Alpha Bait_BWWM Billionaire Romance Novel

by Jamila Jasper

  Jamal took everything from me and he'd left me a man with nothing yet to lose. There's nothing more dangerous than a man in that condition. A man in that condition will do anything, even if it is foolish. Even if it will end in him spending his entire life in jail.

  I couldn't recall when I'd last approached the Holloway office building, especially not on foot. The tall skyscraper appeared impressive, hovering over the city like Mount Olympus. The gods of the New York biotechnology industries battled above ground, making global decisions with swift signatures and hushed agreements sealed over drinks.

  I almost felt as if Jamal was looking down at me from his top floor office, expecting my arrival, ready to defend himself from what would be my final attack.

  On that day, I must have lucked out because there was no security in the front of the building. I hadn't expected that. Perhaps, by a stroke of dumb luck, my arrival in New York had been kept a secret.

  I had the access code to the elevator, something that I had gleaned from Indie without her knowledge. It was as if every moment in my life prior to that point had been preparing me for what I was about to face with no resistance. I entered the elevator and attempted to calm my nerves as I began the long ride to the top floor in a whooshing metal cage.

  I did not feel the least bit claustrophobic, but I would be lying to say that I did not feel nervous. I could defeat men in the boardroom and on the tennis courts, but I took to no delight in having to kill. I especially took no delight in having to kill Indie's brother. I had to, but I couldn't relish the task. To take pleasure in killing would have made me no better than him.

  The elevator swung to an abrupt stop, bringing me to my final chance to turn around, change my mind and decide to do something besides walk into Jamaal's office and shoot him. My breath burned with agitation.

  My hands were clammy and covered in sweat. I stuck them inside my jacket pocket, grasping for the metal handle of the gun. My slippery hands struggled to maintain their grip. I tightened my hands until my knuckles turned white.

  I wiped my hands on my coat before grasping the gun's handle again. Jamal's office stood at the end of a long hallway lit by a glowing orange light. I walked towards the door with an intensity of purpose.

  I would not leave this building with Jamal Holloway alive.

  I approached his office door which stood open just a few centimeters wide. I reached for the gun with one hand and pushed the door open with another, prepared to face my nemesis for the first time in months. This time, Jamal had no upper hand, no element of surprise, and I would defeat him

  However, when I opened the office door, I was not met with Jamal's face but his mother's. She sat at his desk and she barely looked up when I walked in almost as if she had been expecting me. Either that or she experienced such little fear that my presence that she did not react.

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Carmichael what brings you here today."

  "Gail..." I had intended to achieve the element of surprise, but I was the one who had been shocked.

  "You won't find Jamal here," she said flatly.

  Ah, she knew I was coming for him.

  "Where is he?"

  I was so determined to find Jamal that I did not care to find out what Gail was doing at his desk.

  "I'm sorry for your loss, Richard," Gail replied.

  I glanced into her eyes for the first time. I felt a pang of hurt as I noticed how much she reminded me of Indie. The shape of her eyes and her lips were a grim reminder of what I'd lost.

  "I am sorry for yours."

  "Your brother's death was a tragedy."

  I chuckled, "we both know that it was a little bit more than a tragedy."

  She pursed her lips.

  "And I am sorry for what my son has done."

  A confession. She didn't even flinch to confess it. Perhaps she'd seen too much to become sensitive to violence. Our families had been at war for too long for it to shock her.

  "Thanks for the apology.”

  "You're not the only one who has lost people from this fighting," she reminded me.

  I did not need to be reminded of Indie's death. From the moment I heard the news, I had remained in a state of disbelief. My mind raced with possibilities, with ways I could either explain or justify it.

  "Your son is the reason that your daughter is dead," I announced.

  She looked up at me and smiled.

  I found her smile unnerving. There was nothing funny here, nothing amusing. Grief was all that hung rank in the room.

  "My daughter is not dead."

  Okay, I was dealing with a crazy woman. Perhaps she hung on to the delusion because she had no other hope. She had to believe that her son could not be a killer for her to continue. Otherwise, she would have to call in to question what sort of person she supported. She'd have to reflect on raising a cold-blooded murderer. I could easily see why that would be difficult for a mother to admit.

  "I received the news. There was a funeral. She's dead," I replied, not intending to sound cold.

  I couldn't allow myself to be naïve here.

  Gail lost her smile and instead began to look at me as if I were both too pathetic and naïve for her to handle.

  "Don't you think a mother would know if her daughter had died?"

  It was a fair question but not one that I was keen on answering.

  "If she's not dead, then who did you bury?"

  She shrugged.

  "It is not my concern who was buried. But I know that my daughter is not dead. She's too smart for Jamal. I have this inkling, this sense that she found a way to escape and when she is ready, I believe she will come back."

  Gail appeared at peace with her beliefs. Nothing I could say here would change her mind.

  The gun in my hands continued to go unacknowledged between us and I relaxed my grip on the weapon. I'd come for Jamal, not an innocent old woman who couldn't defend herself.

