Alpha Bait_BWWM Billionaire Romance Novel

by Jamila Jasper

  Ames was sopping wet and completely naked whereas I was dressed in Prada and armed weapon. Fear would have been unbecoming.

  I pushed open the door to his bathroom and flung his shower curtain open. He inhaled sharply with pure terror that sent blood rushing to my heart excitedly. The thrill had begun.

  I kept my gun drawn.

  "Hands in the air," I commanded.

  With suds and water trailing down his chest all the way down to his groin and then dripping onto the tiles, Ames had no choice but to obey. He thrust his hands in the air.

  Men who seem so powerful in the boardroom can so easily be reduced. I found it difficult not to smile. Perhaps smiling would have scared him more, but I had no interest in betraying how much delight the entire situation gave me.

  "What do you want Jamal?"

  He had gotten past the surprise and went straight to anger. The poor impotent man would have no opportunity to act out said anger. Tragic. All he could do was sneer at me as if that gave him the upper hand in some way.

  "I know you're sleeping with my sister," I accused.

  He didn't deny it.

  "Oh yeah? Who told you that?"

  I snarled, "I should put a bullet in you just for admitting it."

  "Go ahead," he replied nonchalantly, "they'll have your ass in court if you do."

  Okay, then I couldn't help chuckling.

  "You think I'm going to jail?"

  I laughed again.

  Ames' cheeks started getting red. He was far too dignified to plead for his life, but I could tell he was holding onto the very last of his strength. He was slipping, just like he was about to slip out of this world and into the next one.

  "Tell me where she is and maybe I won't kill you."

  "My dick is out and you have a gun pointed at my head. At least one of us has to leave here dead," he replied.

  "Being funny won't help you. Answer the question. Where is Indie?"

  "What makes you think I know where your damn sister is?"

  "For my sister to disappear after I had eyes on her 24/7 means she must have had help. And she had to have had considerable help. Help that could only come from a Carmichael."

  "And you think that Carmichael is me?"

  "Quit stalling. Where is she?" I growled.

  "Look, man, I don't know where she is. And if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

  "Perhaps your brother knows?" I smiled.

  Ames knew that if I could break into his apartment so easily, and if I had the guts to do it on my own instead of sending a hired man, I would have no qualms about traveling halfway across the world to eliminate the rest of the Carmichael bloodline.

  My words seemed to make him reconsider his choices.

  "Listen, I don't know where Indie is and neither does my brother. If she's run away from you, maybe someone in your family helped her. What about that cousin of yours?"

  "Watch your mouth. Insinuating that anyone in my family is as traitorous as you lot will get you killed faster."

  "At the end of the day, I'll still be dead."

  "Maybe so."

  He kept his arms raised and he never broke my gaze once. If he didn't look so pathetic without his clothes on, I might have been impressed by his bravery.

  "Once I'm done with you, I'll search this apartment and then I'll find out exactly where she is."

  "What's it to you anyway?" he hissed.

  He seemed too calm about me searching his apartment which sent a flash of disappointment through me. Either he was an arrogant sonuvabitch or I'd find nothing.

  "She's my sister. And she's tainted our bloodline by even entertaining the likes of you. For that alone, she deserves to die."

  "You're one sick motherfucker," Ames said.

  I laughed again.

  "I suppose I am. I'm also about to become the richest man in bioinformatics in the world. Your bloodline will be wasted to a few sniveling idiots who could barely make it through Cornell. Meanwhile, I will carry on my father's legacy for generations to come."

  Watching another one of Richard Carmichael II's sons sniveling before me brought me pleasure. My father would be proud. I'd managed to not only follow his legacy, but I'd been strong in all the ways he'd been weak. He'd let a white man push him around like he was nothing. He'd allowed Richard to steal his technology and to build an empire on his back. He'd died because of his weakness -- and he'd died a weak old man at that.

  My father had never made the tough calls and even after he'd acquired his wealth he'd refused to put it to good use.

