Hardwired: A Billionaire and Virgin Romance (Tech Titans Book 2)

by Marcella Swann

  “We’ll get there,” he says, his moist breath on my face.

  A shiver of disgust rolls through me and I glance away, refusing to even look at him anymore. His hand comes up and captures my chin. He tilts my head, forcing me to look at him.

  “You’re mine, ma chérie.” His eyes slash back and forth between mine. A smug little smile crosses his lips, and I feel like a caged bird. My heart sinks to my toes as I realize he’s right. He’s got me right where he wants me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Because if I fight him on this, he’ll hurt my mother.

  And if I’ve learned anything from him during this descent into madness he’s been following, it’s that he’ll do anything.

  “Now finish packing my things, mon trésor,” he says. He slaps my bottom and it takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to turn and slap him across the face.

  Squeezing my eyes closed, I pray for strength. I pray to gods I don’t believe in for the power to get through this. And I realize there’s no end in sight. I’m stuck. The only time I’ll be free is when my mother departs. The thought of losing my mother squeezes my heart like a vise and tears spring into my eyes.

  There’s no way out of this. I’m under Bassirou’s thumb.

  I continue packing. I’m very aware of him as he leaves the room and heads into the kitchen. The sounds of a tea kettle going on is all I hear. It’s like every sense in me is heightened. Like my whole body is in flight, ready for the right second to escape.

  Packing quicker now, I find a bag with white powder in it.

  Holding it up, I stare at the little tiny crystals. This would help. It would hop me up. Make me stronger. Make me numb to pain. Make me almost superhuman.

  I could use some. He’d never know. He’d never catch me. I could get through all of this entirely numb to all the horror he’s going to inflict on me. Because I know there’s going to be horror. There’s going to be nothing short of torture. He’s made it clear that he’s got a score to settle.

  Well, so do I.

  I carry the bag into the bathroom, tucking it under my shirt in case he peeks out. In front of the sink, I open the bag dump everything out. Turning on the water, I watch the white powder turn to paste as it absorbs the water. My heart pounds so hard in my chest I feel faint and grip the edge of the sink.

  Little bit by little bit, the water washes away the drugs, whisking it down the drain and away. And I feel relief. I feel strong. I feel in control.

  “Sabine?” Bassirou shouts, banging on the bathroom door with a fist. My body jolts in shock and fear runs like fire through my veins.

  “Washing my hands, sorry,” I say quickly, tucking the bag into the bottom of the garbage and scrubbing my hands with soap to cover my tracks. Splashing water in the sink to help the rest of the drugs go down, I look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are wild, terrified, and I look… lovely. Crazy. Strong.

  Bassirou can’t break me unless I let him. I’m going to fight him at every turn. Little fights. Nothing that risks my mother. I’m just not going to make this easy on him. I’m going to sabotage him in every little way I can. Starting with this destruction of his drugs.

  I hold my chin high as I turn off the water. When my hands are dry, I open the bathroom door. Bassirou is still standing there, waiting.

  “No more locked doors between us, Sabine,” he says.

  My heart pounds harder. “It’s a habit, Bassirou, I’m not going to be able to just change right away. But I’ll do my best,” I lie sweetly and effortlessly.

  His expression softens. “Good girl, I knew you’d come around.”

  Oh, you have no idea, Bassirou. I smile, thinking about the empty bag at the bottom of the garbage and the long gone by now drugs. Yeah, I’ve come around.

  “I’m just hard on you because I love you,” he murmurs, dragging the back of his knuckles down my cheek.

  “I should finish packing, I say, desperate to escape, but not wanting him to realize I’m trying to escape.

  “There’s a good girl. Get it done. Our flight is at 3.”

  Three hours. My heart slips all the way to my toes. In three hours, I’ll be far, far away from Hayden. From this life. From singing. And even if Hayden finds me, which I doubt he will, it’s one thing to see me in a city when I’m performing, it’s another thing entirely to find me in France once I’m gone. There’s not a damn thing he can do.

