Revenge: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (18 page)

“Stop it, Jackson. Just... cut the bullshit,” I snap, pulling my t-shirt on. I sit down and pull my socks on, looking for my boots. “Jesus, I had hoped we were past this point. It's not about the fucking money! Life isn't about that!”

“It isn't about blood and revenge either!” Jackson yells back, still naked. “You told me to be better than him, well, you need to be, too! Stop worrying about your goddamn vengeance and live your life! Let it go, let us be able to let it go!”

“I can't!” I yell back, furious. “I'm not looking for his death anymore, but that asshole stole ten years of my life! I can't get that back, and I'm not the only one. Maybe he didn't kill my parents, but he's killed how many more? How much of that money you're so worried about is blood money? And don't try to fucking lie, telling me it's not the money you're worried about!”

“So what are you going to do? Blow the whole damn thing up? Burn the house to the ground? Because if you send him to jail, you might as well! You know the feds and who the fuck else is going to civil sue the shit outta the estate. What then? Living broke?”

“I've done it,” I reply coldly, standing up. I go to grab my bag, and see the skirt sitting on top. I yank it out, and rip it in half, tossing the pieces onto the carpet. “It isn't as bad as you think. Might just make you stronger, Jackson.”

Before he can answer, I grab my backpack and leave, pissed and trying not to cry. I'd suspected, I'd feared since yesterday, but hearing his words, I know that I can't trust Jackson to not interfere in the rest of the plan. He cares for me, I know that. But right now... he's not ready.

* * *

“
T
his seat taken
?”

For the first time in my life, I'm well on my way to being drunk. After storming out of the hotel, I grabbed a taxi, going toward the beach, not with any purpose but to get some distance and to calm down. Distance and perspective are important for any warrior in a fight, after all, and I hoped that watching the waves on the sand would help me find some temporary peace and clarity.

The problem is, I can't calm down. I used the prepaid card I have with me to take out a couple hundred dollars, most of what's left on that card, and crash at a fleabag hotel, putting myself through a workout that leaves my body dripping in sweat, but my mind no more settled.

Jackson's tried to call me half a dozen times, and texted me more. He's apologetic, but I can read between the lines, he still wants to protect the fucking money. Finally, about two hours ago, I gave up and shut off my phone. Instead, I headed here, one of the first bars that I saw, and walked inside. Fuck it, it works for everyone else, why not me, too?

I'm about four drinks in when I hear the voice, and I turn my head, three-quarters drunk, seeing two people standing there. I have no idea who they are, but don't really care. “Go 'way. Not good conversation.”

“I can see that, Katrina,” the one person, a woman I notice, says gently. At the mention of my name my head whips back, and I reel to my feet.

“Who the fuck're you?” I ask.

“It's me,” the woman says, stepping closer into the light. “It's Andrea.”

I squint, and I realize that it is Andrea. The straight black hair, the almond-shaped eyes, but the same dark blue as Jackson's... “Well hey! It is you! How'd the hell you get here? Who's yur big friend?”

I blink, but in the dim light of the bar, I can't make out his face. “Who are you?”

“A man who owes you a lot more than I can ever repay,” he says. “Come, let's talk. Away from the alcohol.”

“My tab though...” I protest, and the bartender, who's been watching with a leery eye, waves me off. “What?”

“We're pay as you go,” he reminds me. “We're square.”

Andrea reaches into her pocket and pulls out another bill and puts it on the bar. “Just in case, and for taking care of her,” she says. Coming closer, she takes my arm and puts it around her shoulder. “Come on, Kat. How much did you drink, anyway?”

“I dunno... less than a bottle,” I say, swaying along with Andrea's help out onto the streets. It's later than I thought it'd be, the moon is nearly fully overhead. “Hey... what time is it?”

“A little before eleven thirty,” Andrea says. The sidewalk is mostly empty, but this is the beach area of Miami, and I guess along A1A, the traffic and pedestrians don't go to bed until much later. “Sorry it took us so long to get here.”

“How did you get here?” I ask, the clear air helping me at least not slur my words. The man stays behind me and Andrea, and I sense that he's giving us security. I wonder who he is.

