I throw on some briefs and a pair of pants before stepping back into the bedroom. I’m planning to explain some version of the truth to Camille, but the bed is empty. A fresh jolt of anger and surprise blasts through me, and I’m sprinting through the house toward the front door before I even process my thoughts.
I find the front door cracked open, and I slam through it, causing it to fly open and bash into the house. I don’t see anything at first in the darkness, but then a hint of movement catches my eye. Past the gardens.
I run toward it, moving so fast the wind is deafening in my ears. My legs piston beneath me, churning up the grass with the force of my footfalls, arms pumping at my side as I move faster than I think I’ve ever moved.
She’s going to go back to him. I can’t let her. I may not be certain about much else in this complicated mess I’ve already started between us, but I know that. She can never go back to him. Never.
I catch up to her when she climbs the gate on the edge of my property with surprising agility. She’s only wearing the long t-shirt, I realize, and I catch a glimpse of her bare ass as she scales the top of the fence.
The idea of her running loose down the road in just a t-shirt with no underwear wakes up every protective impulse in my body, and an even stronger burst of adrenaline flows through my veins.
I leap toward the gate and vault myself over it in a single, powerful motion. Once on the other side, I realize there’s a parked truck idling with the lights on. I recognize the truck from somewhere, but I can’t quite place it. Camille runs straight for it.
“Camille!” I shout. “Wait!”
She ignores me though, gaining speed as she gets closer.
Both doors of the truck swing open, and two dark figures jump out of the back. It’s only then I recognize the truck. It’s the same truck from the motel where I took Camille. Sean’s truck. And he brought friends.
“Sean?” she asks, stopping dead in her tracks and backing up as four men advance toward her, nothing but black shapes silhouetted by the bright headlights of the truck.
“What are you wearing?” he asks, reaching for her and gripping the t-shirt. “You fucking whore. Is this what you wear in front of him?”
“Sean,” she says, voice weak and barely above a whisper.
The other men are chuckling now, walking slowly toward me. One of them carries a wooden bat, letting the head of the weapon drag on the concrete with an ominous scrape. I ignore them, putting myself between Camille and Sean. “Leave,” I say to him, still catching my breath.
“Or what?” he asks, stepping close until I can smell the alcohol on his breath. “I was shit at math, but hm,” he says, making a show of counting himself and his friends. “One, two, three, four against, what was it again? Oh yeah, one rich prick and one disobedient slut.”
“I don’t care how many friends you bring. I’ll break your fucking teeth before they can help you.”
He laughs. “Camille, get in the fucking truck.”
She moves slightly, but I grab her arm. “Cam--”
Sean lunges for me to yank my hand away. I grab his outstretched arm and pull him toward me as I lower my forehead and aim it at his mouth. He slams into me, head snapping back and letting out a gurgling moan of pain.
“My thucking teeth,” he says through the blood already pouring from his split lips and chipped teeth.
“Get back to the house,” I say to Camille quickly.
In that brief moment, some sort of understanding passes between us, and to my surprise, she darts away from the men and toward the wall. But when I don’t follow, she pauses. “Go!” I shout.
I don’t have time to say more because the men are descending on me. Maybe something in my eyes makes them hesitate, or maybe they aren’t used to fighting four on one, but the first moments of the fight are in my favor.
A man with a bat steps forward, pulling the weapon back like he wants to hit a homerun with my head. I easily duck the swing, ramming my shoulder into him and lifting him off the ground before slamming him down to the pavement, knocking the wind out of him and probably giving him a concussion.
The next man is smarter, and he coordinates with his buddy to come at me from both sides. I dodge the first swing of his fist and catch his wrist, using the opportunity to punch him in the face, but that’s all I have time for.
The first blow hits me in the back. I don’t know if it’s a fist, a boot, or a baseball bat, but it hurts like a motherfucker. I growl, swinging toward the confusing mass of dark shapes and landing a punch on something that feels hard and warm--maybe a face.
It’s too much to follow now as the two men and Sean surround me, swinging at me like I’m a pinata. Pain explodes in my leg, causing it to buckle. I wrestle the bat from someone but an arm cracks down on my wrist, making my hand go numb and drop the bat. Something hard splits my cheek, spinning me to the wet ground, where all I can see are a tangled mass of legs and the blaring lights of the truck.
“Think you can fuck with us?” grunts one of the men, punctuating his words with kicks to my stomach.
The engine of the truck revs, and the men pause, turning toward the sound. The man I knocked down stumbles to his feet too, limping toward the truck. The truck lurches forward and Sean shouts something unintelligible through his bleeding mouth.
Camille must have climbed inside. I use the brief distraction for all it’s worth, forcing my numb legs to bear my weight and limping toward the gate. I reach the keypad that opens the doors and plug in the code.
The truck’s tires spin and it pulls out to the main road, moving just slow enough to give the men hope they can catch it, and they try. I watch the four shapes fade into the darkness as they clatter down the empty road after the truck. Only a minute later, the sound of the engine grows louder and I see the truck come tearing back toward me. It veers toward the gate and pulls through, stopping long enough for me to get in. I climb into the back of the truck, barely managing with numbing arms and legs. Once inside, I slap my hand on the bed of the truck.
