Risky Business_A Reverse Harem Romance

by Bethany Jadin

  I eye Jeremy suspiciously for several moments before speaking. “He knew the program is mine?”

  “No, dear, the program is mine. That’s what the fine print says right there,” he sneers, pointing a finger at the paperwork. “But he knew you’d worked on it. And he knew I’d cut you out.”

  “Me? He knew it was me — my name?” I stress the question. I can’t stand asking Jeremy for anything, even information. I’m disgusted with every second this conversation continues, but I have to know for sure. “You told him who I was?”

  “Of course,” he shrugs. “It was no big secret. I knew you couldn’t prove you had any rights to the program, so what did I care? I told him I’d fucked my partner, in more ways than one.” Jeremy laughs at his own joke while my skin crawls.

  I glare at him, daggers in my eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

  He smirks. “Like I give a shit what you believe. It doesn’t change the facts, cupcake. He didn’t give two fucks where that program came from. He was payed a pretty penny to work with me, and that’s all he cared about.”

  I close my eyes and toss the contract on the bench. If I ask Daniel, he’ll explain. I have no reason to believe he’s been anything other than honest with me, and I am not about to begin doubting him now, especially not in front of Jackass. For all I know, that signature is forged, and Jeremy is lying through his goddamn teeth. He was a shitty fucking boyfriend, but I learned the hard way that he was absolutely exceptional at deceit.

  “It’s time for me to go,” I announce, scooping the hair tie up from the wooden seat and slipping it over my hand, down to my wrist.

  “Oh, not so fast,” Jackass says, straightening up.

  What the fuck now. “No,” I say through clenched teeth. “We’ve had our meeting, I’ve agreed to everything, and now I’m leaving.”

  The Ice Queen steps toward me as I stand up. “Sit back down,” she says firmly, her eyes flashing with malice. “We’ll let you know when you’re done.”

  I hold my ground for a moment, breathing fire out of my nose, indignation coursing through me as I stare at her. But who am I kidding? If they wanted me to do a tap-dance wearing a clown suit, I’d be fucking dancing up a jig in a minute, because I have no option to refuse. Without shifting my gaze away from her face, I slowly sit back down in silence.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jeremy reach into the folder and retrieve a stack of photographs. “Here ya go,” he says, tossing them on my lap. “Let’s call this Exhibit B, shall we?”

  I don’t want to look down. I know I’m not going to want to see whatever’s in those pictures. I would trade a thousand offers for the code to not look at them. The Ice Queen clears her throat as I stare straight ahead, refusing to lower my eyes. “We don’t have all day. Get to it. Now.”

  The stack of photos seems to weigh a hundred pounds as I lift them from my lap. I swallow hard and look down at the glossy paper in my hands. I’m confronted with Daniel and Jeremy, many years younger, standing next to a Humvee in what appears to be the middle of a desert with barren mountains in the background. Daniel is holding a drone, and Jeremy handles the game-console style controller. There they are, smiles on both their faces. Two peas in a pod — proudly showing off the ill-gotten technology.

  Jeremy leans forward. “That’s a great picture, isn’t it? Really encapsulates the spirit of the time. But I think the next one is even better.”

  Gritting my teeth, I shuffle to the photo underneath, and more of my world falls into the growing abyss threatening to swallow me whole. My God in heaven. Jeremy and Daniel have been joined by a third person. Jude looks so handsome in his military uniform that my heart leaps for a second before plummeting straight down through my chest, ending in a fiery crash.

  “Oh yeah, it wasn’t just Daniel. I’ve heard Mr. Turner, there, goes by the nickname Chief. Well, your little boss man signed my paperwork, too.” Jeremy flips through the folder and pulls out a sheet of paper. “Look,” he says, shoving it in front of my face. “It’s my exit interview, and the commanding officer of the test sites was very much in favor of me receiving the big bonus the DoD promised if everything went according to plan.” He reaches a finger out and taps the paper. “Right there, see it?”

  I recognize that signature as well, though I’ve never seen his rank placed before it. Major Jude Turner. I stare at the paper, a numbness settling into my body.

