The Billionaire’s Luck
The Secret Billionaire’s Club
Tracey Pedersen
Daring Online Adventures
The Billionaire’s Luck
Copyright © 2019 Tracey Pedersen
All Rights Reserved
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying, scanning or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the author. This includes transmission by email.
Reviewers are permitted to quote brief passages for the purpose of reviewing only.
The Billionaire’s Luck is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized by, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
The entire Secret Billionaire’s Club series is dedicated to my fellow authors. Who knew such a fun, supportive community existed in an industry many consider to be ultra-competitive? For all the romance authors who gave guidance, shared their publishing secrets, let me into their Facebook groups, and laughed at my crappy jokes, these books are for you. To remind you that we really can go further together.
Contents
Chapter One - Everett
Chapter Two - Everett
Chapter Three - Jillian
Chapter Four - Everett
Chapter Five - Jillian
Chapter Six - Everett
Chapter Seven - Jillian
Chapter Eight - Everett
Chapter Nine - Jillian
Chapter Ten - Jillian
Chapter Eleven - Everett
Chapter Twelve - Jillian
Chapter Thirteen - Everett
Chapter Fourteen - Everett
The Billionaire’s Treat
The Steamy Sensations Books
Also by Tracey Pedersen
About the Author
Before you go…
Chapter One - Everett
Dust stings my face as our tank rolls across the parched sand. Our enemy is dead ahead, sheltering in the small patch of trees I can see in the distance. I call down in a loud voice to my driver. I want my instructions to be clear before we begin. I also suspect he’s a little deaf.
“Tommo. Forward!” The tank begins to move without a word from him. He sits below the rest of us, gadgets, buttons and lit up displays guiding him.
“Loader. Ready!” I hear a muffled reply, then the sound of metal against metal as the grenade is loaded. Rogers is fast, one of the fastest I’ve worked with, and I have great expectations that we’ll come out on top of this exercise today. My team has only been captured once in the nine years we’ve been doing these exercises. I don’t intend for today to be different.
We’ve been here for three days, practicing war-games with soldiers from three other countries. We have weeks before we return home, prior to our next deployment. I’m looking forward to stretching my legs in real combat. I’ve been home too long this time, hanging with my rich friends, watching them get soft around the middle. Grinding my teeth at their insistence on making bets with each other to keep themselves amused.
Worrying about our little club being outed is not at the top of my to-do list. Nor is planning the date that Danny insists I need to make happen by the middle of the month. I smirk and give myself a mental pat on the back. I’ll be here in the desert with no chance to play his stupid game.
If my grandfather’s promise of a ridiculous fortune in return for my name on a marriage certificate didn’t send me running to the alter with the first woman I met, no way is a stupid idea Danny is using to amuse himself going to get the job done. I told him the same thing I’ve told my family, again and again.
I’m not getting fucking married. Ever.
The radio crackles to life and I put a finger to my earpiece. “All units stand down. We have a man down. Repeat man down.”
“Tommo. Stop.” The tank jolts to a halt while we wait for instructions.
A voice responds, “The medics are on the way. How bad is it?”
“There’s a lot of blood, Sir. We’re doing the best we can, but we need those medics, now!” The voice roars the last word and I squat down in position. My eyes meet Rogers’ and we nod to each other.
These are war games. We have no way of knowing if this is part of the drill, or a real emergency. Until it becomes clear, we operate as though it’s real.
A few minutes later we receive orders to continue toward the trees.
“Tommo. Forward!” I resume my position peering across the sand, but this time the tank doesn’t give that familiar lurch. We remain where we are, so I give my command again, pressing the mic closer to my mouth. “Tommo! Forward!”
There’s silence, and we remain stationary. I squat down, just as Rogers says, “Umm, commander? Tommo is out.”
I peer down to where Tommo sits. His body is still, slumped to the side. Rogers scampers over to check on him, then he laughs and calls up. “It’s okay. He’s just fainted. It’ll be that mention of blood over the radio.”
“Jesus. When is he going to get that under control?”
Rogers laughs and returns to his position. “Not today by all accounts. You want me to drive?”
“No, let’s give him a minute. Last time he woke up and behaved as though nothing had happened.” I radio in and give an excuse about having to check the tracks. Command will want to know why we haven’t engaged. “Let me kick the tires and then we’ll give it another try.”
I jump down, the fine sand puffing up around my boots. It’s so dry here in Northern Australia. The earth is red and it gets into everything. For weeks after we get home, we’ll be shaking it out of our underwear. I move around the tank, admiring my favourite piece of military equipment. The tracks are in perfect order, the sand having no effect on them after our days in the desert. I stretch and stand on my tiptoes, peering through the haze to see if anyone is moving toward us. If we get caught because of Tommo’s aversion to the slightest mention of blood, I’ll—
A blast of sound startles me, blowing me backward. I shake my head, my ears ringing, as I stagger to my feet. “What the fuck?” I start back toward the tank when I see we’ve taken a direct hit from somewhere. Black smoke blows in the wind and I can smell burning. “What the fucking, fuck?”
