Violent Cravings: A Dark Billionaire Romance

by Linnea May

  "I am," I assure the room. I have no idea whose voice ripped right through my wandering mind before Lemon nudged me in the side. They all look and sound the same to me. "I'm with you, gentlemen – and woman."

  That's a lie. I have no idea what they were bickering about before my mind started to drift off. This acquisition is not a friendly one, but as hostile as things can get in this business. These guys know they're lost without us, but they're unwilling to give up easily. It's easy to think that we're doing them a favor by buying out their failing endeavor, but that's only a mistake an oblivious idiot would make. They're sitting on a gold mine, providing us with a lot more than they are aware of.

  That's exactly what pisses me off about them. They have no idea what they're doing, and they're failing because of that. We will make their efforts blossom in a way they never could, but we will have to agree to a deal that satisfies both parties first, something that has ended up being a lot more difficult than expected. They're dumb, but stubborn. I'd actually be willing to come closer to their demands, if they were posing them for the right reasons, that is. If they knew how much their organization was actually worth, all of this would look very different.

  But they don't. They think they're selling us shit, something that is doomed to fail, and they still have the audacity to make a fucking gamble out of this. They're young and stupid. Impertinent brats.

  "Any words on the proposal Michael just voiced?" one of them asks. He's one of the founders, one of those guys who wanted to live the dream of successful Silicon Valley entrepreneurs without acquiring the knowledge he needed to do it. Pathetic. He's not much younger than I am, but it's hard for me to take him seriously nonetheless.

  "Why are we doing this?" I ask in an exasperated voice. "We've made our conditions clear, and now you're getting back at me with this because you realized you don't want to let go of your ownership stakes completely?"

  Lemon sighs next to me. I know he doesn't like my tone, but I've been toning it down enough for these clowns. They need to know what's what, and no one but me is willing to speak out in the way that's needed to make our point.

  "But, Mr. Hawkins, you have to see that we can't agree under these circumstances," the guy insists, his eyes scanning the faces sitting around the table for approval. No one but his buddy is nodding in agreement.

  I lazily turn my gaze over to Lemon, who nervously shifts in his seat next to me. He's just as annoyed as I am, but he's the decent one between us, always opting to avoid the truth rather than having to be as impolite as his impossible boss. He subtly lifts his hand, beckoning me to restrain myself. I'm more than happy to leave this conversation up to him because these idiots annoy the hell out of me.

  This acquisition should have been done and over with a long time ago, and it's taken a lot more of my time and effort than I ever imagined it would. It was a way for me to put the cherry on top when it comes to this year's business achievements. I've always been a hard worker, but for the past twelve months, work has taken over every single fiber of my being.

  I couldn't have lived any other way. I needed work to get away from the soul sucking void she left within me. Having to let Laura go was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my life, compared only to a time long ago that I'd like to forget about.

  The time I almost destroyed my life. For the same reason.

  Women. Women and my obsession with them. Laura has been a threat to my sanity from the get-go. I knew that, and I still pulled her into my life.

  Because that's the kind of fucking idiot I am.

  I will never forget the way she looked at me. The image is burned into my brain with painful clarity. I led her upstairs, sparing her the blindfold that every other girl had to wear when leaving the basement play room. My hands couldn't let go of her until the very last moment, and I noticed her doing the same. She took a deep breath when I hugged her goodbye – another thing I've never done with anyone else before – and her tiny hands sought mine every chance they got.

  We kissed in the driveway, a long, hungering kiss that spoke of the sorrow our parting left with us, and when I met her eyes for the last time, they mirrored my pain.

  I've seen that look before. A lot of girls have lost themselves in me after our playtime was done, but this was the first time that the feeling was mutual.

  My fingers caressed along the faint bruises on her neck, stark reminders of our time together but nowhere near as pervasive as the ones she displayed on other parts of her body.

  "Bye, master," she whispered, her voice so low that it was barely audible. Her words pierced right through my heart nevertheless.

  The pain of her loss was unbearable, and it still is.

  They say that despair grows greatness, and I guess this is true in a sense. Onyx Corporation is in the process of wrapping up its first acquisition, and it's not a small one. This is the product of months of hard work undertaken by a man who had nothing else in his life to live for. Me. If I didn't have this, I would have gone insane.

  It's been almost an entire year, and the pain still feels as fresh as it did the first day after I had to let her go. I haven't heard a word from her since because I stuck to my rule of never contacting her again – and so did she. A part of me is angry at her for not breaking the rule, but a much bigger part is proud of her, proud and impressed. Other girls weren't as strong as her. They were bombarding me with silly texts just hours after I let them go, reducing my already low opinion of them. It just made it easier for me to cut them out of my life for good.

  I don’t know what I would have done if she had contacted me. I seriously don’t know.

  And that scares the shit out of me.

  Chapter 28

  Ryan

  "What's with you lately, man?"

  I look up from my desk to find Lemon marching into my office, closing the door behind him before he approaches my giant desk and sits down opposite me. He's the only person on the planet I'd ever allow to invade my space like this, and he knows it.