  I wouldn't make his mistakes. I wouldn't let the city crawl with dirty Carmichaels, each one looking to squeeze profits out of work that had been my father's from the beginning. Anyone who sided with them could easily be removed. When the company was buried beneath its own inadequacies, only then could I honor my father's death.

  This was my duty as his son and there was nothing personal about it.

  Ames interrupted my passing thought.

  "If you think you can run a business like a tyrant, you're wrong."

  His condescension was beginning to annoy me. This was a waste of time. This pathetic man had no right to call me a tyrant. I was a survivor, a revolutionary who refused to allow his father's work to be stolen and abused. History would understand me.

  "I'm sorry Ames, but I really don't have time for this."

  I fired. The silencer on my new weapon proved particularly effective. I barely heard the bullet. The noise was a small cracking and then the searing puncturing sound of the bullet breaking through Ames' flesh. I shot him again in the head and in the stomach to be certain. He crumpled to the ceramic floor of the tub, blood spilling into his bathtub as the water continued to pour from overhead.

  It wasn't quite no muss no fuss. I turned the water off to the bathroom and left. Allowing a flood would have been gross.

  I didn't bother cleaning his apartment, that was the precise reason I had installed the doorman downstairs. Everything would be taken care of and all I would have to do was search Ames documents and files. There was nothing physical, as I expected. I took his laptop and thumb drive before I left my men to do the dirty work of cleaning up.

  As I got into my car and removed my leather gloves, I checked my suit for any stains. Thankfully, I made it out clean. My phone rang, and I felt a brief burst of irritation until I saw the number.

  Donnie. I told him to call me if he had any word on Indie and only then. With glee, I answered to get the terrible news. My sister had died in a car accident. Her body had just been recovered and Donnie had it on pretty good word that Ames had been her accomplice.

  He needed me to get downtown immediately.

  I smiled.

  Late Night News

  INDIE

  News of my death broke along with an unpleasant surprise.

  The news blared in the background of my apartment:

  BILLIONAIRE HEIR AMES CARMICHAEL FOUND DEAD AT 35. HIS DEATH HAS BEEN RULED A SUICIDE BY LOCAL LAW ENFORCEMENT. ON THE WAKE OF INDIE HOLLOWAY'S DEATH, WE HAVE TO ASK, JIM, ARE THESE TWO RELATED?

  The entertainment news reporter -- Jim Marlow -- speculated about my life and Ames' before his big reveal:

  ONE OF OUR SOURCES HAS CLAIMED THAT INDIE HOLLOWAY, BILLIONAIRE HEIRESS, AND AMES CARMICHAEL WERE LIKELY HAVING AN AFFAIR.

  AN AFFAIR, JIM?

  YES. WE CAN LOOK BACK AT THEIR SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS FOR EVIDENCE THIS MAY HAVE BEEN HAPPENING A LONG TIME.

  I rolled my eyes and shut off the television. Their evidence was either circumstantial or fabricated entirely. Continuing to watch sickened me.

  I couldn't help but remain addicted to what the media had to say about my death. I needed to see the details for myself. I searched on my phone, quickly pulling up a picture of myself that had been taken outside of one of Charlie Norbert's house parties in Arlington.

  My mother would take the news of my death the hardest. Hurting her was the worst part of what I'd done. I yearned to tell her the tr
uth, but the risk was too extreme. I'd shudder with discomfort each time I thought about how she'd react to my death. I didn't have to guess.

  She'd be beside herself. And Donnie? I hadn't even said goodbye to my cousin. I was still too angry with Jamal to care what he thought. He'd probably only be angry that he'd lost his precious cargo. According to the news, I'd been hit by a drunk driver and died on impact. My brother had identified my body himself.

  Later that night, they reported, Ames Carmichael shot himself.

  The reports led the witness, so you'd come to the conclusion that our two deaths were related. They were, but not in the way the media had assumed. Chills surged down my spine and I double-checked the locks on my front door.