  As much as I hated to admit it, Gail expressed a delusional hope that I to craved to cling to. Perhaps there had been some way that Indie had survived her brother's rampage. Perhaps she had outsmarted him in a way that my own brother hadn't found a way to.

  "Where is your proof?" I asked, "An inkling isn't enough."

  Gail shrugged, "I don't need proof. I have my faith."

  "The only thing I have faith in my ability to take care of myself and my people. Tell me where Jamal is so I can do what I came here to do."

  I grew impatient with her non-answers. If she wasn't sure her daughter was alive, I had no interest in false hopes.

  Gail then looked into my eyes intently. She peered into them as if she were trying to find my soul, or perhaps figure out if I even had one.

  "Do you think that killing my son will bring your brother back?"

  "I don't want to bring my brother back. I want revenge."

  She sighed.

  "Revenge. That's what started all of this didn't it?"

  "My father started all of this. But he is not the only one to blame."

  I did not expect her to agree with me, but she nodded.

  "You're right. We have continued this fight when we would have all been allies."

  "I was foolish to believe you could've put a stop to it," I retorted, not intending to cut her deeply, but having accomplished that goal.

  Again, she smiled.

  "Have you met Jamal? He is a very tenacious boy. Stubborn. He has always been that way."

  "Then you should have taken control of him long ago."

  "What am I supposed to do? I'm an old woman. A widow. I would have nothing if it weren't for my husband or for my children. They are all I have."

  "If it were up to your family, I would have no one left. Excuse me if I am lacking in sympathy."

  "It is not your sympathy I want, Richard."

  "Then what is it you want?"

  "I want an end to this."

  "And you expect me to end it?" I snorted.

  I could hardly see how the burden of endin
g the fight was on my shoulders.

  She sighed, "I have not expected anything from anyone for a long time. I have my hopes. And I hope that you're man enough to put an end to things in a way that my husband or my son never could."

  "Convenient that I'm the one who has to stop this fight after my family lies dead."

  "I am sorry Richard. But if you could hear an old woman's plea for mercy... Spare my son. Demonstrate that you are willing to stop this fight. If you do so, I will use every bit of influence I have to ensure this is over for good. No more fighting. No more bad blood between the Holloways and the Carmichaels. This is all I ask of you."

  I snorted.

  "Oh, that's all? It's no small task you ask of me"

  "I know. But I hope that you will be wise enough to see that all this violence can come to no good end."

  "Have you tried having this discussion with your own son?" I huffed.

  "Like I said, my son is stubborn.."

  "And if I help you? Let's say, I do not kill your son. How would that benefit me? How would that benefit my family? We have lost our brightest minds. We have lost so much that I do not think our company or our family will ever recover. So how then, can you expect me to make a decision that can only benefit you."

  "I suspect this is not just about my son," Gail replied, in a hushed rasping voice.

  "What do you mean?"

  My hands trembled again. The rush I'd been expecting hadn't come and I grew impatient to leave the office and find out Jamal's true location.

  "I suspect it is also about my daughter."

  She threw the words out there suspiciously. I gave her nothing to hold onto.

  "Your daughter did not deserve to die," I said, hoping that my words would do nothing to betray my true feelings.

  "I heard the rumors. I heard what they said about your brother and Indie."

  "These rumors were unfounded," I growled.

  She smiled then, a sparkle in her eyes but now glowed the color of blood oranges.

  "But there was a bit of truth to them, wasn't there?"

  "I don't have a damn clue what you mean," I growled.

  I must've appeared more flustered than I realized because her eyes glimmered with a recognition that indicated I had betrayed my position.

  "Spare my son, I will help you find her. I will prove that she is alive, Richard."

  I wanted to believe her. I wanted to take Gail up on her offer and believe that somewhere out there, Indie lived. I wanted to believe that we would get a chance to see each other again. I wanted to believe that our family feud would come to an end and there would be a chance at happily ever after.

  The war between us had grown so bad that I couldn't believe that such naïve fantasies would ever come true. Despite Gail Holloway's promises, I needed more to hold onto the hope that Indie lived.

  "I'm sorry Gail. I can't do that. I'm going to leave today knowing that you will probably tell your son that I have come here. This will make it much harder to kill him, but rest assured the next time I see him will be the very last time."

  I tried to sound tough like she hadn't come close to changing my mind.

  "And there's nothing I can do to convince you otherwise?"

  "No," I replied

  "If my daughter is alive, how do you think she will react when she finds out you have killed her brother?"

  "Leave me to fight my own demons," I replied.

  I left the office and walked back to my aunt Bryn's place.

  Jamal could wait another day. I didn't worry about finding him again. I'd find him even if it took ten years. It wouldn't be that long. I could sense that.

  And while I could not admit it to Gail Holloway, she had given me the faintest glimmer of hope that perhaps, my love was still alive.

  Winnetka

  INDIE

  The substantial funds Ames gave to me enabled me to stay on my feet until I could find a job. I had grown too fearful of recognition to survive much longer in Southern California. I had to move somewhere where no one would find me and no one would expect. That led me to the state of Illinois.