  Lemon has been my closest associate for years, and he's become a lot more than just my personal assistant and adviser. He's the only man I'd call a friend.

  "Nothing is with me," I insist. "These guys just annoy the hell out of me, and you know very well why. I just want this damn deal to be done with."

  "Yes, we all do," Lemon agrees, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs. "And I share your sentiment, but I can guarantee you that your attitude won't make things any easier or make this deal develop any faster."

  I hate that he's right about that. I'm shooting myself in the foot, again. Lemon is the only guy who has the guts to point this out to me, another reason I respect him, as much as I hate it when he's right.

  "I'm sorry," I bring forth. "It’s just not my day today."

  I try to evade his inquiring gaze, instead occupying myself with some files in front of me, aimlessly stacking papers and moving random objects around on my desk, trying to signal that this conversation is over for me.

  But it isn't over for him.

  "Found anyone yet?" he asks casually, as if we're talking about a new employee.

  My eyes meet his. Furrowing my eyebrows, I refuse to deign him with an answer.

  "That's none of your business."

  "It is if it affects our business, Ryan," he says. "And I know it's that time again. It has been a year, hasn't it?"

  I give him a silent stare in response.

  "I'm only making sure," he says, lifting his hands in a defensive way. "No reason to get mad at me."

  "This doesn't concern you," I tell him. "Stay out of it."

  He sighs, his eyes moving toward the window and resting on the view of the skyline beneath us. He folds his hands in his lap and his shoulders slump. I know he's uncomfortable with this. He doesn't understand it, and he'd be freaked out if he knew what exactly it is that I'm taking from these women. He doesn’t know the details, but he’s familiar with the basics. He knows I need my annual retreat,
and he knows the reasons for it.

  "You're right, it doesn't concern me," he says. "But you can't forbid me not to worry about this, when there's even the slightest chance it could ruin our acquisition."

  "This is ridiculous," I snap at him. "Just fucking trust me when I say that it won't. I'm just in a bad mood and these guys, they-"

  "It's not about them!" he insists, interrupting me in an unusually loud voice for him. "I know what you're like when you're simply annoyed, Ryan. You may spit curses behind people's back, but you always control your temper when you're with them. You know how to play by the rules - but only when you are yourself."

  I let out a huff, casting him an amused look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  Lemon hesitates, his gaze nervously traveling from the skyline to his lap, to me, to my desk, and back to the skyline, before he finds the courage to meet my eyes for more than a split second.

  "I know the last one left you a little... unraveled," he says. "That waitress. I told you this was risky, stepping out of your routine, asking a normal girl to do this instead of buying one-"

  "Don't call her that," I hiss, cutting him off.

  He raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Don't call her what?"

  "The waitress," I repeat. "It's disrespectful. She's more than that."

  "Whatever," he says, sighing. "You never told me her name, so how else am I going to refer to her than by her occupation?"

  I wave him off.

  "Forget it," I say. "This is not about her."

  That's an outrageous lie, and he knows it. But – luckily for him – he doesn't call me out on it.

  "Have you been looking?" he asks instead. "For a new one, I mean."

  I nod. "Yes, I've started."

  "At the agency?"

  "Yes, at the agency," I snarl. "Seriously, Lemon, stay out of this. Just trust me."

  He raises his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side as he contemplates his next words. I know this all very fascinating to him. An agency that sells high-class escorts, presented in a catalog and made to order, depending on the client's preferences. Lemon is as vanilla as a man can be, secure in a long-term relationship with his wife, who's finally carrying their first child. They've been trying to conceive for quite a while, and even I was able to sincerely offer my congratulations when it finally happened. Lemon is a good man, an innocent man, very careful and secure in everything he does. In many aspects, he's the exact opposite of me, which is why he makes such a good partner.

  "I do trust you," he says eventually. "But I also worry. Like I said, last year, you-"

  "You're imagining things," I interrupt him again. "I was fine last year, and I will be fine again this year. You have nothing to worry about, especially not when it comes to this acquisition."

  I pause for a moment, my gaze locking onto his.

  "You know I'd never jeopardize business," I add, my words strong and underlined with candor.

  He nods, holding my gaze.

  "Yes, I know," he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

  He gets up from his chair, breathing noisily as he hoists his weight up. Maybe I should be more worried about him. He has put on a lot of weight since the announcement of his wife's pregnancy.

  "Just find a new one," he says, as if it was that simple. "And be sure to stick to the catalog this time."

  I huff. "Get your ass back to work."

  He winks at me, and I watch as he leaves the office and the heavy door closes behind him.

  Lemon is a smart man, but he still makes it easy to lie to him, almost too easy. It's true that I've started to browse through the agency's catalog, but I still couldn't be further from finding anyone who arouses my interest.

  In fact, I've even considered skipping this year's retreat. After all, I'm not obliged to do this, no one is forcing me to play with a girl who fails to make me happy.

  But I wonder if skipping altogether could turn out to be even more dangerous than sleeping with someone who took as much from me as Laura did?