“Well, after you called me, Jackson called Nathan here after you two argued, Nathan gave me a call. I figured it was enough of an emergency, I booked a flight and boogied while Nathan hauled ass in his Tahoe.”

“Nathan?” I ask, turning around. I recognize him now, Nathan Black. The bastard who helped my parents fake their death. My hand flashes out, catching Nathan in the face with a slap, but he takes it without even reacting. “I should try and castrate you.”

“You should... but there's a line on people who want my balls, Miss Grammercy,” he says softly, calm. His eyes are a strangely disconcerting green, giving him almost a reptilian look in the streetlights. “Besides, Andrea and I are here to help you. After that... you and I can settle accounts between us.”

“Fine,” I say, turning back around and almost falling. “Where are we going?”

“To where I'm staying,” Andrea says. “I don't know where you're at, Jackson didn't tell Nathan.”

“How'd you find me?”

“The Viber account. I called the number, did a GPS ping off the towers. It got us here, and we've spent the past three hours checking around.”

I nod. It's a good trick, and one that I should have thought of.

“Now, let's just get you out of here, and you get to meet Maverick.”

“Who?”

“My dog,” Nathan says with a touch of affection. “I'm glad we were able to find a place that's pet-friendly.”

“A dog, a half-Japanese business student, a former Green Beret... I pick such interesting people to hang out with,” I mutter, relaxing as Andrea helps me over to a taxi. I let it all go as the taxi pulls away, Nathan crunching in up front with the driver while Andrea comforts me. I know I cry, although Andrea doesn't ask me why, and Nathan stays quiet the whole ride. We end up out by the airport again, although on the other side than where Jackson and I were staying. Driving past a bunch of houses, I'm confused. “Where're we going?”

“AirBnB,” Andrea explains as we pull up to a house. “Easy, casual, and more anonymous.”

“Good idea. Shoulda thought of that myself,” I mutter, clarity starting to come back. I feel like an ass for losing control so much, and inside me, I can hear some of my instructors telling me off for putting myself in so much danger. I'm lucky that Andrea and Nathan wanted to help, and not put a bullet in my head. “I'm hungry.”

“There's food inside, and I'll brew you some tea,” Nathan says. “If you need to rest, we can. Then we'll talk.”

“I don’t need rest,” I reply as Andrea helps me inside. We're greeted by what has to be the biggest damn dog I've ever seen, who's bouncing and wagging his tail excitedly, barking loudly when Nathan comes in behind us, closing the door. The barks drive icy daggers into my ears, and I groan. “That's not a dog, that's a fucking horse. Oh, my head.”

“Maverick!” Nathan says quietly, snapping his fingers. The dog quiets immediately, and when Nathan points, he retreats, laying down in what I guess is the living room of the house. “Sorry, he's energetic after being in the Tahoe all day.”

Andrea leads me into the kitchen, where she has me sit down and comes back with some cereal in a bowl. “It's not much, but it's all we've got right this second. Didn't do any shopping, we were kinda busy looking for you.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, picking up the dry little rings and munching on them. It's not a lot, but it'll help. “I can't believe I went and got drunk.”

“Emotions do that to us,” Nathan says quietly, no condescension in his voice, which surprises me. He goes to the stove and starts a pot of water, and leaves the room, coming back with a metal canister. “Thankfully, I keep my travel stash with me, and it's strong and black.”

“No coffee?”

Andrea chuckles and snatches a piece of cereal from my bowl. “Despite the long New Orleans tradition of some of the finest French Roast in the entire United States, Nathan here is a total heathen who only drinks tea now. I think it was all those years of bad Army coffee that got to him.”

“A Japanese girl calling someone a heathen for drinking only tea,” I remark, shaking my head slowly. “Maybe I drank more than I thought.”

“Hardly, I just like giving Nathan a hard time,” Andrea says. We're quiet, and Nathan finishes his tea brewing, bringing big mugs for all of us. “Thanks, Nathan.”

He takes a seat at the table and sips, sighing contentedly. “That's as much for me as you guys. You might want to let yours cool some though, Katrina.”

