The Marriage Mistake_A Billionaire Hangover Romance

by Natalie Knight

  I’m breathing hard now. I’m sure my pulse is going a million miles an hour. I’m panting hard and fast, and little beads of sweat roll down my forehead and into my eyes and down my check.

  By now, my hands are gripping the steering wheel even tighter. I’m too focused to let go and wipe the sweat out of my face.

  Any second, the fucker is going to catch up with me and run me off the road. I can feel him breathing down my neck. The fucking idiot is prepared to do anything―even kill me, by the looks of it.

  Something slams into me. I’m not sure what’s happening.

  A loud popping noise has me ducking instinctively. Briefly, I take my eyes off the road.

  Fuck. The goddamn prick is shooting at me. I can see him holding a gun in his left hand out of the window. How the fuck is he driving this fast on this road and still aiming a gun?

  Smack, thwack. Another bullet hits my car. Fucking mad bastard.

  I curse. Go faster, fucking car.

  I squint and stare straight ahead. The bottom of the road must be here soon. I’ve been going down this fucking road for what feels like fucking hours.

  And then I see my chance.

  There’s a left turn coming up, and if I take it nice and tight, he might not see what’s next. I go deep, pretending to still be going straight, before I turn sharply at the last second.

  My tires squeal, and I spin a little out of control.

  My timing is perfect. The agent’s unable to pull his car up in time. Instead of taking the corner, he keeps going straight ahead. At the speed we’re going, this doesn’t bode well for the bastard.

  In fact, he’s going so fast, he barely gets the chance to hit his breaks. The car slams into a tree before he can do anything to stop it.

  I close my eyes. I don’t want to see the impact.

  But I hear it. Following the loud crash is a hissing and an eerie silence, except for the loud roar of my own engine. I glance back at the wreckage.

  Steam is still rising from the hood of the car. I wait. I brace for more gunfire, but apart from the hissing and my engine, there’s no other sound.

  I keep staring at the mess, which until a few minutes ago, had been a car. The dude must be dead. No one could survive a crash like that.

  To my horror, I see lights crawling along the top of the zigzag of the road. Fuck, don’t tell me Jenna is following.

  I decide before I do anything else that I need to check the status of this prick of an agent. If he needs help, I should give it to him, rat bastard or not. Slowly, I get out of the car and start to walk over to the mangled metal.

  The front of the car is unrecognizable.

  A knot forms in my gut. I’ve seen my fair share of blood and guts and wreckage, but this looks fucking awful.

  The closer I get, the bigger the knot gets in my stomach.

  I don’t need to check for a pulse or anything. I can tell from a few meters away that the man is brown bread dead.

  His head is bent backwards in an unnatural way, and blood is trickling down his chin out of the right corner of his mouth.

  There’s nothing I can do here.

  I hesitate.

  I may be tough, I may be a playboy, and some might think me a cold, heartless bastard, but seeing someone dead like this leaves its mark.

  My breathing becomes fast and shallow. An overwhelming urge to puke overcomes me, and my legs feel like jelly. I shiver a little.

  My eyes dart around as if looking for the dead guy’s spirit or ghost or some shit.

  Fuck, this is bad. I shiver and cross my arms over my chest, but my shivering just worsens.

  I hover on the spot.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  The world spins a little, and my skin starts to feel clammy. I know the symptoms, and I know I need to do something, but the thing is, I’m rooted to the ground.

  It’s the headlights creeping down the hill that snap me out of my zombie state.

  Stop fucking about, I tell myself and almost sprint back to my own car.

  Jenna

  Tears are streaming down my face. I know I should keep it together but it’s near impossible. The cuffs on my wrists are starting to cut into my skin. I can’t wipe my eyes because my hands are still trapped behind my back.

  My heart rate increases with every bend in the road I have to manoeuvre. Each one seems worse than the one before.

