Plain Jane and the Billionaire (Plain Jane Series)

by Tmonique Stephens

  The lackey grumbled. “I ain’t taking her.”

  Julius grabbed him by the collar and shook him. The man flailed around, struggling to be free. Julius tightened his hold. “Get in the car and drive.” He tossed the man into the driver’s seat and climbed in behind him, taking the empty space next to her. The heat of his gaze bored into the side of her face.

  Her head cranked around. One eyebrow raised, waiting for his coming question.

  “Pleased you’re attending?”

  Pleased? As if she were a recalcitrant child having a tantrum. Did he have any idea where he was going? What he was going to see? How could she explain she was trying to protect him? Not only from a bullet but from the kind of violence that would irrevocably change him. What he ran toward full of righteous fury and justifiable vengeance wasn’t high tea. There would be blood and brutality, the kind Julius Morgan, boarding school billionaire, wasn’t prepared to witness.

  No, she had no first-hand knowledge. She would not subject her psyche to that brutality. But she’d heard from others in graphic detail what Harden and his cohorts did to their enemies. They weren’t ones to cross. Julius wasn’t like them. He was good. At his core he was a good man, a man she could love.

  Who was she kidding? Part of her already loved him.

  Pissed at herself and furious with him, she cranked her head back around and ignored the idiot.

  “There’s a reason why I didn’t want you to come,” he growled.

  She didn’t need to be a mind reader to figure out why. There was only one reason for Harden to call and Julius to drop everything and go running. Harden had caught the bastard who’d shot him, and Julius wanted in on the action.

  “I’m your bodyguard. Where you go, I go.” She adjusted her gun and folded her arms. “Even if it’s off a damn cliff,” she grumbled.

  The lackey snorted, clearly not minding his own damn business.

  “Don’t push this,” Julius ground out.

  “Too late for that.”

  The ensuing silence lasted the rest of the ride, which brought them to a scrap metal site in Nassau County. The struts in the old Chevy couldn’t handle the patties, gravel road winded through the metal canyon of stacked cars waiting to be crushed. She held onto the “oh crap” bar as the car dipped and swayed. A single wide trailer that had seen better decades came into view. The shingle said office but the clothesline on the right side and a rusted swing set told a different story. This was someone’s home. Past, definitely. Present, possibly.

  Two pickup trucks and a mustang blocked the front of the trailer. They were a bit out of place in the junkyard. Even her non-discerning eye figured that out. The Chevy pulled in behind the Mustang. Calista hopped out of the car before it rolled to a complete stop. Surveying the area, she took in the entire picture and didn’t like any of it. The place was too open, undefendable.

  The whizz of a drone jerked her head up. Someone had eyes on the place, along with a few visible cameras. If Harden owned this place there would be more than a few. The man didn’t do anything halfway.

  “Follow me,” the lackey said and strutted around the side of the trailer to the back of the lot. Side by side, they followed the peacock to a series of interlocked shipping containers which created an open bay filled with more scrap metal. Maybe the pile inside was more precious than the rusted pile outside, Calista guessed since she had no way to tell.

  They entered the bay and walked to another closed off section in the rear. The lackey led them to a metal door and knocked. Bruno opened it and ushered them inside to the dim interior. Voices reached her before she saw the gathering. Five men: Harden; his enforcer, Bruno; and his lieutenants, Pavel, Nicky, and Leonid. In the middle of the group was a naked man, hanging from a hook by his bound hands. His face was bloody. His body bruised. This was just the beginning.

  “What the hell are you doing here!” Harden stomped over to her. His face was a mask of fury. He forced her back out of the door.

  Julius pushed them apart, wedging his body between the two of them. “Do not touch her.”

  Violence saturated the air between the two friends. Harden had employed Calista in his clubs, sent clients her way, hired her to protect Julius. Today, she stepped to Julius’ side, prepared to do what was necessary.

  Harden studied both of them. Behind him, Bruno approached. The big man sized up the situation, his jacket flicked back for easy access to his gun.