“I’m in,” I shout.
The window in the back of the cab slides open and I see Camille’s worried face looking back at me. “Hold on,” she says, driving us up to the house.
She parks just outside the front door and hurries to the bed of the truck where I’m wincing and gripping my side.
“Oh my God,” she says. “I thought they were going to kill you.”
“You should see the other guys,” I groan.
She glares. “Dean. This isn’t a joke. Sean would really kill you. I think he might have done it back there if I hadn’t stopped him.”
“Yeah? Well he’s lucky he didn’t, because I would’ve haunted the fuck out of him.”
This at least gets a small smirk out of her. She reaches to ease me down to the ground. I walk inside, trying my best to ignore the stabbing pains with every slight motion and attempt to walk normally so she doesn’t worry. I half-succeed.
“Do you have security or something?” she asks. “They might try to come back. They probably will. Maybe even tonight.”
“Yeah,” I say, pulling out my phone and texting the company. “They should be here in about five minutes. I’ll have them leave his truck outside so he doesn’t have any more reason to want to fuck with us.”
“No,” says Camille. “Keep it. Or have them take it to a junkyard. He’s going to want to fuck with us either way, and he deserves it for what they did to you.”
I nod. “I like it. The junkyard sounds nice.”
“Good,” she says. “We should wake everyone up, just in case.”
“Not Jen,” I say. “I don’t want her to see me like this.”
Camille looks at me for a few seconds before nodding. “Okay, but we can at least wake up your brothers and Selene.”
“I’ll let you do the honors. I’ll, uh, protect the door,” I say, sinking down to lean against the wall.
She gives me an uncertain look. “I don’t want to leave you
here.”
“I’ll be fine. Tanner and Murph’s rooms are that way,” I say, pointing toward the East wing. Selene’s room is the last one on the left that way,” I say, pointing West.
Camille nods and runs toward my brother’s rooms first. A minute later, she returns, followed by a sleepy looking Murph and a shirtless, wide-awake Tanner. And Selene, who’s wearing the clothes she showed up in, but her blouse is on inside out and her hair's a mess.
“Really?” I ask Tanner, who ignores my question and kneels down, frowning over my injuries.
“The fuck man?” asks Murph, who reaches to poke the side of my face that feels like it’s swelling to double its normal size.
“No poking,” I snap, slapping his hand away.
“Looks like our big brother finally met a woman who didn’t want to fuck him,” says Tanner with a huge grin. “Damn. She really didn’t want to fuck you. You can just say no next time, Camille. You don’t have to kick his ass.”
“It was my ex,” she says without a hint of a smile. “He brought his idiot friends and they attacked us. They could still be out there.”
“This late? Did they get through the gates?” asks Murph.
“Well,” says Camille, “I was going for a walk and they found me outside.”
Selene frowns. “You were going for a walk?” asks Selene, who for some reason seems intent on making this more difficult than it has to be.
“Yes,” I say through clenched teeth. “She was going for a walk.”
She makes a face that says she’ll let it go, for now.
“And Dean was walking with you?” asks Tanner, who seems sure we’re lying by now.
“I went looking for her,” I say. “That was when I found them giving her a hard time.”
“And then you let them kick your ass?” asks Murph.
“Something like that,” I say.
“No,” says Camille. “Dean defended me. If he hadn’t fought them off for so long, who knows what would’ve happened.”
“What’d you fight them off with,” asks Murph, who is fully awake now and looks to be enjoying this more than he should. “Your face?”
“Murph, I have a pounding fucking headache right now, but remind me to pay you back for this when I’m a hundred percent.”
Murph purses his lips. “So you really think these guys are still out there?”
There’s a quick knock at the door that makes Camille and Selene jump. Tanner grabs an umbrella by the door like a baseball bat and pulls it open.
Three men in dark military style clothing step inside. They have pistols holstered at their sides and dangerous looking submachine guns strapped to their backs.
“Sir,” says the man in front, who is thickly built and looks to be about forty. “We have two men checking the perimeter. My team would like to secure the house, with your permission.”
“Go ahead,” I say.
He makes two quick, chopping hand signals to his men, who fan out through the house, drawing their pistols once they are a reasonable distance from the women.
Selene raises her eyebrows. “Damn. How much does it cost to have guys like that just waiting for your call all the time?”
I shrug. “They aren’t cheap.”
“I don’t like them,” says Camille. “Did you see the way the one in the back was looking at you?”
“Camille. They are professionals. I’ve given them no reason to feel anything toward me but gratitude. Hell, I’ve been paying their salaries for a couple years now and this is only the second or third time I’ve had to call them in. They probably love me.”
She crosses her arms. “You didn’t see it.”
I sigh. “Can we focus on the people we know are a problem first and worry about paranoid fantasies later?”
“Burn,” says Murph distractedly. He’s standing by the window, watching a man with an assault rifle and a flashlight prowl through the gardens.