  This one is about two hundred degrees and I need to stop midway through the corner. I won’t make it. I need to put the car into reverse. It’s so cumbersome and painful. I cry some more.

  Why the fuck did Braden take off?

  My inner voice reminds me that this is entirely my fault. I could have confided in Braden a lot earlier. I should have told him. If I had, I wouldn’t be risking my own life, or Braden’s, right now.

  Every time I see the lights ahead of me take one of those killer pins, my heart leaps into my throat and I almost pass out. When Braden’s car emerges in one piece, I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m on what feels like an emotional rollercoaster on which the breaks are not working.

  Suddenly, I see Braden’s headlights spin violently. I close my eyes and hold my breath, bracing myself for the impact I’m sure is coming. At the same time, I’ve put my own foot on the brakes.

  When I open my eyes again, he seems to be driving on the road again. He didn’t crash. He’s still alive. He’s not dead.

  And the agent is still hot on his heels. I think he might even be gaining a little in distance.

  Slowly, I reverse and then go forward again to go around this damn tight bend. Why did anyone built a road like this out here anyway?

  My hands are numb, and I stop again. I need to rub my cheeks and eyes.

  This is such an awful fucking mess. I never meant for any of this to happen. Now I can’t shake the feeling something terrible is going to happen.

  If Braden dies, it’ll be my fault. How can I ever live with myself if that happens?

  I take a deep breath and continue at a snail’s pace to wind down the road.

  Nausea wells up in me. Fuck. I don’t think I can do this.

  The lights below me are going backwards and forwards so fast it makes me even sicker.

  Why did the agent keep going? Surely he could reach his goal another way? Isn’t there some saying about more than one way to skin a cat?

  I curse under my breath. I stop the car.

  My entire body is shaking and convulsing. And the road stretches ahead of me in a seemingly endless snake-like manner.

  My head drops onto the steering wheel. I can’t do this. I just can’t drive any further. I’m now shaking so badly I don’t know what to do.

  Other than the two speeding cars ahead of me, I can’t see anything. My phone is out of reach so I can’t use it for anything.

  I lift my head again. The cars are getting close to the bottom of the hill. What will happen when they get there? The agent’s car is getting closer to Braden.

  I should have told Braden what was going on earlier. Why didn’t I just trust him?

  Trust.

  There’s no trust in my line of work. Life is about secrets. How else do you get ahead? You steal all the information you need and use it. Our entire industry is based on lies.

  A bitter taste rises in the back of my mouth. I feel like throwing up. When did I turned into this person full of lies and deceit? I don’t remember, and one thing is sure, I don’t like it.

  I wipe my eyes best as I can on my shoulder and rattle against these blasted handcuffs.

  I still can’t believe the prick handcuffed me. I’m shaking so much, I can barely manoeuvre the steering wheel anymore, and it wasn’t easy to begin with.

  My knees clench down around the wheel. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  What was I thinking driving after them? This is madness. I start sobbing and soon my whole body is shaking even more violently.

  I curse the day the agent came to stalk me. Here in the isolation of my car, I decide that’s
what it was: stalking. They fed me lies to get me to do what they couldn’t.

  And I’m so stupid, I fell for it.

  If I could turn back time, I would. And I wouldn’t make such bad decisions. Stealing is wrong, even for the right reasons.

  Instead of betraying Braden, I should have taken him into my confidence. Together, we might have been able to come up with a better solution. I’ve been a fool, and now I’m paying a fool’s price.

  A flash of light makes me look up. One of the cars has crashed. My heart stops beating for a fraction of a second before it kick starts into overdrive.

  It takes several minutes—exactly how long, I don’t know—for me to realize it’s the agent’s car that’s crashed and not Braden.

  Now I’m a complete mess. I decide to drive no further. What’s the point?

  Slowly, those headlights at the bottom of the valley inch toward me.

  I close my eyes. What will I say to him?

  My inner voice pipes up. The truth. You tell him the fucking truth.

