by Amy Faye
Sold to the Billionaire
Bad Boy Romance
Amy Faye
Published by Heartthrob Publishing
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Here’s a preview of the sexy love story you’re about to read…
She rolls her eyes and I see red. “You know what? I’ve just gotten a good idea.”
I pull out my phone. I do have a good idea. About a dozen good ideas that all come together at once in an instant of white-hot rage.
“What’s that?” She says it with an air of contempt.
“You’re going to get on your knees.”
“What? You’re going to get me to suck your cock because you can’t get a woman stupid enough to do it for free?”
I’m recording the whole conversation, now. That’s part of the appeal, I think. It’s an angle. A niche for me to fill. That’s the trick to making money in any business. Have an angle. Something that makes you stand out.
“No,” I say simply. “I’m going to make money. I’m going to sell you to the whole world.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Get on your knees, babe.”
“Why?”
“So I can film you sucking my cock.”
“What, am I supposed to look like I enjoy it? Like some kind of porn star?”
“Look like whatever you want to look like. You hate me, don’t you?”
“You’re catching on,” she growls. But she drops to her knees anyways, and starts undoing my belt for me.
“But you’re still going to suck me off, aren’t you?”
I’m already halfway hard when she gets me out of my boxers. It more than fills her hand, though she’s got smallish hands. Small everything, but proportionally, she’s big where it counts.
She takes it into her mouth and bobs her head gently. God fucking damn. That’s good. She’s good at this. Better than I’d expected.
“Anything to say to the camera?”
She pulls my cock out of her mouth, but leaves her hand around it, jerking it slightly.
“Fuck you, let’s get this over with.”
“Good girl,” I say as she takes it back between her lips. God. Very good girl.
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One
Luke
I take one last look at my cards. Like I’m not sure what they are. I tell myself I won’t look again. This time, I might manage it. Because I’m pretty sure of what they are. But a straight flush is an unlikely hand, even in a game of Hold ‘Em, and I don’t want to have overlooked something. Something like the possibility that he’s got the pocket jack and queen to beat my ten-high.
From the expression on Bill’s face, he’s sitting pretty on something. I have to think about it for a long time. What are the odds?
They’re not zero. On the other hand, if he’s just got a flush, who wouldn’t be pleased with that? Or perhaps he’s got a pocket pair of eights. That would make a full house, eights over sixes. A Full House is nothing to sniff at. But it’s not going to beat a straight flush.
That’s the gamble. I take a deep breath. It’s only a measly ten grand, anyways. I could walk away now, and be up twenty more. But I can’t help it. There’s a devil on my shoulder and he’s telling me to roll the damn dice.
“I’ll see your five hundred, and raise you a thousand.”
It won’t end there. But if I go too hard, he’ll back off. Poker isn’t about winning. It’s about letting your opponent think you’re the one making the mistake.
“A thousand? Just that? Luke, you’re getting soft.”
Bill’s eyes flash like he’s a coyote in the hen house. “I’ll go all in.”
He’s sitting on a pile of money. The best I can do is to match him. The pot’s going to get near a hundred grand now, and I’m not looking forward to writing the check that’s going to come with losing. So I won’t.
“All in, huh?” I eye Seth off to my right. He’s got a frown on his face. “Not tonight. Going hard as hell, God damn.”
I make a show of thinking about it. Tap my thumb on the table. It’s unnecessary at this point, I have to admit. I ought to just show the damn cards and take the money. But I got what I wanted, and now I’m going to roll around in it.
“Alright. Call.” I push a stack of chips across the table. It’s less a ‘stack’ and more a pile, and the pile flows over my hands so I have to make a second push to get them all into the middle.
Bill’s never been a good poker player, per se. You can read his face. And his face says there’s no way he’s going to lose. I just have to gamble that he thinks wrong.
“Alright,” Tom says. “Show ‘em.”
I raise my eyebrows at Bill. “You first, man. Let’s see it.”
“Oh, Lucas,” he says, taking another drink of scotch. “You’re going to ruin my whole… thing. You first, come on. Unless you’re afraid it won’t be good enough?”
I shrug and flip the cards over. Five-six hearts. He looks like he’s going to choke.
“You son of a bitch!”
For a minute I’m worried that Bill is going to jump over the table and throttle me. It wouldn’t be totally outside the realm of possibility, with him. He tends to overreact to shit like this, and most men react a little more to losing ten grand than I might.
“What’s the problem, Bill?”
“That’s im-fucking-possible! You’re a god damn cheat!”
I spread my hands in a gesture that suggests a shrug. “I don’t need to cheat to win, my man. Unless you’ve got cheating on the brain?”
He suddenly decides that maybe it’s time to think things through before he starts talking. It’s a little late now, friend.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You think every man here can’t see you fiddlin’ with your damn sleeves when you think we’re not looking? Man, I don’t mind the extra effort. Not like you can hid the hand you’re holding from a blind man, but if you’re going to be a cheat, you might as well be a good God damn winner, am I right?”