  The news about Ames left me unsettled the more I read about it. Tired of the television, I scoured online news sources for any clues. Foul play instantly came to mind. If my brother shared the media's suspicion that Ames and I were having an affair...

  Gooseflesh prickled over every inch of my skin. My heart knew the truth. My brother killed Ames. And if he knew I was alive, he'd kill me too.

  I'd spent enough time in California that I'd settled into a sense of security. No one in Los Angeles recognized me, and I decided my worries had been paranoid delusions. At best, I had been a small-time celebrity in New York, with my few media appearances insufficient to make me a household name thousands of miles away. Los Angeles was studded with real celebrities who went out of their way to be in the limelight. I'd worked hard not to stand out.

  I couldn't allow myself to go through with my plans for plastic surgery. I canceled my appointments and mused about better ways to sink into subtlety. Laying low had been easy so far and I refused to complicate it. What I needed was to find some sort of job -- a method of remaining employed without getting myself in the press. Considering the positions I was qualified for, I knew that would be difficult.

  After what felt like hours of hawkishly perusing the news and scouring online job boards, I decided to leave my apartment. In California, I hadn't bothered with getting a driver. Staying inconspicuous would be easier without one, I determined.

  Cabin fever is no joke. I had believed that I could survive my time in California with no connections to my past easily. Survival was easy not getting bored was what proved difficult.

  I was used to having a packed social calendar filled with charity balls, benefit dinners, board meetings, mimosa brunches with the girls, family dinners, yacht parties, and executive lunches. Now, all that filled my days were thoughts of my past, the past that I'd left behind with no intention of returning to.

  I couldn't bring myself to consider dating in California at all. How would I explain my past to a man? Rich had been the closest I'd come to understanding. I released a heavy sigh.

  Shopping was the only activity I could think of that would cheer me up. I had been eyeing the Gucci boutique near my apartment which had just received the latest designs for the season. This season was the first time since I was 16 years old where I hadn't been right at the fashion show. And it was the first time since I turned 21 that I hadn't received Gucci gifts from designers personally.

  I walked into the store with thick black sunglasses on and my wig with no expectations that I would be recognized. Even if the news of my death had just broken, I expected it would be relegated to entertainment news and daytime television. The general public would have no interest in the passing away of a billionaires daughter. And anyway, I wasn't a billionaire's daughter anymore.

  I am Patsy, I repeated under my breath.

  In the store, I tried on a few pairs of shoes. I had always been a fan of high heels, and anything that would make my figure looks slimmer and added more impressive height to my dwarfish frame.

  I noticed the sales associates glancing at me, an experience that wasn't unfamiliar to me as a black woman who enjoyed luxury clothing.

  I knew I had to buy something, not just to assuage her suspicions, but to prove a point. I'm black. That doesn't mean I can't appreciate a good pair of Gucci shoes.

  I decided against the shoes at the last moment when I noticed a tiny scratch on the heels in my size. I wasn't eager to attract more attention from the sales associate so I didn't bother asking her to grab another pair from the back.

  Great. Her eyes remained glued to my neck and her coworker glanced up at me every few seconds, lacking the subtlety she imagined. I shifted my attention over to the bags, hoping that at least a new purse would do the trick of assuaging my shopping needs.

  Near the bags, the sales associates eyes continue to trail me. She took a few steps closer to me and I turned my back to her, praying she'd get the hint. My heart raced as she approached me with a determined stride. I pretended not to notice her, but when she tapped me on the shoulders I could no longer maintain the pretense.

  "Excuse me," she chirped. I turned around, leaving my sunglasses on and raising my eyebrows.

  "Has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like that celeb who just died… What was her name again? Indie! Indie Holloway!"

  My heart pounded through my chest. Bile rose to my throat and I did everything in my power to avoid looking like a terrified deer caught in the headlights.

  "No," I replied, "who is that?"

  My voice trembled slightly. I flew close to the sun and I my fears melted like hot wax, dripping down my spine in thick beads of sweat.

  "She just died. Poor girl. She was one of these famous New York heiresses. I always loved her on the runway."