  Until you know Illinois, it's easy to think of it as just another part of flyover country. I had very little knowledge about the state or about the city, but I figured that would make it an even better place for me to settle down. I rented an apartment in a wealthy suburb of Chicago called Winnetka.

  My apartment was a small, cozy studio, nondescript in nearly every way with as few amenities as I could afford to get by on. I still relied on a few luxuries that I'd grown accustomed to from my past, but my new assistant asked only a few questions and my house staff asked even fewer.

  My apartment was on the fifth floor of a 10-floor building. I furnished my studio without the help of an interior decorator for the first time in my life. I had never known how much detail and how much work goes into setting up your own space. The West Coast made me independent and I quickly adjusted to doing more on my own. I had to be frugal -- a new concept to me. I began to cherish my sense of independence and found new joy in the life I have chosen outside of my family.

  Athena enjoyed the new place too. Moving her across the country in the middle of the night hadn't been easy, but once she bound into the apartment, I could sense my pup felt at home.

  "Me too," I told her, comforted by Athena's companionship, even if she were mute on subjects like interior desire.

  As Patsy, I could live like a normal American. I didn't have to be enclosed by my sheltered life, protected by bodyguards and security, ogled, admired and envied alike. As Patsy, I had never felt like more myself. My buzzcut, my pup, and my new place gave me intoxicating freedom.

  The one person I wanted to share it with, was the only one I missed from my old life.

  In my new town, I was far less worried about being discovered. With my new shaved head, I didn't think I'd have to worry much. I bought two pairs of gold hoops, including brassy gold bamboo earrings that I recognize from high school music videos.

  After a week in Chicago, I even got a job. With my credentials, which although forged matched my true credentials rather closely, I landed a position as the chief financial officer of a midsized company based in the middle of Chicago.

  For the first time, I took the train to work and had to claw my way in all on my own.

  And I could do it. If I'd known how little I needed my family, perhaps that would have made following Rich across the world easier. I missed him.

  Rather than working in tech where I would easily be recognized, or in the medical field where I had an equal chance of recognition, I had moved on to sports journalism. I knew little about journalism and less about sports. However, meetings and proposals were easy to muddle through thanks to all these front-row tickets to Knicks games that my brother had procured through for us throughout our teens and early 20s.

  In a short space of time, I grew comfortable with Chicago. I had plenty of money, now I had a job, and I did not think that anyone in my family could ever find me.

  After stopping at a small restaurant near my house for Thai take-out, I arrived home with a nagging feeling that something was wrong. I approached my door slowly, looking for something out of place. My mail had not been touched, I detected no footsteps in the hallway, and by all appearances everything was fine.

  It was when my palms touched the door handle, shaking with anticipation that I could not yet understand, that I know that something is wrong. Someone else had been here. When I turned the knob, the door was unlocked. I never left my door unlocked, for obvious reasons.

  I was scared to step inside, terrified of what I would find. I feared that I had been robbed or worse, my brother had found the outage had sent someone with the sole purpose of ending my life. I countered, by acknowledging the possibility that somehow Rich had found me.

  The thought comforted me.

  I could not live in fear for the rest of my life. While I could stand to live as Patsy, I could not live as a terrified woman.
r />   "Hello?" I called into the hallway. The noise echoed and instead of a response, I heard a shuffling noise.

  I called again, "hello?"

  My second greeting inspired a response.

  I heard a familiar voice replied back to me, "Hello, Indie."

  My head grew light. Dizzy, I swallowed the lump in my throat and attempted to appear tough while my eyes scanned the room for an escape plan. The most obvious was out my front door, but I imagined Donnie had people waiting in the streets, ready to grab me and throw me in a trunk back to New York.

  My heart rate quickened.

  My cousin Donnie stood before me in the center of my studio apartment with a look of anguish on his face. At least it was anguish and not the cold-hearted reptilian stare I had seen in my brother's eyes when he had dropped me off at Will Harkness's place to be used.

  "How the hell did you find me?" I snapped.

  Donnie didn't scare me. Although he killed somebody, I knew that he had only done it out of self-defense, and he had taken no enjoyment out of the process. We grew apart since the incident, but I did not genuinely believe that he carried the malice that my brother did in his heart.

  "It took a lot of hard work. And a lot of money."

  "That money was wasted. You either have to kill me or when you leave here, I will disappear and make sure that you never find me again."

  "I did not come to hurt you, Indie," he said gently.

  Before everything that had happened, I would've trusted my cousin implicitly. Now, I had no clue who to trust.

  "What do you want?"

  "Your hair..." He mumbled.

  Of course, that was all he noticed.

  "I don't want to talk about my hair. Why did you come here? Why the hell did you track me down?" I had started yelling now with a frenetic rage that I had never allowed myself to express.

  I had every right to my anger. My own family had forced me into hiding after I'd sacrificed everything for them. They forced me to change my identity and to leave behind everything about who I once was. I feared more than anything that Donnie would take me back in one last act of defiance against my right to self-determination.