I nod my thanks and keep munching on the cereal until the bowl is empty. Andrea gets up and grabs the box, bringing it over, and I see that it's probably been left behind by the last renters since it's mostly empty already. “Fine dining.”

“The finest,” Andrea agrees quietly. “I don't want to pry... but do you want to tell us about it?”

“Tell me what you've found first,” I order, pouring another bowl of cereal and emptying the box. “And we might need a food run.”

“There's a twenty-four-hour place down the street, I saw it driving from the airport,” Nathan says. “I can go later. As for what you're asking, I believe you're talking about the files on Peter's personal computer you asked Andrea about?”

I give Andrea a raised eyebrow, and she shrugs. “Nathan and I talked after meeting up at the airport and while we've been looking for you. We laid it all out between us, making sure we're working toward the same goal. We want Peter to pay as much as you do.”

I look sideways at Nathan, who nods. “I know. Like I said, we'll discuss it later.”

“Fine. And, what have you found?”

Andrea shakes her head. “Peter kept nothing. I've had his password for a while, and copied a lot of his server a while back for... personal reasons. But he kept nothing about the bomb that was used for your parents.”

“However, I did keep information,” Nathan says before I can get upset. He takes a memory card from his pocket and sets it on the table. “I've kept it and a few other e-mails as insurance against Peter going too crazy on me. I don't know what you've got, but this could easily put him behind bars for a long, long time.”

I take the chip, and look at it. “You know that if you give this to me, you’re putting yourself in my hands?”

“I should have done that as soon as I found your loft address,” Nathan says quietly. “I should have done it again after Jackson came to me and asked me not to turn you into Peter, and then again when he asked for my allegiance in covering this trip. So don't worry about that part.”

I nod, then take out my phone, putting the chip inside. I copy the files, and then upload them to my cloud server, making sure there are copies in multiple locations. Darcy knows about the cloud. She can get the files if something happens to me. “Okay. So what now?”

“Now we take him down,” Andrea says with intensity. “The only issues are timeline and method. What about Jackson?”

“He's... not on board,” I say softly, trying not to let my mood falter. I'm in work mode, and I can't be worried about Jackson right this moment. “He... he's still got some things to let go of.”

Nathan nods in understanding, then sips his tea. “Then I have an idea... one that protects him, protects you, and brings the authorities in relatively quickly.”

“I'm listening.”

I
'm
frantic with not knowing what to do. I've tried calling Katrina for the past two days, and I'm paralyzed with worry.

At first, when Katrina walked out, I thought she was just pissed off. I mean, I've pissed off women before, but I figured she'd come back after cooling off. It wasn't until after I got dressed that I realized her bag was gone too, and by then, it was too late. I searched the area around the hotel, but she wasn't there.

I tried text messages, calls, everything as I took the rental car around the hotel's neighborhood, hoping that maybe she stayed close. Two hours of driving later, and I tried other places as well. But nothing, which shouldn't really surprise me. Miami's a big city, and I'm looking for one woman.

Nathan calls me back, and I'm glad for his help. He came down from Savannah as soon as he could, arriving just after midnight that day, meeting me for breakfast the next morning. He searched in his Tahoe all day yesterday, and now I'm desperate.

“Nathan... what have I done?” I ask as he mechanically shovels hash browns into his mouth. We're at a diner, and I realize with a start that I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday, and I call the waitress over for a pancake breakfast. Fuck the carbs, I need food. “What have I done?”

“Sounds like you pissed her off,” Nathan says quietly, sipping his orange juice. “She may have ghosted on you.”

“No, I can't accept that. Not after... well, after what happened between us,” I say. He doesn’t need to know all of that. “I have to find her.”

“Maybe she went back to New Orleans,” Nathan offers. “I mean, she could have jumped on a flight back home just as easily as hanging out here.”

I shake my head, sighing in frustration. “No way, Nathan. I don't know how I can say that, just... it's a feeling. She's here in Miami, I know it. After the incident with her father, there's just no way she'd just leave town without at least something pulling her back. Being pissed at me isn't enough.”

