The Alpha Billionaire Club Trilogy

by Alexa Wilder

  "Tell me," I demanded, when Adam remained silent. "Tell me. You owe me at least that much."

  "I don't owe you jack shit. You lied to me. You’re a fucking liar."

  His voice was ice cold, no trace of the hurt I’d thought I heard before. But if I was just a job, why was Adam so angry?

  "I'm not the liar,” I said. Then, “Your name isn't Adam, is it?"

  "Shut the fuck up,” Adam said, his words tight, clipped. "I can't believe I was so wrong. And to think, I'd really started to believe that you were clean. The only fucking person in all these years that was really innocent. But no, all I needed was one more day and I found everything. I was thinking about getting you a lawyer. How’s that for irony?”

  Yeah, sure that was irony. He was feeling betrayed. The last I checked he wasn't the one in handcuffs.

  "Fine, don't tell me your name,” I said. “But if it’s true you wanted to believe that I was innocent, if you really were going to get a lawyer, then call the FBI. Please. Ask for Agent Tierney."

  The SUV turned into a residential neighborhood with large lots and huge homes. I had no doubt this was where William Harper lived. My time was running out. The vehicle slowed, turning into a driveway. Panic overwhelmed me and I started to beg,

  “Please, please, Adam. Call Agent Tierney with the Vegas office of the FBI. Please don't leave me here and walk away. If you do I'm going to disappear. Harper’s trafficking girls with the Russian mob, and you can't leave me here. Please don't leave me. Call Agent Tierney. Please."

  The SUV stopped, and I shut my mouth. He came around the side of the vehicle, opened the door, unbuckled my seatbelt, and pulled me out without meeting my eyes. One glance at his face told me that his resolve was impenetrable. He thought I was guilty. He thought I'd betrayed him. He wasn't going to listen to reason, wasn't going to give me any options.

  Harper opened the front door himself, his watery blue eyes lighting with glee at the sight of me.

  "You got her!" He said to Adam, with more enthusiasm than I'd ever heard him display before. "Follow me," he said, leading us through the entry hall, deeper into his house. I barely noticed our surroundings as we walked down the long hall, more aware of Adam's steely grip on my bound hands. What I did see of the house was ornate and tacky, not a surprise knowing William Harper.

  Mr. Harper was one of my least favorite parts of my job. A little shorter than me, with narrow shoulders and a protruding potbelly that made him look like he was eight months pregnant, Harper's eyes always lingered on my chest longer than they should have every time we ran into each other.

  Now, standing before him in his home office, my hands secured behind my back, the slow crawl of his eyes over my body turned my blood to ice. Unconsciously, I backed up into Adam, some instinct telling me he was the safer option.

  That was a lie. Everything about Adam was a lie. My new understanding of Adam was driven home when Harper said, “I was starting to doubt you, Sinclair, but now I see the rumors were true. You’re worth every penny. That is, assuming you got what I needed?"

  In answer, Adam dropped my laptop onto his desk. "Everything’s in there.”

  "Excellent, good job. Took a little longer than I would've liked but now that she's here, we’re good. And you can assure me that none of the files she stole got by you?"

  Adam took a step back and studied Harper. "I'm not 100% certain, no. But reasonably certain? Yes. I've been through everything multiple times and the sum total of what I found is on that laptop. There are no files in her apartment, nothing in her car, nothing in her purse. I assume you searched her office thoroughly?"

  "Of course, of course,” Harper said, his eyes crawling over me again. “So that's it. You can go, I'll take care of her from here."

  Adam’s grip on my wrist tightened a fraction before he let go. My stomach seized in fear. Right now I hated Adam. He was the King of Assholes. But I would do anything he wanted if he just wouldn't leave me here with William Harper. Adam stepped away from me, and stopped in the middle of the room.

  “Do you want me to wait while you call the police?" he asked.

  "No, that's not necessary," Harper said. "You know how those things are, it might take hours. I don't want to waste what's left of your evening. I'm sure I can contain one woman, especially now that you have her under control.”