  “Oh, yes,” Jeremy says. “He was very eager to implement the new technology. He and Daniel were buddy-buddy, even then. I’m sure he knew the details about how I got the program. But he’s a user, Emma. He didn’t care about someone like you then, and he sure as hell doesn’t care about someone like you now. He wants you for the same reason I wanted you — what you can offer him. Tell me, how well do you know any of the men you’ve been sleeping with?”

  Even though I know it’s exactly what he was hoping for, the words still sting. I swallow again, pushing back the rising tide of insecurity Jeremy was always so good at settling on my shoulders.

  I sit back, feeling a boulder of sorrow sinking through my chest, crushing everything in its path. I need to get out of here. I glance down the path toward Desmond, and I can tell by his expression that he sees my turmoil and knows I’m nearing the end of my rope. He gestures subtly, a silent question — should the team move in? I shake my head the tiniest bit, no. I’m captive until these sadists give their blessing for me to leave, stuck with the Ice Queen and the man who is my mortal enemy until they’ve determined I’ve suffered enough.

  Jackass notices my attention is waning. “Just a few more, cupcake,” he tells me, reaching out to pat me on the shoulder.

  I cringe, jerking away from him. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

  “So feisty,” he says with a laugh. “Fine, have it your way. Let’s just keeping looking through these pictures. Lots of great stuff in there.”

  The urge to flee is so strong, my legs are shaking. But I draw in a deep breath, resolving to flip through the photos as quickly as I can. Just look, flip, look, flip, and be done with it. But the very next picture is a sight that cuts deep. My sweet Gunner, beer bottle in hand — and a tall, gorgeous blonde snuggled against him. He’s looking young and handsome, and I can’t help but feel a stab of pain at seeing him cozied up to another woman, but it’s the fact that he stands next to Jeremy, both of them in tuxedos, that makes my gut churn.

  Jeremy leans over far enough to tap at the picture. “Man, that guy’s a barrel of fun. Up for anything. The things that man can convince a woman to do — hot, damn — I’ve never had so much fun in my life. But I don’t need to tell you that, do I? You know how convincing he can be, don’t ya? Our guy didn’t get any footage of the show you put on for him on that kitchen table, but his description was colorful enough.”

  I wince and pull my shoulders in, wishing I could curl into a fetal position and just die right there. I have no smartass retort to offer. Jeremy’s hitting every tender spot I have — my stupid mistake that led to Zoey’s abduction, my feelings for the guys, my trust in them, even my new-found sexual confidence.

  My ex reaches over and shuffles the photos in my hand. “Let’s get this moving along, shall we? Still so much to see. Oh, here’s a good one — my yacht. I know how much you love my yacht.”

  I don’t want to look, and yet my eyes drift down. Trigg is in white linens and dark sunglasses, a smile on his sun-kissed face. The other pictures were definitely from years ago, but this one looks recent. He and Jeremy actually have their arms slung about one another’s shoulders, fishing reels in hand.

  Jeremy finally gets out of my personal space and sits back. “You can ask Trigg all about the yacht. He’s there all the time. Never misses a fishing outing. He can describe the guest berths, too. Only the best hookers for my guests, after all. Real high-priced bitches. Girls that know how to do all the things your buddy Gunner loves.”

  He’s just saying the things he knows will hurt. That’s what I’m trying to tell
myself. Jeremy’s always been gifted with knowing exactly which words will hit me the hardest. He has to be making this stuff up. Maybe he spent weeks dreaming up the worst things he could think of. BHC has nearly unlimited resources. The best photoshop experts money can buy would be able to make almost anything look real, wouldn’t they? Logically, none of the stuff he’s saying makes sense. But emotionally, it’s tearing me apart inside. It’s working. I flex the muscles in my belly and chest, desperate to hold back the upwelling of tears threatening to take over.

  “You’re so full of shit,” I spit, trying to find my anger, clutching onto it with everything I can to keep from crying.

  He gives me a look that almost borders on sympathy. “Sorry, Emma. You’ve just got the shittiest judge of character, don’t you?”