We’re supposed to be using blanks, not live ammunition.
Rogers, and Swinny, our gunner, burst out of the top of the tank, their faces covered in blood. Rogers’ usual quiet nature has deserted him and he screams, “Tommo is down there!”
I scramble up to join him, the sight of smoke pouring from the space where our driver was last seen making my blood run cold. I instruct Rogers to call in, and I climb down, holding my breath, worrying over what I might find.
The heat crinkles my skin, sucking any moisture from it the moment I get close. Flames are licking the inside of the tank.
That’s bad.
“Tommo!” I scream, my lungs filling with smoke and heat. I cough and suck in more fumes as I lean down to look into his area. I feel around, my frantic hands searching for him, fingers seeking something to cling to, a sign that he’s alive.
I hear a moan and hold my collar over my nose, trying to
get a breath as my eyes stream, clouding my vision.
I won’t leave him.
Then it strikes me. In my panic I’ve forgotten that Tommo has his own hatch. Habit finally kicks in and I grab the handle turning the turret into a position that will let us get Tommo out. I climb out of the tank and rush to open the driver hatch.
“Tommo!” I shout again, and finally the smoke clears and I see him slumped over the controls. I gasp as the reality of his situation floods my senses.
He’s on fire.
The fabric of his uniform is feeding the flames, that even now lick higher, fed by the oxygen sucking down from the hatch I just opened. I reach through the excruciating heat, unzip his suit, clasp my fingers around the built-in handle and drag him up and backward, flapping with my bare hands, trying to put out the fire.
I thought he was unconscious, but he’s awake. And the howl of agony that comes from his mouth is like nothing I’ve ever heard.
Chapter Two - Everett
My eyes open, a red haze clearing, and I’m immediately aware that something went wrong today. The smell of antiseptic, the muffled voices in an unseen room, the crisp white sheets and the curtain moving slightly next to the bed all scream hospital. When I look to the side my guess is confirmed. I’m hooked up to a machine, the quiet beeps cutting the air every now and then. I try to sit up but it’s not as easy as it should be. I stare at my hands, bandaged from fingertips to elbow.
Something went very wrong.
I start a slow exploration, checking to see what damage I’ve sustained. I wiggle my toes and bend my knees, working my way up my body as everything about the rescue comes back to me in painful detail.
I remember every awful moment.
Tommo screaming. The smoke billowing out of the hatch, me dragging him out as his shrieks escalated. Rogers shouting and calling for medical aid before a helicopter appeared and we were loaded inside. I close my eyes as I wiggle my hips and twist my torso. Everything seems to be in working order, even the awful memory of Tommo’s skin, bubbling and red.
Everything except my hands that is. I turn them in front of me, tempted to clench my fists but aware enough to know that I should speak to whoever bandaged them first.
I’m not in pain, and a flicker of a smile threatens when the memory surfaces of my dad in a hospital years ago. Shouting and trying to get out of bed because a doctor dared to tell him he needed a heart-bypass. An operation that ultimately killed him.
Well, I’m not facing anything like that. I feel well, so my injuries are more than likely superficial. I listen, wondering if the staff know I’m awake. I want information. Am I meant to shout for a nurse? Like those old men you see in bad sitcoms on tv?
The curtain around my bed slides open just as I consider pressing my feet to the floor.
“Knock, knock.” A male nurse pokes his head around the lightweight fabric. “You decent?” He laughs as though he made a joke, ignoring my frown as he picks up my chart.
“I just woke up.”
“Well, you’re not dead, then.” He’s cheerful, to the point of annoying, but I recognize the signs of military life. We make fun of almost everything, to stop the serious nature of our work overwhelming us. Hospitals on the front line see enough to overwhelm an ordinary person in every twenty four hour period. Even when they’re only stationed at exercises like this one.
“What happened today? How’s Tommo?” My voice is rough—concern for my team mate makes me more grouchy than usual.
“I won’t lie,” he smiles in a kind way, and perches on the end of my bed. “Your friend will need a long recovery time. He has burns to the top half of his body and it’s serious. But you saved him.” He clicks his tongue and stands up, his voice turning cheerful again. “I heard that your name will be put forward for a bravery award.”
“Bullshit. I was just looking out for my guy. That’s not bravery. That’s duty.”
He raises his eyebrows and motions toward my hands. “At great personal expense to yourself. Whatever you call it, know that you’re the reason he’s alive. They’ll be flying him home tomorrow, and you’re booked to go on Monday.” He writes something on my chart and hangs it back on my bed.