  “She saw nothing,” Harden growled to Julius as if he were in charge of her. Not the other way around.

  “You’re right, Mr. Gage. I saw nothing.”

  “I want you out of here. Now.”

  She wasn’t a fool, though clearly, she hadn’t thought this all the way through. Whomever the idiot that took a potshot at Harden Gage, and fucking missed, was a dead man.

  And she didn’t need to be one of the many witnesses.

  Julius stepped in front of her, breaking her line of sight to Harden and Bruno. “Go home, Calista.”

  “What? No.” She shook her head. “I’m staying.” She looked around at the two waiting men.

  He captured her face between his rough palms. Awareness stroked her senses at his touch and the gaze in his coppery eyes. He made her focus on him and nothing else. “You don’t belong here.”

  Bristling, she smacked his hands away. “Neither do you,” she hissed.

  She expected him to argue the point, not nod in agreement. “But I’m seeing this through.”

  “I got a meeting with the mayor in an hour. I don’t have time for handholding.” Harden snapped a finger at the lackey. “Get her out of here.” He didn’t wait for an answer before he marched away.

  “Go. Home,” Julius said one last time, then joined Harden and stalked away from her.

  Calista did the same. She marched out and didn’t stop until she was back in the Chevy. Mind jumbled, senses numb, she didn’t notice where they were heading until the lackey merged onto the Long Island Expressway. “Where are you taking me?”

  He met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Back home to Mr. Morgan’s, like he said.”

  Fuck that! “Turn around and take me to Queens.” He was right. It was past time she went home.

  Chapter 23

  Julius paused and watched Calista leave. He made sure her ass got back in the dented, rusted Chevy and actually drove away. It was a mistake allowing her to come, and even though she marched back to the car, Julius didn’t trust her to not make the driver pull over, knock the guy out, and sneak back to the scrapyard. If she chose to, nothing would get in her way. However, he’d seen the panic and revulsion on her face. Even Wonder Woman had a weakness, and Calista was no different. Deep down under the bravado and badassery, she was kind. She was good. The latter trait didn’t belong here in the scrapyard today because justice would be served. Not the type of justice displayed in a court setting, yet, there would be a judge and a jury, the sentence merciless.

  And he would witness it all. He needed to. His missing kidney and the chunk of his missing lung demanded it.

  Julius followed Harden back into the container. He joined the half circle of men staring at the man hanging from a hook in the middle of the room.

  Bile crawled up Julius’ throat. Seeing a defenseless man dangling like a slab of beef over a heavy-duty plastic tarp, already knifed and bloody, knowing things were about to get exponentially worse rolled his stomach.

  Harden kept approaching his prey, his steps slow, methodical. He had all the time in the world. “Sorry for the interruption, Caesar. You ready to talk?” No answer. “Good. I didn’t want you to talk anyway.”

  The glint of a switchblade caught Julius’ eye, then a flash of movement he nearly missed between blinks. A bright red diagonal line appeared on Caesar’s chest. Then another, creating a large X in the center of a fleshy, pale landscape. The scream was loud and agonizing as revenge in its purest, undiluted state should be.

  Knowing all that didn’t prevent his revulsion. This w
as what he came for, yet, this felt wrong.

  “If we’re gonna get busy, we need to do it right.” Pavel snatched a stack of protective jumpsuits out of a box set a safe distance away and passed them around.

  “Good thinking. I paid twenty K for this suit.” Nicky grunted while the dangler whimpered.

  Bruno handed Julius a jumpsuit. He fingered the sturdy material and studied the space. Harden had thought of everything from the plastic sheeting lining the floor, to the protective clothing and surgical booties.

  “Who else was in on it?” Harden waited for his answer in front of the naked man.

  “Who is he?” Julius asked Bruno, wanting a name to the face of the man who shot him.

  Frowning because he didn’t like being disturbed when he was having fun, Bruno muttered, “Caesar De Angelo. Mexican Cartel.”

  “I don’t need help to take a hit out on you, but I didn’t. I had no reason to.”