  It seems to take forever for Braden’s car to reach me. I wonder what the agent’s doing? Was he badly hurt? Has Braden called an ambulance? Or did he go to punch his lights out? I wouldn’t blame him. The man is ruining our perfect little world.

  I watch the car disappear for a few seconds as Braden goes around another hairpin bend. They’re literally one hundred and eighty degrees. Some of them are so narrow, the slightest mistake will set you rolling down the near vertical embankment.

  And then the car stops next to mine.

  A shiver runs through me when I see Braden get out of the car. I breathe a sigh of relief. Seeing him in one piece is reassuring.

  I look at his face. Even in the dark, I can see the thunderclouds on his face.

  Slowly, he opens the car door.

  Restraint is written all over him. Each muscle is tightly tensed. The vein running along his temple is pulsing. Anger oozes from him. The worst are his eyes.

  There’s not an ounce of kindness, compassion, love or empathy there. Just hatred. Or is that hurt? Maybe it’s a combination of both.

  Those are both suitable reactions considering all that’s happened. And I can’t blame him for that, can I?

  “I—” I start, but am overcome by another wave of crying.

  “He’s dead.” His icy voice is a slap in the face and a kick in the guts.

  I look at him, shock registering on my face. Someone died tonight. It takes a while for me to digest this.

  The worst part is that it could have been Braden. Braden could be dead. Those thoughts keep playing on repeat in my mind as if someone has pressed the replay button.

  How could this have happened? Is it entirely my fault? Probably.

  “I—” I start again, but no more words come out.

  Suddenly, Braden’s eyes soften. He’s looking at my hands. For the first time, he spots my handcuffs.

  “Fucking prick,” he mutters.

  And then he bends down on one knee. Ever so gently, he takes my wrists and turns them over.

  There’s a bit of blood from the cuffs, and I think there might even be bruising.

  It takes him less than a minute to free me. Ignoring his body language, I throw myself at him and wrap my arms around him tightly.

  “Braden,” I sob.

  Once I am a little calmer, I untangle myself from him. I keep my hands on his chest. He’s not reciprocating my affection and I don’t blame him.

  I take a deep breath.

  “Listen, Braden.” My arms won’t stop shaking, and I feel my courage desert me under his fierce stare.

  “It’s not…” I falter. His gaze hardens again. They’re the same eyes, but they’re not the eyes I’ve fallen in love with. “I did take your blueprints. But I wasn’t going to give them to the agent.”

  He doesn’t speak, but his eyes tell me he doesn’t believe me. I rub my wrists.

  “I made a mess, Braden. But you have to believe me. I never set out for any of this to happen. I’m interested in you for you.” I wish he’d soften even just a little.

  “I told him I wasn’t going to help, and he started to threaten me. Tonight, I was going to give him fake blueprints I made. Please, you have to believe me. I wasn’t going to betray you.”

  Something flickers in his eyes. Now they’re looking at me a little kinder.

  “Take a look.” I point to my bag.

  Braden doesn’t.

  Instead, his hands cup my face. His lips move to meet mine and then fireworks erupt in my head. At first, his mouth is soft and gentle, but soon it becomes demanding, forceful and hard. His tongue pushes past my lips and wraps around mine.

  I groan and melt into his kiss.

  Braden

  Her words take a while to sink in. I hear them, but I need to process what she’s saying.

  I glance at her wrists. Black-and-blue spots can be seen, as well as some blood. Fucking prick slammed them on without even paying attention. They’ve been digging into her.

  I’ve managed to undo one side, but she’s still got them around one of her wrists. Anger wells up in me as I process the meaning of handcuffing a woman.

  Fucking scumbag. How low does a bloke stoop to do such a thing?

  There’s handcuffing and then there’s handcuffing. There was no need to do this to Jenna.

  With a deep breath, I pull away from her. We need to do something. There’s a dead man, blueprints, and handcuffs around her wrist.