  It hurts. There’s a hollow ache somewhere under my breastbone. I walk into the bedroom like a zombie and continue packing up Bassirou’s belongings.

  I wonder how he’s going to feel. Hayden. He’s going to think I just ditched him. He’s going to think it’s something he did.

  Then again, maybe it’s for the best. How far could we have taken this anyway? I mean, he’s a billionaire. He’s good-looking, settled, established. He doesn’t need a druggie alcoholic like me dragging him down. He doesn’t need some girl from the streets of Paris soiling his good name.

  It’s stupid of me to think we could ever have something serious, something permanent.

  I learned a long time ago not to get attached. People leave. People ultimately hurt you in the end.

  “What are you thinking about, Sabine?”

  I glance up to find Bassirou studying me from the doorway. I give him a bold smile I don’t feel as my soul freezes over.

  “I’m going to see my mother again.”

  His eyebrows come together over a crease in his forehead. “Did I say we were going to see your mother?” he asks in a cold voice as his arms cross his chest. He gives a cruel laugh. “I’m not sharing you with anyone. Not your mother, not anyone.”

  I stare at him, dumbfounded. And make an internal promise to myself. I’m going to see my mother. I’m not going to let him stop me. He has to leave sometime, and I’ll slip out and go find her.

  Chapter 19

  Hayden

  “What do you mean she’s gone?” I ask Judy, who lifts a single shoulder helplessly as if she has no idea how else to explain it.

  “She’s… gone.” She’s staring at her computer like she’s trying to materialize Sabine from the specks of dust on her screen. “No hotels have her booked. She had three shows booked in Chicago and Miami for next month, and they were canceled. It’s like she just … vaporized.” She turns in her chair and looks up at me. “Do you think the rumors are true?” she whispers.

  I know what rumors she’s referring to. Rumors that Sabine’s disappearance has something to do with rehab. That makes sense, but it doesn’t feel right in my gut.

  “What’s got you two so intent?”

  Judy and I both jolt as J.D. leans on her desk. “Rumors,” Judy says.

  “Sabine?” J.D. asks.

  She nods.

  My brother is quick to jerk his chin at me. I fall into step beside him. “Look,” he says. “I know this is rough for you, but I need to ask a favor. Go out. Be seen having a normal date, a nice quiet dinner. Go with Andrea.” He hands me a card.

  I don’t take it.

  He nudges it toward me.

  Sighs. “Look, Hayden, I know this sucks. But you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Image, you know. Trust me, I’ve done things I didn’t want to for the company. It’s just dinner. I’m not asking you to marry her. Besides, you parted on good terms.”

  He’s right. Andrea and I split amicably. We both accepted we weren’t right for each other and promised to be friends. I take the card.

  “I set everything up. She’s ready. The hard part’s done, you just gotta show up.” He faces me, planting both hands on my shoulders. He studies me a moment, a twinkle in his eyes. Without another word, he pats me on the shoulder, turns and walks away.

  I glance down at the card. Flipping it over, I see the place, date, and time. Tonight. In an hour. Fuck. Guess I better go shower, shave, and generally try to be human.

  “So, tell me about the singer?” Andrea’s huge brown eyes meet mine over her wineglass.

  I shake
my head. “Pass,” I say.

  “Tell me why we never gave us a serious try.”

  Her words trip me up. I lower my fork and knife and stare at her a moment. “I thought we both agreed that we’re better friends.”

  She takes a deeper gulp of her drink before setting it down. With one hand, she tucks a lock of blond hair behind her ear, showing off her high cheekbones. She’s a beautiful woman, there’s no denying that.

  “No, you said we were better friends. You never let the walls down, never let me in.” She offers a soft smile, but her words are firm. “How could I decide anything about you when I only saw you through the lens you wanted me to see you through?” Her eyes dart back and forth between mine.