The waitress brings me my short stack, and I cover the whole thing in syrup. The first bite is sweet, but bitter, because I should be having this meal with Katrina and not Nathan. Nathan watches me for a minute, then speaks again. “Jackson... are you letting your emotions get the better of you?”

I half-slam my fork down and look him in the eyes. “You're goddamned right my emotions are involved in this, but fuck you if you think that it's a bad thing. My entire life, I've kept my emotions, my real emotions, behind a wall. Now that I’ve let someone past them, no way am I giving up on that person.”

Nathan takes another bite of hash browns and sets his own fork down. “Okay. I ask because I need to know how far you're going to take this. We stay here in Miami much longer, and your father is going to start asking what the hell's taking us so long.”

“Let him ask,” I grumble, taking another bite of pancake. “I don't care if I blow him totally out of the water on this. For fuck's sake, don't you see how wrong I was?”

“Not really. You haven't said much other than that you two had an argument, and that we're supposed to look for her. Hell, I don't even know much about what happened here in the city. Just obviously you found Samuel Grammercy.”

“Michael Ball now,” I correct him, then shake my head. “I guess it doesn't matter what the argument was about. What matters is what I've learned over the past two days.”

“And what's that?” Nathan asks curiously. “That you want to run away with her, make lots of little DeLaCoeur babies, and soak up some sun rays in a tropical paradise?”

I have to chuckle at his light jab, and shake my head. “No, although the tropical paradise part sounds pretty good. But I do know one thing... there are things more important than money.”

Nathan nods in acceptance, and we finish our breakfasts. “Okay, so what's the plan for today?”

“I'm going to go back down toward the University area,” I tell him, thinking quickly. “It's where her parents are living, and maybe she's going to try and do something. What about you?”

“I'm going to dig down in the industrial areas, maybe in some of the computer shops,” Nathan says. “If she is staying in Miami, she's more likely to go to the cultures and areas she's familiar with. That's the poor, the techies, and the industrial areas. So I'll start canvassing there. Do you know if she speaks Spanish? It might make certain areas more penetrable.”

I shake my head. “Honestly Nathan, I have no idea. Do you speak Spanish?”

The former Green Beret gives me a smirk and nods. “
Si. He estudiado durante diez años, y puedo hablar en niveles cercanos a nativos.”

“I have no damn clue what you just said, but I'll take you at your word. All right, stay in touch.”

Nathan nods while I wipe my lips with my napkin and stand up. “If I find her?”

“Stay close, get in contact with me,” I tell him. “She doesn't trust you, I think. Also... I need to apologize to her, and tell her some very important things.”

“I understand. See you later.”

I leave the diner and get in my rental, driving down to the University of Miami. I drive as slow as I can over the neighborhood, even going through the U itself. A couple of girls give me looks, but I'm not looking for ass, I'm looking for Katrina. Finally, I pull over into a diagonal parking space, and I walk around campus a little, seeing if maybe I can spot her. Lots of girls, none of them look at all like Katrina, and I sit down, frustrated. I stare at my hands, wishing I could take back what I said, what a dumbass I was being.

“Hey man, you look like you need a friend to talk to,” someone says, and I look up, seeing what could only be the typical college campus bum. Slightly soiled shirt flaps untucked over his old jeans, and he's wearing Birkenstocks for fuck's sake. I take it back, he's not a bum, he's a Social Justice Warrior, probably. “Wanna talk?”

“No... well, okay,” I reply, and the dude takes a seat on the grass. “Just... it's about a girl.”

“What about her?” the SJW asks, relaxing back onto his hands. “Like, did she cuck you or something?”

“What? Cuck? Hell no,” I say, startled into laughing. “I just fucked up, that’s all.”

“How so?” the guy asks, and I shrug.

“We... we're trying to get something done, something really important to her and really to me too, but I chickened out. You see, if she does what she wants, then there's a good chance I'm out a ton of money. It's not good money, it's dirty as hell actually, but still... I've been living the good life for a long time, and I panicked. I tried to talk her into a safer path. She walked out on me, and since then, I've been trying to find her.”