  “You’ve been creeping on our territory for months.” Pavel picked up a hammer out of a tool box.

  “So,” Caesar spat. “It’s what we do. You do it. My crew does it. Don’t mean we trying to put you in a casket.”

  “You think it’s okay to take food off our table?” Nicky picked up a Phillips head screwdriver. “You think that’s not going to lead to war.”

  Struggling against the restraints, De Angelo gritted, “We’re always at war with you, the Russians, the Chinese. How you know it wasn’t one of them?”

  “You were the only ones encroaching and because I have a deal with the Chinese and the Russians.”

  “Then maybe you need to investigate your own house. Everyone knows the Irish didn’t welcome you, the bastard son of O’Rourke.”

  Leonid landed a punch that snapped Caesar’s head back.

  Harden snorted, tossed his head back and laughed. “You think I didn’t sniff around my house first and toss out the trash?”

  Swaying, Caesar withered, his head hanging on his chest in defeat, as if he had any chance of being cut down and sent on his way. “I didn’t take out a hit on you.” Bloody drool crept out of the corner of his mouth. “But if I had taken a hit out on you, they wouldn’t of missed. I would’ve made sure to take all you bastards out.”

  “And that’s why we are going to make an example out of you.”

  “This is war. My men, they will avenge me. Blood will run in the streets.”

  Harden threw back his head again and barked out a dry laugh. “Good thing I’ve got my handy-dandy jumpsuit.”

  Julius pulled on the jumpsuit and slipped on the booties because things were about to get messy.

  Chapter 24

  “Where are you?” Voice rough, Julius demanded, like he owned Calista.

  The fucking nerve of the man. That’s what hanging out with Harden got you. “You told me to go home, so I went home. To Queens.” Dead air. “Hello?” Silence, then a dial tone. He hung up on me! Calista tossed her phone onto the bed. Great, time to find a new job. Right now, processing the events of the night was a no go. Her brain couldn’t handle it. At least she knew he was alive and still an idiot asshole, arrogant bastard, fucking jerk.

  Leaving proved to be an excellent decision. She hadn’t been home in a week. A pile of junk mail needed sorting. Everything in the refrigerator had to be dumped. She called Lakehurst for an update on her mother, and she spoke to her mother for as long as she could follow the conversation. Found out her mother was mostly lucid during Harvey’s visits, though she was still stuck in the past, a past where they were madly in love. Correction: Mavis was madly in love with her employer while he used and dumped her when she was no longer convenient pussy.

  History had a funny way of repeating itself.

  A growl scratched the back of her throat. Fuck history. She wasn’t her mother and that wouldn’t be her. Right?

  Right! She grabbed a bottle of merlot from the kitchen pantry and spent the afternoon draining it and pretending she hadn’t a care in the world. Add in a Netflix binge-fest and the world melted away. Fantasy over reality, count her in. Hollywood make-believe was a damn sight better than her life.

  The doorbell chimed.

  “What?” she said to no one in particular. Curled up on the sofa, half-filled glass in her hand, dressed in yoga pants and braless in a tank top, her hair a messy riot, she was comfortable in her own skin and in her own home. The last thing she wanted was to move a centimeter.

  The doorbell chimed again.

  “Goddamnit!” Draining the glass, she lurched to her feet and slammed the empty glass on the coffee table. All she wanted was to sip the night away and deal with everything tomorrow, but noooo. Couldn’t even have that.

  About to go postal, Calista stomped to the front door. She flipped the two locks, slid the chain free and yanked it open.

  Julius stood in her doorway.

  Relief swelled. He was here. He was whole, a fact she already knew from his phone call but hadn’t stopped her worrying. Her hands curled into fists. The impulse was there, so strong her limbs trembled. She wanted to hit him, beat some damn sense into him. What sense that made, she had no idea. Maybe she simply wanted to hit something, someone…him, to vent the pent-up anger simmering beneath her skin. Anger spawned from the weight of her mother’s sickness, her father’s betrayal, the mountain of illicit sexual frustration Julius ignited in her blood.