  Steeling myself, vowing to keep my mouth shut, I let my fingers curl into a fist. I’m not going to reply to that. I’m done fucking talking. But the damage is done. I hate that I don’t know the stories these pictures are telling. I hate that there’s so much the guys haven’t told me. I hate that there are gaps in my knowledge, enough to make it impossible for me to know if Jeremy’s filling my heart with lies, or if I’ve truly been so goddamn naïve that I missed all the warning signs that the guys have been taking me for a ride. But most of all, I hate Jeremy with a new depth I couldn’t even imagine before now. I hate that he’s succeeding in planting doubts in my mind. That he’s ripping my world apart minute by minute. Tearing everything I love away from me.

  Through my haze, I see him holding up another photograph. It’s grainy and a little blurry, like it was taken with a cheap camera, but a hard shiver runs through me as I recognize the face staring at me from the left side of the picture. No. Just no.

  “Now him—” Jeremy exclaims, “—he’s damn hard to get a picture of.”

  The lighting is harsh, and he has a dark beard, but there’s no mistaking those gorgeous blue eyes. There’s a scowl on Jax’s face as he looks up at the camera as though he’s not expecting to be photographed. Jeremy’s in this picture as well, though not side-by-side with Jax. But they are there together in the same room, surrounded by a shit load of computer equipment, the glow of several open laptops casting an eerie glow on them.

  Between Jax’s beard and the university T-shirt Jeremy is wearing, a thought pops into my head with a sharp stab. I hate myself for uttering the words, but I have to ask, “When was this taken?”

  Jeremy folds an ankle over his knee, contemplating the question. “Why, I would say it was right around the time my life changed. In fact, that was the night I packed up my shit and left with the program — but not before I called a friend to help me remove all traces of the program from everything you owed. If I remember correctly, you were off playing miniature golf or bowling or some other stupid thing with that loser study group of yours, none the wiser that I was busy cleaning house.”

  I can’t help but stare at him. I’ve always wondered how every copy of the program had mysteriously disappeared that night, along with Jeremy and his belongings. Nothing was physically missing — my laptop, thumb drives, and even the encrypted secondary hard drive I’d never told Jeremy about were all exactly where I’d left them, but there wasn’t so much as a snippet of the code on any of them.

  “Oh yeah,” Jeremy nods. “Jax is every bit as good as people say. He came highly recommended. Had to take out a loan just to pay him for an hour’s work, but he did a great job — and hell, I knew I was going to be rolling in the money soon, so it was worth it. In fact, he’s the one who told me to look for a hidden drive.” Jeremy taps his head then points at me. “You were smart with that one, Emma — in a hollowed out copy of The Da Vinci Code of all places, so clever — but he’s smarter. I took all your shit to him, and he had it wiped clean in no time.”

  Every muscle in my body tenses, and the hairs at the back of my neck stand up. This is too much. My body can’t keep up with the legion of emotions crowding through at once.

  “But boy, he doesn’t like being photographed,” Jeremy continues. “I can’t blame him. Not with all the shady shit he’s been involved in.”

  A wave of nausea hits me, and I double over. Jeremy reaches out and strokes my hair, tucking a strand of it behind my ear. The panic attack clawing its way through my chest prevents me from smacking him away, and my eyes water as my stomach clamps down. Another surge of adrenaline shoots through me, making my heart pound and my whole body tremble.

  He scoots closer and leans his head down, the heat of his breath hitting my ear as he whispers. “You really have fucked up taste in men if I’m the most honest one you’ve ever let get between your legs.”

  10

  Daniel

  Trigg is down the hallway, pushing the bathroom door with a single finger, cautiously leaning in afterward to take a good look around.

  “It’s been cleared,” Jude yells from the couch when he hears the door creak open. “I had them do it twice.”

  It doesn’t matter. Trigg is doing the same thing with his eyes as I am with my equipment. While he physically prowls each room of Emma’s apartment, I’m conducting a scan of every electrical device I can find. Even the smart fridge isn’t off limits tonight. It’s not that we don’t trust Jude’s guys. It’s that we need to check for ourselves, just to be sure. And it’s also giving us something to do to stay busy while we wait for Emma to return.