  I take a bite of my food as she sips her wine. Looking her over, I realize she’s lost weight. That she’s had something done to make her face tighter and shinier. She has hardly touched her food, but she’s on her second glass of wine.

  “What’s really going on here?” I ask.

  She seems stunned as she stares at me. “What do you mean?” she asks.

  “Why did you think my brother set this date up?” I ask.

  She says nothing, but I see the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

  “You thought this was going to be something different, didn’t you?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “I just didn’t think it would be hard. I loved you, Hayden. Did you ever love me?” she asks.

  I didn’t. But I didn’t lie to her. I didn’t lead her on. I didn’t even sleep with her.

  “Not romantically. I care about you, about your wellbeing.”

  She nods, blinking and her tears clear up a little. “Do you think you’ll ever love me?”

  Before the jazz festival, I’d have told her I doubt I’d ever love anyone. I doubt I’d ever let anyone in. But now I’m not so sure.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  She nods. “Thank you for not just saying what I wanted to hear.” She looks around. “Can we get out of here?” she asks.

  That sounds wonderful. I stand up and offer her my arm. She takes it, beautiful smile in place. I expect to feel something. Anything. But all I can think about is how I’d rather be with Sabine right now.

  “Let’s go karaoke!” She says as we step outside and the sounds of a karaoke bar fill the night. I resist, but she’s dragging me down the sidewalk, and I’m supposed to be making this look real. I want to go home and go to bed, but this night isn’t over yet, it seems.

  We step into the dark place, and she’s quick to head toward the stage. The person finishes up their song and the crowd cheers.

  Andrea steps up next, motioning me to come with her. I shake my head but gesture her to go. She selects her song. A heartbeat later, she’s belting out the lyrics to Macy Gray’s I Try.

  I believe that fate has brought us here

  And we should be together babe

  But we're not

  I play it off, but I'm dreaming of you

  Her voice is rich and beautiful, but all I can think about is how Sabine would sing this song. How I’d feel the words cut like a knife.

  She gestures toward me and I give her a halfhearted smile. The crowd is swaying, taking in her beautiful voice with rapt attention but Andrea only has eyes for me. Shadowed eyes. In this light, the circles under her eyes are obvious – makeup can’t hide them. She looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks.

  I shoot a message to my brother.

  When I look up again, she’s still focused on me, her expression sad. When she finishes up, she gives a little bow, and the crowd goes wild. She steps off the stage and makes a beeline for me, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the exit. Outside in the warm air, she laughs into the sky.

  “That was so much fun!” she says. “This is why I miss you.” She winds her arms around my shoulders and rises on her tiptoes. Her eyes dart back and forth between mine as sudden seriousness takes over her features.

  I turn my head and her kiss lands on my cheek. Both her hands come up to my face and she turns my head back toward her.

  “One more,” she whispers, her eyes wide. “One more for old time’s sake.”

  Her lips touch mine, gently. I feel her tongue slide along my lower lip and wait to feel something. She seems to be searching for something herself. Finally, she backs off, her eyes bright with tears.

  “Good night,” she says, heading toward a taxi. She’s quick to disappear and I sigh in relief. I’m sure that looked authentic enough. So why do I feel like shit?

  The car pulls away, and I take out my phone. At the same time, a text from Judy comes in.

  Any news?

  Can you check the name Bassirou?

  I start heading toward home, an ugly feeling worming through my gut.

  Plane tickets. France. Who is he?

  Bingo. Got them.

  Where in France?

  Paris.

  Thank you, I text back, feeling real hope for the first time since I found out she left.

  You’re welcome.

  She’s gone. She’s really gone. But I’m not going to just lie down and accept that. This thing I feel for her … it’s not some passing fling. I need her in my life. I just need to figure out how to make it happen.

  And I know where to start—with a plane ticket.

  Chapter 20

  Sabine

  He walks through the kitchen, swatting my bottom as I wipe down the counter. My whole body freezes. Every muscle snaps taut and I resist the urge to turn on him and rip him to shreds.