That gets him, and he starts making a serious effort at getting around the table and into my face. I don’t think he’s thought this through, either. I could clock him into next week if it came to a straight-up fight.
“Now, when are you going to get me that check?”
He pulls back a fist and Tom moves to stop him. I watch Bill’s fist fly through the air like it’s in slow motion. It’s easy to duck around it. I slap him. Not hard enough to hurt, but stiff enough that it’ll rattle his cage.
This time Tom succeeds where he’d failed the first time, wrapping an arm around Bill’s waist and pulling him away before the second punch can fail to connect.
“You’re good for it, aren’t you?”
“You’re a cheating son of a bitch, and I don’t owe you a fucking dime!”
“You’re one to talk,” I say. My voice is low. “A cheat and a squelcher? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“Fuck you, man. I don’t have to answer to you.”
I turn to Seth. He’s sitting off to the side, his eyes as chilly as ever as he watches. He hasn’t moved an inch. “I thought this was a friendly game you guys were running here.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Bill, you’re going to have to calm yourself down, or…”
“Or what, pretty boy? You want some? You come over here, or get this bastard off me, and I’ll give you the same. You fucking watch me!”
Seth’s jaw clicks off to one side. His ey
es drop shut. I turn back to Bill. “Now, about that money. I’ll take cash if you’ve got it, or I’ll take a check. Make it out to Lucas H. Mercer, if you don’t mind.”
He pulls against Tom’s arms, but Tom’s shifted his arms to get a better grip, and there’s not much give in it. If Tom were a little bigger, and had a little experience, I bet he’d make quite a wrestler. Or maybe he has the experience, back in high school. Not like I know the guy well enough to say either way.
“I ain’t got it,” he says softly.
“What’s that supposed to mean? You came here without any fucking money? Really?”
“I mean, I ain’t got the money, alright?”
“That’s why you write a check, numb-nuts.”
“It’s not there.”
“What have you got, then? We’ll get the next best. I’ll take nine.”
“I gotta eat, Lucas, come on.”
“I’m not the one who came to a ten-grand buy in game of poker with no fucking money!” I slam my hand down on the table. A pile of chips rattles in the center. “Tom!”
He raises his eyebrows in silent acknowledgment.
“You got ten grand?”
“Of course I do, Luke. I came to the game, didn’t I?”
“Of course you fucking do. Seth?”
“You’re joking, right?”
“That’s what I fucking thought. You think I’m gonna have trouble paying my debts? You tell me, Tom. I ever squelched? Ever backed out of a bet after I fucking lost?”
“Not to my knowledge,” he said, shrugging.
“So you see, this ain’t that kind of game. You’re going to get that money for me, or I swear to God…”
A doorbell ringing sings through the house. I try to peel the scowl off my face.
“Somebody want to get that?”
Seth moves. Apparently he doesn’t think that letting Bill go is going to be a smart move. I think it would be great. Let him get clobbered. Maybe it would teach him a little lesson.
A minute later, Seth comes back in, silent. A woman is walking behind him. She’s thin, youngish, and attractive. Her eyes are framed by heavy black plastic glasses, though not the big frames like kids these days are wearing. Along with her pencil skirt, it gives her a look like she ought to be running a library.
“Uh, Dad?”
I eye her suspiciously.
“Oh, shit. Katie.” Bill stops fighting, like he just realized what an ass he’s been making of himself. “You, uh. What time is it?”
“You said to come by around eleven.”
“Is it eleven? Fuck me. I guess it, uh…”
“You going to ask your daughter where to come up with ten grand?”
“I’m just a ride home. I don’t know what my dad’s been telling you, but…”
“He’s been telling us that he’s not paying his debts,” I growl.
She takes a deep breath like this isn’t the first time she’s been in this conversation.
“Wait! I know!”
I turn to Bill. Tom’s letting him go. He’s got a look on his face, like he sees a tactic. Some real clever move to get himself out of this situation.
“Oh yeah? You just realized you left ten grand in your fucking glove box?”
“Kate!”
“What about her? Talk to me, don’t talk to her.”
“You can have her. She’s pretty, don’t you think?”
I blink. But I’m not the one who speaks. “What the fuck, Dad?”
Two
Kate
There’s a long moment of silence. “Come on, baby, it’ll only be for a couple of days. Until I can get the money together.”
I run through the whole conversation in my head before I start answering. Dad is a special sort of person. Not in a particularly good way. He’s got a unique ability to say things that work out so you’re getting yourself all kinds of screwed up, and then he tries to paint it like you’re getting out ahead.
For one thing, it sounds like ‘oh, it’s just a few days.’ I heard the number ‘ten grand’ thrown around just a minute ago, and I have to assume that’s what they’re looking to get. A few days? It would be fine.
I mean, it wouldn’t be remotely fine, but I could at least get over it, eventually. Probably. There’s nothing to say that I couldn’t. I’d just be humiliated and used like some kind of slave or worse. But you know what? I’ve been with Dad for twenty years now, and I know a little bit about being used like a slave. It’s just the ‘whore’ part that’s going to be brand new.