“What?” I sit up, ignoring the sting in my hands.
“You’re on the Monday morning flight. Someone else will give you more details. All I know is that’s when I’ll have an bed empty.”
“I don’t need to go home. This can’t be that serious,” I wave my arms at him as he steps toward the curtain. My wrapped stumps almost look funny in that position, and he grins.
“The doctor will be around soon and will explain what he expects for your recovery. You’re right, you’re not the most serious case, but you were lucky. And you’re still going home.”
“You’ll probably need a skin graft. We cleaned the wounds and they look good. Now, our main goal is to get you to a hospital where you can see a burns specialist. Infection is your number one enemy in this situation and that’s why we’re flying you home as soon as there is room.”
My doctor is serious, his words clipped and to the point. He didn’t even introduce himself when he pushed the curtain aside. There’s a new nurse with him and she has the most amazing red hair. I’m not generally affected by the sight of a woman but something about that blazing hair tickles a memory.
Someone standing over me? Or a light shining through something red. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the memory of bloody pouring from Rogers’ head while Tommo’s exposed skin bubbled before our eyes. I shake my head to clear the image and focus on the doctor’s words.
“A skin graft?” I clench my butt cheeks, immediately interested to know if that’s where they’ll get the skin from. “They’ll take skin from perfectly healthy areas, so I’ll have two injuries that need healing? Maybe on my bum?”
The redhead is behind the doctor and she stifles a smile. She stares at the wall, refusing to meet my eyes, where a moment ago she was quite pleasant, bustling around the bed and adjusting my pillows. I frown and shake my head, trying to place her.
She has a heart shaped face and full lips, which appear even fuller when she smirks. Her hair is tied back but thick strands have come loose and hang around her face. She glances at me and I can see the tiredness on her features. She graces me with another tiny smile and then she moves behind the curtain. I’m certain I’d remember her if we’d met, yet she seems familiar.
The doctor shakes his head, bringing my attention back to him. “That’s not up to us. They might even use a synthetic skin on you. We didn’t want to open another wound out here, especially since you were out of it., which is why you’re going home.” He writes on my chart, looking it over in a similar fashion to the nurse from earlier. “From what I can see, you’re extremely lucky to have only superficial injuries.”
“So the other guy told me. I guess I should start praying so my luck doesn’t run out.”
My sarcasm is not lost on him. He stares at me for a beat, then lets his eyes fall to my chart, again. “Do you have any questions?”
The redhead reappears and puts a food tray on the table at the end of the bed. She slides it toward me and I ask the only thing I want to know. “How’s Tommo?”
Both of their faces fall. The doctor shifts from foot to foot and I fear the worst. When he doesn’t speak, the woman puts me out of my misery, resting her hand on my shoulder before she speaks. “Mr. Gibbs has a long recovery ahead of him. His burns are serious, more serious than we can deal with here. We’ve stabilized him and we’re sending him home on the next plane.”
“Can I see him?”
“He’s sedated to try to keep him as stable as possible. He won’t know you’re there.”
“I’ll know.”
The doctor sighs and a look passes between them. That look says ‘here we go again’. I can imagine military patients aren’t the easiest to deal with. We’re direct. We want answers, and we want our own way.
“Maybe I can organize something
for later. Leave it with me.” The nurse smiles and makes eye contact again. I stare at her for a moment, thinking of the bitchy nurse that bundled my father back into bed that day in the hospital long ago. If I have to be stuck somewhere in a medical wing, I much prefer the staff here.
“Okay. I’d like to see him if I could.”
“Well, you and Nurse Harmer here can work that out. There’s no reason why you can’t move around once that last IV bag is empty.” The doctor returns the chart to its place and slips behind the curtain without another word.
“He’s chatty.”
She smiles, replacing my water and straightening the sheets near my feet.
“I forgot to ask the doc, but how long does wrapping a few bandages on my hands take to do?” I nod to the curtain. “It seems like it’s still light outside, but it was mid-afternoon when everything went to shit, from what I can remember.”
“Didn’t he tell you?” she asks, genuine confusion on her face.
“Tell me what?”
“You’ve been here since yesterday. The accident was yesterday.”
I blink and try to summon a memory of a good night’s sleep, but there’s nothing. Not even a shadowy recollection of a bad dream. One minute I was holding my breath, dragging Tommo with me, the next I was here in the cool ward, quiet beeping near my ear. Before I can ask any more questions, there’s a shout from behind the curtain.
“Nurse! Nurse! Where the fuck is the nurse? Do you people expect me to piss in this bottle, ‘because I can tell you right now, I’ll piss in the bed before I’ll piss in this bottle.”
The Billionaire's Luck (Secret Billionaire's Club Book 2) Page 1