  The look Harper gave me sent a shiver of revulsion down my spine. I couldn't stop myself from whispering, "Adam, please. Please don’t leave me here."

  Adam didn't meet my eyes when he said, “Sit down, shut up, and don't argue with the police. That’s your safest bet.”

  I didn't respond. There was nothing left to say. He was leaving me, and I was totally screwed. His footsteps echoed on the hardwood as he left, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll see myself out, expect my invoice." The door shut behind him with a solid thunk. Searching for a scrap of inner strength, I looked up at William Harper to find him leering down at me.

  “You’re not calling the police, are you?" I asked, already knowing the answer, but needing to hear him say it.

  “No, I'm not," he said. "But then, you already know I'm not calling the police. I bet you know exactly who it is I'm going to call."

  I did. If my instincts were correct, and my worst nightmare was coming true, he was indeed not calling the police. He was going to call the Russian mob. And I was about to disappear into hell.

  11

  Axel

  That was a fucking clusterfuck. I’d had jobs that had gone wrong before. One memorable occasion things had gone so totally sideways, we’d had to refund the client’s money. A lot of the time, there were clients I didn't particularly like. If I had to like all the people I worked for, I'd have a lot of free time on my hands. But my inner radar had been pinging ever since we’d taken William Harper's case.

  Emma didn't fit the profile of an embezzler. I still couldn't see her committing corporate espionage, even with all the evidence staring me in the face. And her reaction when I’d taken her to Harper had been completely over-the-top. Emma was not a drama queen.

  In my gut, I didn't believe the last few weeks had been an act. At least, not on her part. Was that why I was feeling so off balance? Because I’d been lying to her? But, if I was right, she’d been lying to me.

  And if I was wrong… If I was wrong, I’d just made an enormous mistake.

  I got in the front seat of my SUV and put the keys in the ignition, but didn't start the vehicle. Something inside me wouldn't let me pull away from the curb without Emma.

  It wouldn't hurt to double check. Clicking a button on my steering wheel I called into the office. It only rang twice before a deep, alert voice said, “What's up boss?" Hank Stevens, one of my best guys.

  "We have ears on William Harper's phone?" I asked.

  "Affirmative, boss. All’s quiet."

  "No calls tonight? Nothing going in or out in the last twenty minutes?"

  “Only the call from you twenty-four minutes ago lasting approximately nine seconds. Nothing else.”

  That wasn't good. If Harper had planned to press charges against Emma, he would've called the police by now. He should've called them right away. If I hadn’t been so blinded by emotion, I would have forced him to call while I was still there. Emma had made a lot of accusations in those last few minutes. If even one of them was true, she was in danger.

  “Pull the roster for the Vegas FBI office,” I said to Hank. “Look for an Agent Tierney."

  "Yeah, just a second." I heard the tapping of the keyboard and less than a minute later Hank was back on. "Got it right here boss. Agent Alan Tierney. Works mainly with RICO cases."

  Fuck. Emma was either exceptionally devious, or Harper had played us. Played me. Normally, the thought that I'd been played would be enough to get me monumentally pissed off. This time, I wasn't angry, so much as scared. Fear was not a familiar emotion for me. I didn’t get scared. In my business fear is a luxury, one I can’t afford. I plan my jobs and mitigate risk.
But I don’t get scared. Not until now.

  The things Emma had said on the way over: that Harper was working with the Russian mob, that they were trafficking drugs, guns, and worst of all, women. It was bad stuff. And I just delivered Emma to him. I'd had run-ins with the Russian mob in Vegas before, and if Harper was working with them, that meant one thing, one guy.

  Sergey Tsepov.

  I wanted Sergey Tsepov nowhere near Emma. I didn’t want him to know she existed.

  On the other end of the line I heard, “Boss, you still there?”

  “Yeah, I'm here. Do we have contact info on Agent Tierney?”

  That kind of thing wasn’t usually available to private citizens, but we had access most people didn’t. And there had been more than one occasion when it had paid off to be able to call exactly the person we needed at the FBI. Like this one.

