, he turned to stare out into the beach, and in the distance, he caught a flash of light, like sunshine on metal.
He exhaled slowly. Garret had not realized he had been holding his breath, but it made sense; breathing was becoming an apparent luxury. He should not waste air unnecessarily.
You’ll never get me. I have been up against far worse than the likes of you, he thought grimly, exiting the sun-spackled glass room.
“Sir? Can I get you anything?” Gaspar hurried toward the billionaire as he strode toward the back entrance, onto the terrace.
“Yes, fix me a scotch and soda and summon Zave and Yvette to meet me on the pier.”
“Yes sir,” the seasoned butler agreed, hurrying off to fill Garret’s order. He paused to watch after his faithful servant, a thought tickling the corners of his mind but as soon as it had come, it disappeared.
I am blocking it out. I do not care what the help does behind closed doors or with whom, he told himself, gritting his teeth together.
Garret dropped his mirrored shades from the top of his thick mane of hair and continued to make his way to the dock.
As he walked, he recited the list in his head again.
Sonia, Paul, Hunter, Lisbeth, Zave, Yvette.
He cringed inwardly at the six names, but they were the only ones who made sense.
Gaspar too? Perhaps Priscilla? Jorge and the rest?
He was losing focus, and he tried to concentrate on the upcoming meeting.
Approaching the long dock, his shielded eyes noticed the speedboat approaching. Still, quite a way in the distance but Garret had no doubt that it was them. There were no other islands near his sanctuary, and his outboard guards would have stopped any trespassers before his eyes would catch them.
Or at least they are supposed to. What if I am completely off and this is an inside job? What if the locals are in cahoots? What if –
He tried to stop his mind from spiraling out of control.
There were so many options, too many potential scenarios but he could not allow himself to lose control.
You are Garret Elgin. Your very name inspires fear in anyone who hears it. You are fearless, wealthy and powerful. You have more clout in the world than any single world leader.
It was a spiel he had memorized since the time he had seen his first billion dollars. He said it every morning when he woke at five a.m., and they were the last words he thought if he was able to sleep. It had begun as a mantra but become more of a prayer over time.
It only makes sense that I would have my own prayer. I am a somewhat of a demigod after all.
Garret felt no shame in thinking those words. He had worked incredibly hard to build his realm, and he deserved every ounce of recognition.
“You don’t get anywhere in life pissing and moaning,” he was often quoted as saying. “You have to earn your position in life. You can’t beg for it. The world owes you nothing unless you help create it. And that’s what I do, ladies and gentlemen. I shape this planet. I mold it to what I think it should be. Don't you like it? Build your own.”
He was a formidable man, not only in status but sheer size. They had called him “The Bear” in high school when he was the quarterback of the football team, a nickname which had followed him through Yale.
It fitted as Garret stood a towering six foot
five with a barrel chest and broad, tan shoulders. He was surprisingly surefooted for his size, but he had a genetic predisposition to grace. He was, after all, an Elgin. The name itself implied poise and regality.
The boat was finally making a shape on the horizon, and suddenly he became aware of someone standing at his back. Garret whirled to confront the intruder.
“Zave, you startled me,” he growled, turning back to watch the water. His son smirked and thrust a glass at him. It was the scotch and soda he had requisitioned of Gaspar.
“Your man slave said you wanted to see me,” his twenty-one-year-old son replied in a slow, even tone. “I told him I’d bring out your drink.”
Garret turned back to eye his oldest child, his dark blonde eyebrow raising slightly as he accepted the tumbler.
“Are you stoned?” he demanded. Zave shrugged nonchalantly and dropped onto the dock, sticking his long pale legs outward as if he was a child of five and not a grown man.
He looks just like his mother. The pasty skin, the dark hair, and eyes. We’re in Belize, and he looks like he has been cooped up in Dracula’s tomb for a century.
“I’ve been more stoned,” Zave replied happily, leaning back in his arms. Garret scoffed, and Zave stared at his father with inquisitive brown eyes.
“What am I doing out here, dad?” he demanded, but even Zave’s annoyed tones were soft and gentle.
The boy lacks fire, fight, Garret thought contemptuously.
“There is someone I want you to meet,” Garret replied shortly. Before he could refocus his attention to the Caribbean Sea, Yvette scampered from the house, dressed in a skimpy bikini.
“Daddy? You wanted to see me?”
Garret scowled at her.
“Go back inside and put some clothes on. I have a very important man coming now, and I need him to be focused on something other than your cleavage.”
Yvette sighed and shook her long blonde hair in exasperation.
“A little notice would have been nice,” she complained. “Is he hot?”
The Lost Seal: A Seal Romance Page 11
