BLACKMAIL_A billionaire blackmail romance

by Chloe Fischer

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  BLACKMAIL

  By: Chloe Fischer

  Copyright © 2018 Chloe Fischer

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher. Thank you for buying an authorized copy of this book and complying with copyright laws.

  This is a work of fiction. Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  Blackmail

  Prologue

  Twelve Years Ago

  “Just drive, you stupid bitch! Don’t look back!”

  She couldn’t breathe, panic blocking her vision as she steered the station wagon blindly through the backroads. She was only sixteen and hadn’t been driving for very long, never mind driving under these circumstances.

  “Pull over here,” her almost psychotic step-brother shouted. “And get out!”

  She peered at him, horrified.

  “What? We’re in the middle of nowhere – “ she pleaded.

  “Just do what the fuck I say!”

  The look in his eyes was worse than she had ever seen it and she knew that she had no choice but to obey, before it became much, much worse.

  Slowing the car to the edge of the embankment, he shoved her arm roughly and she yelped out, more from fear than pain.

  “Get out!”

  Not needing to be told again, she fell from the driver’s side onto the dirt road as he crawled over the console and slammed the door shut.

  Leaving her on the side of the road, sobbing and hysterical he yelled out at her again.

  “Get your shit together!” he shouted, peering in the rear-view mirror to ensure they weren’t seen. “Do not go home. You stay right fucking here! If anyone comes along, you hide in the damned cornfields. Do you hear me?”

  She nodded, shaking as he pulled away, the spinning tires filling her face with dust.

  She fell to the ground, burying her face in her hands as the tears stung her eyes.

  What have I done? How could I have let this happen?

  Images began to pour into her mind, his hand reaching up, the godawful sound, and the blood…so much blood.

  She was wheezing, the hot sun burning down on her.

  I have to call the police, she thought, stumbling to her feet. I don’t care what he says. We have to call the police.

  She looked around, spinning in circles searching for signs of life, but she was only trying to catch her bearings.

  I will find a phone, she thought, willing herself to be rational. I’ll find a phone and call for help. It doesn’t matter what happens to me. Everything will be fine.

  She lumbered toward the direction they had come, barely aware of the heat as the rays burned through her dark clothes like searing bullets.

  Bullets and blood and blood and bullets and blood and bullets…

  The constant refrain played in her mind like something out of a horror film, but she could not silence the repeat in her mind.

  She did not know how long she had walked but it was as if her mind had left her body and she was nothing but a numb vessel, moving through space down a lonely country road which seemed to lead nowhere.

  Then the farmhouse appeared like a mirage, beyond a row of dairy cows grazing in the field. She needed to knock on the door and use the phone. She wanted the nightmare to be over before she fell into the abyss which was threatening to consume her.

  How can you eat at a time like this? She wanted to scream at the beasts who barely acknowledged her as she climbed the fence.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  His voice was like a thousand knives stabbing into her back and she turned to look into his inky, void eyes.

  He hung out the passenger side window, ready to pounce if she took another step in the wrong direction.

  “We have to call the police,” she whispered. “We have to – “

  “Get in the car, Ayla,” he said flatly.

  “We have to call – “

  “Get in the car,” he told her again and there was no mistaking the malice in his voice. “I took care of it.”

  She stared at him blankly, the words making little sense to her jumbled mind.

  “What – “

  “GET IN THE FUCKING CAR!”

  He lunged to open the door, but she scrambled back over the pasture toward the road.

  He watched her carefully as if worried she would flee as he shifted back into the driver’s side.

  When she closed the door, he zoomed back up the lane, his mouth a gash of annoyance.

  “What did you do?” she asked after several minutes of silence.

  “I took care of your mess,” he retorted.

  “What does that mean?”

  He glanced at her through his peripheral vision.

  “What I said. No one will know anything.”

  “How – I mean – “

  “Just shut up, Ayla. You will never speak of this to anyone again, got it?”

  A flood of mixed emotions swamped her as she stared at him.

  “Do you understand?” he yelled again. “Answer me and stop staring at me like a retard!”

  She nodded slowly, gulping back the lump in her windpipe.

  “Yes,” she breathed. “I understand.”

  He seemed to relax with her words and his white knuckles loosened on the steering wheel.

  “Okay,” he said, and she got the sense that he was speaking more to himself than her. “We have to get rid of this car and we’re done.”

  She bit on her lip to keep from asking him any other questions.

  “Well?” he asked, sneering at her. “Haven’t you got anything to say to me?”

  She looked at him with wide, terrified eyes.

  “Like what?” she asked, blinking uncomprehendingly.

  “How about ‘thank you’, ungrateful little bitch,” he snarled. She winced and drew back as if he was going to hit her, although he made no move to do so.

  “Thank you,” she gasped, tears welling in her eyes again.

  His leer grew and suddenly she found herself more frightened than she was before. He pulled his eyes away from the windshield, his gaze boring into her.