  It won’t be long before backups on the way. Surely he’d have called for backup. One thing’s for sure, Jenna and I don’t want to be here when that happens.

  “We should go back down,” I mutter, still not absolutely certain of what I should do. Whatever we do, we should do it together. This time we should discuss what we’re going to do.

  “I think we should go back down,” I start a second time and look into those exquisite green eyes of hers. Fuck, I’ve missed her. “He’ll have the key to get these off you altogether and then…” My words trail off.

  I play with her long dark hair. Pleasure seeps through me. I watch her silky hair as I wrap it around my finger and watch it slide off before it falls down over her shoulder again.

  I could do this for hours, along with a whole lot of other things.

  “You sure he’s dead?” Her voice is barely above a whisper. She’s still shaking.

  Protective instincts take over. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her out of her car.

  “Come, let’s move this off the road and then go back down in my car.”

  I carry her to my side of the car and lower her into the passenger seat ever so gently. She’s staring at me the entire time. I kiss her lightly on the tip of her nose.

  “Wait here.”

  It takes me a minute to make sure her vehicle is off the road and no danger to anyone, should anyone decided to come after us.

  When I slide into the driver’s seat, I rest my hand on her thigh. Feelings of desire stir instantly.

  But first thing’s first. We’ve got a job to do.

  “Can you please drive slowly?” Jenna’s voice is still very soft. Her eyes plead with me. She reminds me of a frightened deer.

  I wish we could both just drive off and leave this hellhole and prick of an agent to his demise. I want to take her somewhere safe, somewhere luxurious and expensive. I want to spoil her.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” I promise, and I mean it. I would give my life for this woman. The knowledge I nearly lost her forever tonight is still settling in.

  This time it takes me a little longer to get down the road. Jenna shivering beside me makes me take extra care.

  I know she’d be safe even if I drive faster, but I don’t want to disturb her any more than she already is. I can tell this has really rattled her.

  When we get to the wreckage, I stop. At first we just sit and stare out at the wrangled metal. Eventually we both get out of the car.

  She hands me s
ome papers. I take them slowly.

  I sigh. This is not going to be easy.

  “Let’s do this,” I say and drag myself over to the dead man.

  It’s not a pretty sight. I take a deep breath before I reach in through the smashed window of the driver’s seat. I try and avoid looking at the dead man’s eyes as they stare wide open into the distance.

  It occurs to me this could’ve been me. Or Jenna. Fuck any mistake on our parts during the chase and either of us might’ve ended up wrapped around a tree or smashed at the bottom of the hill.

  Life and death—a finite continuum. I’m trying to keep my breathing regular.

  His body is still warm and soft to touch. Rigor mortis hasn’t set in yet.

  My fingers fumble through the pockets of the dead man. The key must be there somewhere. Surely he’d keep it on his body.

  At the same time, I’m scanning the area immediately around him, just in case it’s lying somewhere close to him.

  With difficulty, I reach into the pockets of his pants. Bingo. I’ve found them.

  First things first. I turn to Jenna and open the lock on the handcuffs, then I take them from her. She instantly rubs her left wrist.

  Anger threatens to overcome me, and any feelings of remorse I have for the dead man disappear.

  “Now, if we put the fake blueprints in his car, it should be enough to throw them off the trail.”

  Jenna smiles weakly. Her tearstained face is a sad sight to my eyes. My heart feels as if it’s going to break.

  How did I not trust her?

  Why didn’t I just down and talk to her? It hits me like a tsunami.

  I’m fucking sick and tired of games, lies, and deceit. I love this woman.

  I’ve made my living out of deceiving others and participating in an illegal activity. It never worried me before.

  I loved it. I loved the status it gave me, the fast cars, the sex and the money—but no more.

  Everything has changed. A woman has managed to make me see life differently. I want things to change, and I don’t want to keep going the way I’ve been going.

  “But what’ll happen?” Jenna’s question pulls me out of my thoughts.

  I look at her.

  “What do you mean?”