  I can’t handle his constant touching. He hasn’t progressed beyond casual touching, but I can’t help but feel he’s just desensitizing me. Getting me used to it so it’s less and less of a shock until he can have his way with me without a fight.

  Hell, he might even just be toying with me.

  I don’t doubt for a second that he knows exactly what this is doing to me inside and out.

  With a little sigh, I keep going. As he moves around the room, I feel hyperaware of his presence. I want to talk to him. To ask him what his plan is. Am I just his prisoner forever? Is he planning to keep me locked in the house for the rest of my life?

  What about when the money runs out? What then? Is he going to get a job? Is he going to have me go back to singing? Where is the money? And what is the endgame here?

  And is this really the Bassirou I know? I mean, I know he’s been losing his grip. But this is insanity. Maybe he’s lost his mind entirely. I don’t even know what the hell to do about all of this, except go along with it and hope it’s enough to keep my mother safe.

  My thoughts turn to Hayden. I wonder what he’s doing. How he’s doing. I wonder if he’s worried about me. I miss him. Miss his natural humor, his smile.

  Bassirou leaves the room, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  I wish Hayden could save me from this hell. I wish I could save myself from this hell. But no matter how I think of it, there’s no fix. Unless I can convince my mother to come with me—which isn’t going to happen—then she’s not safe unless I’m under Bassirou’s thumb.

  Maybe something changes. Maybe I can talk her into coming to America with me. If I could do that, then I could keep her safe and maybe get my life back where I want it. I don’t need Bassirou, but I need to know she’s safe.

  She wasn’t a perfect mother, but she’s my mother, and I love her.

  I open the fridge. Bassirou’s been requesting that I cook for him. That I act the perfect little wife and coddle him. It’s soul crushing. I’m no man’s mother. It’s not my job to cook for him or clean up after him, and I sure as hell wouldn’t do it for a partner.

  “I don’t have things to make you dinner,” I say loudly enough he can hear me from the other room.

  He doesn’t answer and I close the fridge. Marching into the living room, I stand between him and the T.V. Hands on hips, I glare him down.

  “We’re out of liquor,” I say, and he sits up to grab the nearly empty bottle of vodka. He
leans back, his expression furious. “We’re pretty much out of food. You’re out of blow.” I think about how pissed he’d been when he found out his precious white powder was gone. Just… gone. I told him he used it all, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I got a little pleasure from knowing what I’d done.

  “Don’t expect me to make you dinner if you’re not going to make sure I’ve got things to cook.” With that, I march right back into the kitchen, almost grateful I’ve got something to pretend to occupy myself with. At least if I pretend I’m cleaning, or if I clean, I’m away from him until he wanders in here to remind me he’s in charge now.

  “Don’t you fucking think about trying anything,” he snarls from the doorway as he pulls on his jacket.

  “You said you’d hurt my mother,” I say, letting my disgust for him show in my face and voice. “What am I going to do?”

  He seems to relax a little. Without another word, just a quick stare, he leaves.

  I leap into motion. Pulling on a loose sweater with a hood, I grab an old hat of Bassirou’s and pull it on. With sunglasses in place, my hair hidden by both hood and cap. I count to sixty and slip out the door.

  Watching every step of the way, I start the trek to my mother’s.

  No one seems to notice me or recognize me, and I thank my lucky stars as I take streets I remember from childhood. Weaving in and out, around a little community garden, through a backstreet that reeks of rot, through a gate with a busted lock, I hurry as quickly as I feel I can do without drawing attention to myself.

  My heart slams faster than my feet, and I feel faint with all the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

  When I’m finally in front of the run-down place I once called home along the Rue Polonceau, I stand still and stare up at the building. Stealing up the steps, I hold my breath, praying she’s still here. I can’t imagine where she would have gone. After all, the Goutte d’Or doesn’t let people escape. It’s a prison of the worst sort, a circle of hell specially designed to trap all who dare enter.