  "Doesn't ring a bell," I said.

  The woman shrugged.

  "May I help you with anything, ma'am?"

  "Yes," I mumbled, "I think I'll buy this purse."

  The purse would have otherwise been my last choice but having come so close to being exposed, I panicked and I knew that I had to get out of the store immediately or I was at risk of having a panic attack. Or worse.

  I paid for the purse in cash, which surprised the sales associate. I grabbed the bag and hustled out to my car. Once I was in my car I locked the doors and rested my head against the steering wheel. Close call. Too close. Without Ames, my one emergency contact who had remained on my side throughout this entire transition, I had to be careful.

  Ames' death meant I was on my own for the first time.

  I decided against surgery, but I needed to do something else, something drastic to change my appearance. Indie Holloway had died, but now I had to kill her and kill any part of me that could remain connected to her.

  I had to acknowledge the permanence of my departure from New York.

  I drove home to my apartment, relieved that I would finally get some peace away from the prying eyes of the public. I no longer felt safe in California. Perhaps Ames was wrong about this being far enough. Perhaps there was some way I could head to either Mexico or Canada.

  One thing was clear. If I wanted to be safe from my brother, I would have to be far more careful.

  As I entered the apartment, Athena launched into a loud, excited barking and she limped over to me, raising her front paws to my chest and attempting to lick my face. I dodged her aggressive greeting, but hugged her and patted her on the head before filling her bowl with dog food.

  I set my new purse down on my bed and then walked into my bathroom, flicking the lights on. I stared at my face. I hadn't done anything to change my appearance since arriving because on some level, I was still attached to being Indie.

  Losing interest in her food, Athena bounded over to the bathroom, wagging her tail and making a strange gentle barking noise as if she were trying to tell me something.

  "What do you think?" I asked her, running my hands through the straight hair of my wig. It wasn't me. I'd been a natural girl at heart and while I enjoyed the occasional wig, I could never feel like myself.

  If I wasn't going to be Indie, I could at least gain the privilege of deciding who I was.

  Athena wagged her tail and stuck her tongue out.

  "I don't have
much of a choice, do I?"

  I still maintained some hope that I could be reunited with Richard and regain aspects of my old life. It was time for that hope to die. A lump grew in my throat as I considered saying goodbye to him.

  "I never got to say 'I love you'," I whispered out loud.

  Athena sat up straight, staring at me as if she could really understand. Her curious face and damp snout at least forced me to smile.

  I took off my wig, exposing my long natural hair to the brilliant fluorescent lights. The bright lighting cast a dark shadow across my face. I sighed and reached into the bathroom drawer for my hair clippers.

  I flicked them on.

  "Here goes, Athena," I mumbled.

  She rested her head on her front paws but didn't stop looking up at me.

  Bzzzzzzzt. Bzzzzzzt.

  The clippers tickled my palms with their vibrations. My hands trembled as I tilted my neck forward and began to shear close to my scalp. I pulled the clippers through my hair, yanking too hard at first and pulling on my hair harshly. I whimpered and then removed the clippers, beginning from the nape of my neck again.

  This time the clippers traveled through my hair smoothly. The weight on my head decreased as long thick coils of my hair fell to the ground at my feet. I didn't want to cry, but I couldn't help shedding a few tears.

  Hair wasn't all I was letting go of, but everything my hair meant to me and who it connected me too.

  I cut all of my hair to an uneven centimeter or so in length. To even it out, I had to cut down shorter. Every strand had to go. I continued my work, buzzing my hair until I looked like I was about to go to boot camp.

  I stared at the unfamiliar person looking back at me. I had to do more. Simply shaving my head wouldn't count. I imagined what I'd look like with colored contacts. Different clothes. I'd strip myself of every identity that could tie me to my old life. That's the only way I could run away from Jamal for good. I had no choice. If I didn't peel away those layers, sooner or later, word would spread that I'd been sighted and if word reached Jamal, I wouldn't have long.