  Having him filling her doorway, blocking the yellow streetlight from filtering into her house, the suit tailored to his chiseled body, a body that had been at death’s door, those coppery eyes of his sweeping in a tangible caress over her breasts, down her body and back up to her face… It was all too much.

  Flushed, she ground out, “I don’t want you here.” Yet she didn’t close the door. In fact, she gripped the frame to keep from reaching for him.

  Hands in his pockets, he leaned against the doorjamb; one wing tipped foot straddled the threshold of the door. “Invite me in, Calista.” His voice was low, husky. It was a command, not a plea.

  “What happened?”

  Lips pressed into a thin line, he shook his head once and crowded her even though he hadn’t crossed her threshold.

  “Tell me what happened at the scrapyard.”

  “No,” he said, his voice sharp, cutting.

  There was something different about him, an edge he didn’t have before. A wildness in his eyes she hadn’t previously seen.

  “Why? Think I can’t handle it?”

  He snorted and a crooked grin twisted his mouth. “You not handle something? There’s nothing you can’t handle. But you shouldn’t have to handle this.”

  Something brutal yet equally tender filled his eyes. Emotions she couldn’t name caused her skin to flush and awareness to streak down her spine. She should’ve left well enough alone. That wasn’t her nature.

  “Why? Why shouldn’t I?” Calista demanded, unwilling to let it rest because she knew once he crossed the threshold, once he was inside her house, in her space…all bets were off. Good or bad, she would know his truth and that meant knowing what happened at the scrapyard.

  Suddenly, he gripped the frame, forced it out of her hand, nothing stopped him from stepping over the threshold, forcing his way into the house and forcing her to retreat or get mowed over.

  Heart in her throat, Calista backed up, not because she was afraid. She knew who she was and what she was capable of. And she knew who he was. Together, they were two people swimming against the current, caught by tidal forces they couldn’t resist. What happened next was unavoidable, set in motion the instant their eyes locked in Harden’s club. The catalyst was the shooting, but even if two bullets never pierced Julius’ chest and flank, even if she hadn’t pressed her hands to his wounds and felt his warm blood seep between her fingers, even if she hadn’t climbed into the ambulance and instead watched it drive away, eventually, someway, somehow, he would still be crossing the threshold of her home and locking the door behind him.

  Her feet continued their retreat as
he stalked into her mother’s home, now her house. Heels bumping into the wide landing at the bottom of the staircase, Calista dropped to her ass. Her bruised rear didn’t stop her from scooting backward as Julius continued to advance, his features harsh, his eyes a burnish pool of need.

  The second to last stair proved no impediment as she scuttled up the staircase. But he caught her, one hand on her ankle, then her knee, then her inner thigh.

  Suddenly, he was on his knees, between her thighs, leaning over her, caging her between the staircase and his body. Their eyes locked in silent combat. A wealth of words passed between them.

  Tell me to stop.

  I can’t.

  Last chance.

  I know.

  I’m going to fuck you. Take you hard.

  I know.

  Write my name inside your walls.

  Please…

  All unspoken. Their combined pants were the only sounds filling the air.

  She should ask him again what happened at the scrapyard. Did he stay or did he go home? Her gut told her he stayed and whatever he saw, whatever happened there, this was the result. Was she okay with that?

  “Wait…” He stopped immediately. “Tell me what happened after I left.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed and his eyes went flat and distant. Then he closed his eyes and kept them closed for the longest ten seconds of her life. When he opened them, his eyes were clear and focused on her. “Later. I promise to tell you later. Right now, I need you.”

  The desperation in his voice set her heart racing. He didn’t have to come knocking on her door. He could’ve found someone else, the ex-girlfriend Carolyn, or a random hookup. He did none of those things. He came to her, needed her, and that made all the difference.

  His mouth landed on hers in a rough, demanding kiss that stole her breath and shredded that last bit of remaining self-preservation and control she had.

  All resistance melted and she opened to his erotic assault. “Don’t stop.”

  He chuckled darkly against her lips. “Thought you wanted me to leave.”