  “Texting it to you,” Hank said. I hung up and waited. My phone beeped with the number a second later, and I placed the call.

  “Tierney,” a gravelly, quiet voice said.

  "Agent Alan Tierney of the Las Vegas FBI office?" I asked.

  "Yes. Who is this?”

  “This is Axel Sinclair. I need to know what you know about Emma Wright."

  "I'm not at liberty to discuss anything that might impact an open investigation," Tierney said in a board, somewhat annoyed tone.

  "I understand," I said. "You know who I am?"

  "I know who you are, Mr. Sinclair."

  "Good, that makes this simpler. Then you understand what I mean when I tell you I've been working for William Harper for the last month investigating a case of alleged corporate espionage in which Emma Wright was our prime target.

  “Having found what appeared to be a ton of incriminating evidence on her laptop this evening, I brought her to Harper with the understanding that he’d be calling the police to have her arrested. Is this a problem in any way for you or your investigation?"

  Tierney exploded into a long string of barely intelligible curses. That was bad. With every second that passed it was becoming clearer that for the first time in my career, I’d fucked up big time. Huge. And not with just anyone, I’d fucked up with the only woman I’d ever truly cared about.

  I’d been enraged when I’d thought she’d lied to me. I’d felt so betrayed that I hadn’t thought it through. If I’d sat down with her, or let her make that phone call, done anything other than treat her like a fucking criminal. I cringed at the things I’d said to her.

  Bile rose in my throat as I remembered her face, the bleeding cut on her forehead, the blood trickling from her nose. I’d done that to her. It had been an accident, I’d thought she was out of the way when I’d broken down the door. That didn’t change the fact that I was responsible. I hadn’t just handed her over to a man who might want to hurt her, I’d hurt her myself.

  I’d hurt her. Hurt Emma.

  For a second, I thought I was going to vomit. Then my brain kicked into gear. As long as she was okay, I could fix things with Emma later. First on the agenda was getting her out of harm’s way without making the situation any worse.

  I looked at Harper’s McMansion, his attractive landscaping lit by accent lights, the windows dark, the house quiet. She was in there somewhere. I had to hope she was still all right.

  “What happened to the evidence on the laptop?" Tierney asked, interrupting my thoughts. I noticed that he didn't ask what had happened to Emma. Clearly he was focused on his case, not his informant.

  "At the moment,” I said, “the laptop is with Harper."

  “You really fucked this one up, didn't you?” Tierney said, not hiding how pissed off he was. “Now you have to figure out how you're going to get the laptop back, and Emma away from Harper, without blowing your cover."

  “Without blowing my cover?" I asked. My cover? I didn't have a cover, I wasn't working for the FBI. As far as I could see the best thing I could do was to bust into Harper's house, grab Emma, and get her out of there.

  “Your cover,” Tierney repeated. “If he thinks you're still working for him, we have someone on the inside," Tierney said. "Maybe that could make up for the Charlie Foxtrot you made of my case. We were days from busting him and now we have next to nothing.”

  “Look, I don't need to make anything up to you,” I said. “I just need to get Emma the hell out of there."

  "If you want to keep your business open, you need to do exactly what I say,” Tierney shot back. “You've already interfered with an FBI investigation. I'm assuming the information you gave to Harper tonight is the evidence that Emma was collecting for me. Now Harper has all of our evidence and our informant. You’d better fucking fix this, without tipping him off that we’re on to him, or I’ll pull every string I can to get Sinclair Security shutdown in the entire fucking state of Nevada, do you understand me?"

  "I understand you,” I said, my jaw tight.

  I didn't like it, but I understood. As much as I wanted to grab Emma and run, Tierney had a point. By letting my emotions blind me and not giving Emma a chance to explain, I’d thrown a wrench into the middle of Tierney’s case. Assuming Emma had been telling the truth about what Harper was up to, I didn’t want to be responsible for fucking up Harper’s arrest. I had to get Emma out of that house.