  Trigg moves back to the living room, wandering over to the window. He stares down at the street below as if he can make Emma appear by wishful thinking alone.

  Jude watches him from the couch. He’s taking up nearly the whole damn thing. Both his arms are slung over the back, and his legs are spread wide. But that’s not the thing that’s annoying me — I won’t be sitting down until I’ve finished combing through the apartment for anything I might have missed on my first pass. It’s the fact that both of Jude’s shoes are drumming ferociously on the bottom shelf of the coffee table, his feet in perpetual motion. Despite all his desire to sit still and not stress out, it isn’t working, and the constant tap tap tap is beginning to drive me nuts.

  It’s been hell not seeing her the last thirty-six hours. Not even knowing where she was for sure, because that was part of the plan. We’d asked the security firm to keep her location under wraps, even from us, on the off chance we’d let something slip and BHC would be able to intercept it. We’ve just had to rely on a few scant texts of code to verify that all was well. None of us realized how hard that would be when we approved this plan. Today, amid all the damage control at Pentabyte, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. As the day wore on and all we were getting was a code word here and there, the unease in my chest had blossomed into what it is now — a massive ball of unspent anxiety.

  I’d like to think it’s because I’m worried for her safety, but in all reality, I know she’s in the best possible hands. The truth is, it’s because I want her here with me. In the wee hours of morning, just before the sun came up, when we finally turned off the lights at Pentabyte and settled in on office couches or grabbed a spot on the floor for a few hours of rest, I slept holding a pillow. A fucking pillow. I should be well adjusted to sleeping alone — that’s what I’ve done most nights over the years. But last night, I found myself clutching that damn pillow as though it could somehow provide enough comfort to help me forget I don’t want to sleep alone anymore.

  I was exhausted. Sleep should have been easy. But my mind kept drifting to the first night she slept curled up in my arms, the two of us surrounded by rose petals. When she’d rolled over in her sleep and pressed her cheek against mine, her breath smelt of strawberries and champagne. I could use some of that right now. Jude could, too — he’s about to jitter a hole in his shoes over there.

  “They never got a goddamn foot in the building, you guys,” Jude says as I come back into the living room from my second round of thorough searching. His constant nervous tapping isn’t helping alleviate his anxiety any more than running scans have helped
me.

  “They did it all wirelessly, we know,” I tell him. The extensive security sweep of the building took longer than we anticipated — over 24 hours — and the team just left a while ago. But, they didn’t find anything, so we sent the all-clear signal to Emma’s security team, and she should be arriving any minute.

  “The apartment is clean,” I announce, powering down my laptop.

  “I fucking told you that already,” Jude huffs.

  I ignore his comment. I know it’s just the situation. Normally, he wouldn’t take it as a personal affront that Trigg and I have been triple checking the work done by his guys. And I also know that if he had the ability to do what I can with computers, he’d have this place looking like the bridge of the Starship Enterprise.

  “This is fucking bland,” Gunner says with a disgruntled face, setting a carton of Lo Mein down.

  Chinese takeout litters nearly every square inch of Emma’s dining room table. Gunner ordered practically the entire menu in his search for something that sounded good. He digs into another carton, shoveling several bites into his mouth before tossing it back on the table with the other barely touched containers. “They call that fucking Orange Chicken? There’s no goddamn oranges in it.”

  Trigg turns from the window and watches Gunner pick through the takeout boxes for a moment before returning his gaze back to the street. We all know the missing ingredient, but none of us say her name. If Emma were here, she’d probably go to the kitchen in search of pepper flakes or soy sauce for the big guy. Then again, if she were here, the food probably wouldn’t taste bland.

  “Fuck this,” Gunner exclaims. He’s gone DefCon 4 with his profanity tonight. He shoves a platter of eggrolls away, causing several cartons to tip over, noodles and bits of meat and vegetables spilling out. The big guy scowls silently, staring at the mess he made but not moving to clean it up.

  “That all tastes like shit.” He stands and heads to the kitchen. “I’m not fucking hungry, anyway.”