  Every time I recall her face, her body, her voice, I find myself yearning, longing, for something I can't have. Not anymore. I haven't felt this way in a long time, and I'm beginning to doubt my self-imposed rules again.

  Would it really be so bad?

  Would it really be such a dumb idea to have her again?

  Chapter 29

  Laura

  I have no idea what to do with myself. It's a lazy Sunday afternoon and the apartment is filled with silence. Outside the sun is suggesting a wide array of activities that I don't feel like doing. My blinds are pulled down to keep the intense light out. I don't feel bad about it at all. The sun is always shining, and it has almost every single day since we moved here. There's no reason to feel pushed to do anything outside because tomorrow will be a repeat of today.

  Unlike me, Layla is still receptive to the sun's alluring call. She's out with her boyfriend, strolling and eating ice cream, as far as I know. She hasn't been home a lot lately, and most of her days and nights are filled with the excitement of a newfound love.

  I'm jealous. I wish I could feel this way about Steven. We only started dating a few weeks ago and haven't even had sex yet, much to his chagrin. We're getting close to our two-month anniversary, and he probably thinks I'm the biggest prude on Earth, but I couldn't care less. Instead of planning a fancy dinner to celebrate our first eight weeks together, I've been absorbed with wanting to break up with him. The only thing that's keeping me from doing it is my bad conscience.

  Steven is a good guy, really nice, attentive, smart, and good-looking. We met at a bar while I was out with Layla and her – back then – not-yet-boyfriend. After a few drinks, they both decided it was time for me to find a guy, and dared me to strike up a conversation with the first guy I saw and liked. I had enough drinks in me to think that all of this was super hilarious and drunkenly allowed myself to be swept into Steven's arms on the dance floor. We'd been eyeing each other all night, but he never had the courage to approach me. He's too shy, too nice, and anything but ballsy. He's a good guy, a normal guy, with a steady job and no skeletons that I know of in his closet.

  And that's exactly the problem with him.

  He's too normal. Too nice.

  I never thought I'd be one of those girls who break up with their boyfriends because they're too nice or too good to them. Every time I heard Layla complain about her dates being too nice and normal, I shook my head and declared her crazy. How could that be an issue?

  Now I understand.

  It's mind numbingly boring, and I'm pretty sure that Steven's good nature is also part of the reason why I never had any interest in sleeping with him. I just don't feel attracted to him in that way. He doesn't excite me, just like no one ever excited me before.

  Until him.

  Ryan. My master.

  A sharp sting cuts through my heart every time I remember him. God knows I've tried to forget about him, because I know I had to. There was no chance I would ever see him again. He made that very clear, even before anything happened between us. I knew what I was getting myself into.

  Except, I didn't.

  I didn't expect it to be like this. This great, this special, this overwhelming.

  How am I ever supposed to get over this, over him? I'm completely lost. The thought that I may never feel the same kind of thrill again saddens me to no end.

  What if this was it? What if I never feel this way again? What if I spend the rest of my life searching for this feeling, going through boyfriend after boyfriend, breaking hearts left and right, because my own remains unsatisfied, and it‘s nobody's fault but my own?

  I curl up on my bed, fighting the tears as a gripping sensation of loneliness washes over me.

  Objectively, I have very little reason to complain. My life is fine. Better than fine, actually.

  I was paid one day after Ryan sent me home. Of course, my bank instantly contacted me to make sure it wasn't a mistake, or that I was involved in some kind o
f illegal business. I never even thought about the aftermath of our date – if one can call it that. Receiving an insane amount of money, explaining myself to Layla – I left all of those worries to future Laura. But as soon as I stepped out of Ryan's house and got into the limousine to take me home, I was that future Laura. Faced with tough decisions and a reality that still seemed too surreal to grasp, I found myself at the kitchen table, Layla already there waiting for me, ridden with worry and a lot of questions.

  I decided to tell her the truth, as ugly as it may be.

  Only weak people resort to lying.

  That's what Ryan said, and his words still echo in my head to this day. I didn't want to be someone he'd regard as weak, that's why I trusted my best friend with the truth. Layla reacted just the way I expected - shocked, understanding, and overjoyed. In that order. While she thought the whole idea was as weird and appalling as I thought at first, she was quickly relieved when she learned that I enjoyed myself. I never told her the details about my night with Ryan because that didn't feel right. I only told her about the lavish wealth, the bliss, and the thrill he provided me.

  His payment allowed both of us to quit our detested jobs right away, and we were on our way to California less than a month later, sharing a bottle of champagne in our first class seats.

  We had no plan, but we had money. Enough money to rent an apartment close to the city and stay afloat for a while before deciding what we wanted to do with our life. Layla felt bad about taking advantage of my money, even though I told her I didn't mind one bit. If it wasn't for her, the loneliness after being apart from Ryan would've been unbearable.

  Nevertheless, it didn't take her long to find a job that made her happier – and funnily enough, richer – than the part-time jobs she used to take on before. She's working in the sales department for a fashion designer, a job she was able to land through an unpaid internship she completed beforehand. She never would've been able to go through with that internship if it hadn't been for my money, and she never got tired of thanking me for the opportunity.