But then again, even that isn’t that new really. After all, most boys through high school figured that, I don’t know, because I had tits, I was probably easy. So there’s a certain familiarity to playing whore, too.
But it’s not a few days. It’s basically forever, because he’s not going to get the money.
“I don’t want your damn daughter, I want you to pay me the money you owe. Go get a fucking loan.”
Dad laughs. I laugh, too. A loan. That’s cute.
“You think if I could get a loan I’d be doing this?”
The other guy, the guy that Dad apparently owes money to, closes his eyes. “You’re a disgrace.”
I don’t agree with him out loud, because I’d regret it. So I do it silently.
“So you’ll take her?”
The guy’s jaw flexes. “I have to get paid somehow, don’t I? Fan-fucking-tastic.”
The big guy storms towards me. Towards the door, I guess. He passes me without a second glance and then turns back at the last minute. For a moment I think he’s going to snap at me to follow. I start moving before he can say anything, but he looks right through me.
“You guys can get me my money in the morning, yeah?”
“Yeah. Hey, don’t leave the other checks.”
They pick up a few slips of paper, the ink already dry on them. My new ‘owner’ takes them without looking at them. But there’s enough time for me to see the words ‘Ten Thousand Dollars and no/100’ written on the Amount line.
Then he storms out. I don’t know if I’m supposed to follow. For a minute I turn to Dad, wide-eyed and uncertain.
“Go on, hon. It’s going to be fine.”
I don’t think he’s got half of an idea of what he’s doing at this point; I could be raped and murdered or worse, and there’s really nothing he could do to stop it at this point, because he’s sending me off with some complete stranger.
But hey, at least he’s not going to get his ass kicked again, right? That’s progress. I roll my eyes as I walk back outside.
One of the cars outside has come to life, and shines its lights on the front of the house. It growls loud enough to hurt my ears as I walk across the hood, and slide into the passenger seat. The leather is cold, but at the same time it’s soft and comfortable. I settle in because I don’t have much else choice.
“What should I call you?” The man’s voice is low and annoyed. I wish I’d thought to ask the question first.
“Kate? Katie?”
“Kate? Nice to meet you. I’m Luke Mercer. I guess thanks to your good-for-nothing father, you’re going to be staying at my place for a while. There’s no fucking way he’s going to be paying me, is there?”
I think about lying for a minute. But I figure that if Luke is good enough at reading people to walk out with two blank checks and another two men promising to get him his money at the next available opportunity, and the buy-in is ten fucking thousand dollars, he’s probably decent at reading people.
“No.” So I tell him the truth.
“So I’ve got to figure out how to get my money’s worth out of you, huh?” He takes his eyes off the road, and I can feel him undressing me with his eyes. “Well, if I were a younger man, maybe I’d have some very specific ideas of what you could do for me.”
The comment makes me look at him a second time. He didn’t give me the impression of being terribly old. At first I’d have placed him in his middle twenties, maybe, but as his ra
ge fades into frustrated anger, and looking at him closer, he could be a little bit older than that.
But forty is the absolute highest I would guess for him. If he were older than that, I’d be surprised.
“So… what, then?”
The engine makes it hard to hear, but it’s not so loud that I would miss something he said completely. Particularly not when I’m watching to see what he’s going to do next. His lips don’t move until we’re pulling into the driveway of a large house, on top of a hill.
“Home, sweet home,” he says, with a sourness in his voice. He still looks like he’s ready to kill Dad, and at this point, I don’t know that I have it in me to stop him if he tried.
“What do you want from me?”
“What do I want? Follow me.”
I follow him. I don’t know where we’re going, but when we get to the stairs I’ve got some pretty solid ideas of what’s on the other side of the steps.
He presses open the first door on the left. Inside is a small bedroom, sparsely furnished. Then again, much of the rest of the house wasn’t very well-furnished either. Just what was necessary. For an extravagant house, it’s quite modestly furnished.
“Do you want me to… go lay down?”
“I don’t give a shit what you do,” Luke says. “This is your room. In this house, I’ve got two rules for you.”
“Okay?”
“First, I’m not here to entertain you. I’ve got shit to do.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“Second, if I tell you to do something, you do it. We can play twenty questions after, if you’re so fuckin’ curious, but if I tell you to do something, I want it done. Then you can start jabbering about it. Now go on. I’ve got to go work out some frustration, and I don’t want to look at you right now if I’m going to stop wanting to put a fist through something.”
I blink at that comment.
“Now, please. Bedroom. Go on. We’ll get better acquainted tomorrow. The Wi-Fi password’s ‘Dog Gone.’ Two words. Both capitalized. Now please. Go lay down, and don’t come out unless it’s to use the bathroom. You need food, order a fuckin’ pizza. Tell them you’ll pay cash, and I’ll get it taken care of.”