  I couldn’t do it myself. As much as I wanted to be the knight in shining armor for this one, Tierney had a point about not burning my bridges. If everything did go to plan, it would be better if I still had access to Harper. I needed a ringer, someone who wasn’t connected to my office but who I could trust to get the job done. Fortunately, I had exactly what I needed in a luxury hotel suite on the strip. I scrolled through the recent contacts on my phone and hit the name.

  “I need a favor,” I said, as soon as he picked up the phone. “How’s your case going?”

  “Dead for tonight. My targets are in their hotel room and their contact is in LA. Why?”

  “I need an extraction. I have a plan. Can you head to my office? Call me when you get there and I’ll explain.”

  “I’m on it.”

  I hung up, resigned to waiting. My office was less than ten minutes from the strip and Griffen would move fast. I was lucky he was in Vegas. I ran the smaller West Coast offices of Sinclair Security, and my four brothers managed the larger East Coast division.

  Griffen Sawyer was one of their best guys. A former Army Ranger, he’d spent a few years working shadow ops for the military, so far off the grid, his own family had thought he was dead. One day, three years ago, he’d abruptly quit, for reason’s he’d never explained, and come back to the States. My brother Evers had served in the Rangers with Griffen. As soon as Evers got word Griffen was back, he’d recruited him.

  Griffen had started his current job in Dallas and followed it to Vegas. He’d been working here for the past few weeks, getting more and more frustrated as his quarry seemed to drink, gamble, and do little else. Like most of the men and women who worked for Sinclair Security, Griffen liked action. What I had in mind for Emma’s rescue should be right up his alley.

  12

  Emma

  He’d tied me to the chair as if the handcuffs weren't enough to hold me. I guess if I’d been a ninja, they might not have been. But, with my hands secured behind my back, I wasn't all that confident in my combat skills.

  What was I going to do, jump up and try to kick Harper until he fell down, then stomp on him? I'm sure an MMA fighter could have handled that, no problem. The closest I'd come to MMA was a kickboxing class I took three years ago for two sessions before deciding that yoga and walking were more my speed.

  Proving he was a creep, Harper had a length of rope in his desk drawer, and he used it to secure me to the chair, wrapping it all the way around my torso, over and over, until the highest strand was just at the base of my neck, making it a little hard to breathe if I struggled.

  When he was done tying me, and he’d taken his time on that - letting his hands graze my breasts as often as possible, he’d taken
my laptop off his desk and locked it in a safe in the bookshelves across the room.

  If I'd had any idea how I was going to get out of this, having my laptop locked up would've been a real problem. But since I wasn't going anywhere anyway, losing the laptop was just one more thing in my already huge pile of troubles.

  Harper leaned against his desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at me for a long moment before giving me a suggestive smile that made me want to throw up.

  "Emma, Emma, Emma. I was beginning to think Sinclair would never run you to ground. Honestly, I figured a girl as clever as you would've had her evidence together by now. You should know, if Sinclair hadn’t caught you tonight, I would've had you brought to me in the morning. Corporate espionage is a serious charge," he said shaking his head in mock disappointment.

  I kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t going to play his game. He wanted to banter with me? I didn't even want to be in the same room with him, much less have a conversation. I thought about mentioning that I was working with the FBI, and Agent Tierney would be looking for me, but I wasn't sure it was a good idea. Wouldn't that just make me more of a liability to Harper? I didn't want to encourage him to get rid of me.

  Until I knew what Harper had planned, I didn't think I should push him any further than I had to. I resolved to stay quiet and keep my mouth shut. My resolution didn't last long.

  Harper pushed himself off the desk and uncrossed his arms, his long gangly limbs framing his bulbous pot belly, making him look like a human size orangutan. He ambled closer, then reached out one hand and grasped my breast through my sweater. I cringed in revulsion. At my reaction, he squeezed, his grip painfully tight.

  The way he’d tied me wasn't exactly artful, but it had the effect of forcing my breasts into even more prominence than usual. I was instantly grateful I’d chosen a chunky, thick, cotton sweater. I could still feel his hand touching me - so gross - but it wasn’t as bad as if I'd been wearing a T-shirt.