Selene is staring at me like she might just make tonight the night she stabs me in my sleep, but Camille just looks concerned. The truth is I can’t deal with it all right now. Whether I like to admit it or not, getting hit with fucking baseball bats and kicked by heavy boots took it out of me, and I feel like nothing would hit the spot more than a long night’s sleep. Camille warming the bed beside me wouldn’t hurt, either.
“They have everything under control,” I say tiredly, struggling to stand, waving off Murph and Tanner’s offered help. “We should all get back to bed.”
Tanner and Selene don’t seem to need to be told twice, as the two of them hurry off toward his bedroom again. Murph leans just inches from my face, eyes wide with interest.
“Murph. Go to sleep,” I say more firmly.
“Sorry,” he says. “It’s just that I think I can actually see the bruise forming right before my eyes. Sick…”
“Bed,” I growl, shoving him in the chest and motioning for Camille to come with me.
8
Camille
He fell down the stairs?” asks Jen for about the fourth time.
“Yeah,” I say, feeling terrible for lying to her.
“Daddy isn’t clumsy though. I’ve never even seen him stub his toe.”
“Well, I accidentally left my shoes at the top of the stairs, and I think he probably tripped over them.”
She makes an irritated face at me and pushes past me to Dean’s bedroom. I follow her in, watching as she moves to his bedside. “I’m not getting any straight answers from--Oh, daddy,” she says softly. “You look like you used your face to hammer nails.”
“I’m fine,” he says, gripping her hand. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“That’s good,” she says. “Because lumpy isn’t a good look for you.”
He grins and then winces. “It’s just swollen. Give it a day or two and I’ll be good as new. Do you mind giving me a little time with Camille? I just need to tell her something before I get some rest.”
Jen gives me a look that isn’t entirely friendly, but nods, and kisses Dean on the least bruised part of his face before leaving.
“I think she’s blaming me for this,” I say when she’s gone. “I guess she should though… If I hadn’t run off like that none of this would’ve happened. I’m sorry, Dean.” I laugh a little, shaking my head. “Listen to me. I’m apologizing to the guy who took me hostage. But I mean it. I’m sorry.”
“I’m just glad you’re worried what Jen thinks of you,” he says with a strained smirk.
I fold my arms, looking toward the ceiling. “It’s not because I plan to stick around. I just don’t like knowing someone hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you. She just… probably doesn’t like you yet.”
“I was making some progress with her too. You know she has always wanted to learn how to sing?” I ask.
He gives me a blank look.
“That’s what I do--I mean, it’s what I’ve always wanted to do. I’ve dreamed of opening a music school and being a vocal coach.”
“Why didn’t you?” he asks.
I pick at a loose thread on the edge of his blanket, making a sour face. “Stupid reasons, I guess.”
“Camille, I’m not exactly going anywhere. You can give me the long version.”
I glare at him. “I wasn’t giving you the short version because I value your time. It’s just not something I want to talk about right now.”
“Tough shit. You’re my hostage. Spill it.”
“What’s to stop me from just walking away? It’s not like you can chase me to the living room right now. Maybe I’ll just watch some TV.”
“You won’t walk away because you want to know what the security team found last night after we all turned in.”
“What did they find?”
“Why didn’t you open a music school?” he counters, showing a hint of that infuriatingly smug smile.
“My parents always said I wasn’t good enough, that no one would pay to take lessons from a woman who couldn’t eve
n make a career for herself with singing.” I chew the inside of my lip, staring at the floor. “I guess I thought they had a point. It wasn’t like I was selling out concerts or even singing gigs. I was just a silly college student who liked to sing.”
“Fuck, your parents told you that?” he asks.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds, I’m making them sound horrible, I know, but they meant well.” Except they didn’t, and I don’t know why I always have an instinct to defend the people who treat me like shit, but there it is. Somewhere along the way a weakness bloomed inside of me, but not the kind of weakness that shows itself every day. It’s a deeper, more poisonous kind of weakness, a chronic inability to do what’s right for myself or let others help me out of shitty situations I’ve made out of my life.
“So what did you do instead?”
“I learned how much student loan debt sucks, left school a year early, and spent four years waiting tables at a cheap pizza place.”
He frowns. “You deserve better.”
I huff a laugh. “Says who? You barely know me, Dean. How do you know I’m not getting exactly what I deserve? Not everyone is supposed to have this sparkly, perfect life you have. Not everyone gets to love their family or even get to see them grow up.” My voice thickens at the last few words and I cover my mouth, standing abruptly to leave.
“Don’t leave,” he says. “Sit.” he says this more firmly.
I sit down, sniffling now and hiding my face. Why am I such a fucking mess?
“So what did the security guys find?” I ask, voice still thick with tears.
“Nothing. Sean and his buddies cleared out apparently.”
“You asshole! You made it sound like there was something I’d want to know. It’s the only reason I even told you anything.”
“Well, you could hit me, but I think it’d be a bit redundant at this point. Probably not very satisfying either. I’ve heard th--Hey!” he says, reaching to cover his face to avoid the throw pillow I frisbee at his head.
He winces in pain, rolling to the side from lifting his arms so quickly.
“Shit,” I say, moving to his side, gently touching his shoulder as I lean over to look him over. “I’m sorry, Dean. I was just--”
Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle Page 69