  His calloused palm reached out to pat her bare knee and she cringed at the touch.

  “Don’t worry, sis,” he said tightly. “I’m sure I’ll find a way for you to repay me one day.”

  Chapter One

  She had circled the block five times already, but tradition dictated that she travel through the trailer park one last time before parking in front of the rundown caravan her mother called home.

  Ayla wasn’t sure when she had developed the obsessive compulsive need to spin through the complex no less than six times.

  She assumed it had much to do with the tension which inevitably mounted from the time she drove from her cozy duplex apartment in Brooklyn to the scummy outskirt trailer park of Tallman.

  It had been seven years since Ayla had resided in the rotting mobile home, despising her existence and wishing for a better tomorrow, yet it seemed like a f
resh wound was opened every time she drove the hour and a half trek across the Tappan Zee Bridge.

  Why do I continue to do this to myself? She wondered, biting on her full lower lip as she executed the last lap with her rental car and pulled up next to the bullet style camper.

  The screen door was still off its hinges she noted, hanging precariously as Ayla cautiously approached.

  She paused to inhale deeply, listening for any indication of activity from inside.

  “Ya gonna stand there all day deciding whether or not to give yer mama a minute of yer precious time?”

  Ayla cringed and darted her blue eyes up toward the window where her mother leered at her, cigarette dangling expertly from her lips.

  In Ayla’s younger days, she had always marvelled at her mom’s ability to finish a smoke without once touching it with her fingers.

  “Of course, I’m coming in, Mom,” she replied, trying to hide her exasperation. “I’m just trying to figure out the best way to do it without decapitating myself. I thought Ryland was going to fix this for you like three months ago.”

  “Of course I’m coming, Mom,” Beth Ann mimicked, ducking out of the glass to throw open the flimsy front door.

  The wretched air of stale cigarette smoke wafted outward to assault Ayla’s nostrils and she tried not to grimace as Beth Ann glared at her from the doorway.

  “What can I say?” her mother retorted, throwing open the half-hanging screen door. “Ryland’s promises mean about as much as yers.”

  Ayla jumped back as if expecting the door to fall on her as it smashed against the side of the trailer.

  “It’s more secure than it looks,” Beth Ann chortled, spinning to wander back to her spot near the television.

  It was forty-six inches and was easily the biggest object in the filthy room.

  “Where did you get that?” Ayla heard herself asking and immediately she wished she had not.

  Beth Ann scowled, leaning forward to butt out the cancer stick, exhaling a puff of smoke like an annoyed dragon.

  “What? Jus’ ‘cause I’m on disability, I can’t have nice things?” she barked defensively. “It’s all I got, what with my own kids too fancy and busy to come visit me.”

  Ayla resisted the urge to roll her eyes, instead turning to survey the mess in which her mother lived.

  Instinctively, she began to tidy up.

  “Did ya come here to make me feel like a shitty housekeeper?” Beth Ann grumbled, reaching for her beer can.

  Ayla gritted her teeth, gathering a pile of dishes from the living area of the trailer to place in the already overflowing sink.

  She shuddered as something scurried away into the shadows.

  “I came here to visit you like I promised,” she replied evenly. “Or did you forget I was coming?”

  Beth Ann chortled.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time ya jus’ forgot to show,” she laughed. “Ya all big and busy livin’ in the city with yer rich boyfriend.”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” Ayla snapped. “I never have.”

  She was also sure she had never forgotten to show when she had promised.

  She’s mixing me up with the other two again, Ayla thought bitterly.

  “Sure, kitten. Ya been livin’ in that pretty little apartment and payin’ for it all by yerself, right?”

  How the hell did she know about my apartment? Ayla wondered. Immediately she knew the answer; Facebook.

  She groaned to herself, regretting the moment she had caved into the pressure and agreed to add Beth Ann as a friend.

  “Yes, I pay for it myself!” Ayla protested. “Why is that hard to believe?”

  “Well I dunno, sunshine,” Beth Ann chuckled. “Meybe ‘cause you ain’t never invited me to see yer fancy life in New York City.”

  “Mom, I have told you that you can come and visit me anytime,” she argued. “You’re the one who always backs out.”

  Beth Ann paused and peered at her for a long moment, her blue-green eyes glittering with something Ayla couldn’t identify right away.

  “Ya hookin’ ain’tcha?” she cooed, a small smirk forming over her surprisingly even teeth. “I knew it!”

  “Mom!” Ayla choked, aghast. “I’m not a prostitute!”

  “It’s okay if ya are, baby. I ain’t one to judge. God knows, I turned a few tricks in my day. Desperate times before Darius came along. I jus’ can’t understand why ya don’t come home when ya can stay here virtually rent free and take care of yer mama. I guess yer too good fer us - or ya got somethin’ ta hide,” she said suspiciously.

  Ayla swallowed the bile building in her throat.

  It was not hard to imagine the beauty that Beth Ann Duggan had been in her youth. The years of hard living and bitterness had certainly taken their toll, but if one were to look beneath the creases in her cheeks and the permanent scowl on her face, there were remnants of an idealistic woman who had been dealt a bad hand – mostly with herself as the dealer.

  Her eyes were a startling aquamarine, fringed with long, dark lashes. She had ruined her hair with too many treatments, but once upon a time, Beth Ann had also possessed the luxuriant locks that Ayla was so often complimented on.

  Ayla had always been told that she resembled her mother, but it wasn’t like she had anything else with which to compare herself.

  Her father had died before Ayla’s second birthday and Beth Ann refused to speak of her late husband.

  There were no pictures of Cory Dumas anywhere that Ayla could see and eventually, the lonely young girl began to believe he had never existed.

  Beth Ann had gotten remarried to Darius when Ayla was six. He brought with him two unruly children who had loathed the gentle-hearted girl on sight.

  The five had lived in the camper, barely surviving the stifling heat in the summer, and the freezing temperatures in the winter. Then Darius had finally moved on to greener pastures, leaving Beth Ann with his evil and selfish children.

  Back then, Ayla had been the brunt of everyone’s frustration, as if she had singlehandedly caused Darius to leave town with a seventeen-year-old high school junior.

  “Stop looking at me like that!” Beth Ann snarled, swigging back another sip of beer. “Like ya ain’t done stuff ya ain’t proud of.”

  Ayla ignored her, although she felt a slight prickle of apprehension sliding down her spine.

  “Mom, you don’t have any food in here,” she commented, hoping to change the subject. “Can I take you out for dinner?”

  Beth Ann guffawed.

  “Aw, look at that!” she cooed. “My fancy pants daughter ain’t embarrassed to take her white trash mama out for supper. Whatcha thinkin’, kitten? Chick Fil A? McDonald’s? How fancy can we get?”

  Ayla spun and put her hands on her hips.

  “Mom, I am not embarrassed of you!” she lied. “We can go anywhere you want. You want to go to Red Lobster?”

  She watched as Beth Ann’s light eyes seemed to brighten despite the hard line which remained on her lips.

  “Ya ain’t gotta come here and dole yer charity on me, Ayla. I don’t even know why ya bother to come visit.”

  Ayla bit back a groan and joined her mother on the frayed sofa.

  “Mom, I miss you,” she told Beth Ann, willing conviction into her voice. “And I worry about you.”

  At least the latter part is true, she thought, swallowing the lump in her throat.

  “Well, ya ain’t gotta worry about me. I am fine and dandy as ya can see.”

  Ayla made no comment.

  “Mom, get dressed,” she pleaded. “I want to take you out. I’m starving! And we can go grocery shopping on the way back.”

  Ayla could see her mother consider her offer but she sat back in her defiant way, folding her arms under her sagging breasts.

  “I dunno,” she answered. “I ain’t gonna take any money from ya if yer hookin’. Ya work hard fer that money.”

  “Mom!” Ayla yelled. “I am not hooking! I have a
full-time job with a media company. I make an honest living.”

  “Is that right?” Beth Ann asked, her eyebrows raised. “What does all that mean?”

  Ayla eyed her, wondering if Beth Ann was trying to start a fight or if she was slipping again. It would not be the first time her mother had suffered lapses in memory.

  Or in judgement.

  “I work for Benning Media, mom,” she said gently. “I’ve been the receptionist there for almost five years.”

  “A receptionist?” Beth Ann echoed. “Is that where ya met yer boyfriend?”

  Ayla realized that her mother was not being difficult. She was losing her grip on reality once more.

  “No, mom,” she whispered, her heart beginning to race. “I don’t have a boyfriend. But I did just get a promotion.”

  Beth Ann gazed at her.

  “A promotion?” she demanded. “What kind of promotion?”

  Ayla smiled softly.

  “I will be the executive assistant to the CEO starting Monday. It’s a big step up and I will get closer to the inner workings of the company,” she explained, excitement creeping into her voice. “It’s what I’ve been working toward since finishing my degree – getting into media relations.”

  “Media relations with Diren Benning?”

  Ayla’s head jerked up at the new voice in the room and her proud smile instantly faded.

  “Ryland!” Beth Ann screeched, leaping from the sofa to embrace her step-son. “Ya came!”

  Casually, Ryland pushed his step-mother off as if she was an annoying dog and turned his attention to Ayla.

  “You’re banging your boss now, sis?” he asked leeringly.

  “I am not your ‘sis’, Ayla retorted, rising from the sofa. “And we’re going out so you’re going to have to come back. Or better yet, why don’t you stay and fix the screen door like you promised months ago?”

  “That’s fresh coming from the city girl who swings by once a month to toss a few bucks at mom,” Ryland retorted.

  “Oh no!” Beth Ann cried. “Ryland will come with us, wontcha, honey? Ayla’s taking us to Red Lobster!”