“If you do, what will you tell her?” the SJW asks. I'm reminded of my conversation with Nathan this morning, and I chuckle.

“I'll tell her the truth. That she's more important to me than any money, that I woke up the past two days miserable because she's not there, and that if it means following her to hell, I'd rather do that than have all the money in the world.”

The guy nods, then leans forward. “My advice is to tell her all of that, as soon as you can. That, and probably beg forgiveness for being an idiot.”

I laugh once, harshly, and look at the guy. “I thought guys like you were supposed to be all about being nonjudgmental.”

The guy laughs and gets to his feet. “If I was who I look like, maybe. I'm just a psychology doctoral student doing a study. Thanks. And don't worry, this isn't going in any paper. Good luck, man.”

The guy leaves, and I get up, determined to find Katrina even if I have to tear Miami apart. I head back to my car to start my search again when I feel my phone vibrate and my ringer go off. I look, and it's Nathan. “Yeah, you found her?”

“Yeah, she's by the Miami Dade North Campus, close to Opa Locka,” Nathan says. “I'm uploading you a GPS location of where I am now.”

My phone buzzes and a map pulls up. I didn't even know the thing did that. I look, and realize I can get there in about twenty minutes. “Okay, I see it. I'm at the U, I'll jump on 95 up to there. Keep her in sight, Nathan.”

“Will do,” Nathan says. “She's been talking to some people, but I'm out of her direct sight. Don't worry Jackson, I know what I'm doing.”

“No doubt. I'll be there ASAP.” I start my engine and rush to the interstate, jumping on and driving north as quickly as I can. The traffic isn't bad, it's midday and the rush hour isn't for quite a while, so I make good time, getting off at Opa Locka in only fifteen minutes. I find Nathan's signal, and see his Tahoe parked in the parking lot of a flight school and what the sign says is a pilot supply store.

“Nathan,” I say when he rolls the window down. “Where is she?”

“Parking lot over there,” Nathan says, pointing across the street. I look, and see nothing. When I turn to look at him, he smirks. “Seriously. She went inside the tan building over there just five minutes ago. I think it's a small airline, maybe a puddle jumper type place.”

“What for?” I ask, and Nathan shrugs.

“Most likely she's close to being tapped out financially, and those sorts of guys can sometimes work deals.”

The door to the building opens, and I see Katrina step out, her backpack over her shoulder. She's changed shirts, wearing something almost normal, but there's no mistaking that angel's face or the short hair. “There. Come on Nathan, I can't let her go.”

Nathan nods and I get into his Tahoe, seeing Maverick in the back taking a nap. “Rough day for him?”

“He'll get a walk later,” Nathan says nonchalantly, starting the engine. “You ready to do some groveling?”

“Damn right,” I say with a laugh, feeling lighter than ever. I'm eager to talk to her, to tell her it doesn't matter about the money, that I need her in my life.

We're just about to cross the street when my phone buzzes again, and I pull it out, wondering who's texting me now. My heart jumps into my throat when I see that the text is from Peter.

Never, ever lie to me again. You're next.

“What the fuck?” I ask, but before I can show the text to Nathan, a red sports sedan pulls into the parking lot, the side windows rolling down. “No... NO!”

The shooter fires four times, the shots loud in the muggy Miami air, one of them catching Katrina in the forehead, where a giant fountain of blood goes flying. She crumples to the ground, and I'm trying to jerk the handle on my door, but Nathan's already slammed his foot to the gas, throwing me into my seat. “What are you doing? She's hurt!”

“She's dead!” Nathan yells, following the red sports car. “But we can get this bastard!”

His words sink in, and I look out the front window, nodding. “Get him.”

Nathan's Tahoe is big, and he's kept it in good shape, but the sports sedan is thousands of pounds lighter, lower to the ground, and more agile as it weaves through the traffic in front of us. We chase for over a mile, and in the distance, I can hear police sirens approaching. The car whips around a corner, and Nathan tries to follow, but his Tahoe is too big, and we spin out, nearly tipping over.

“No... no, NO!” Nathan yells, getting out of the driver's side and reaching to his hip, but his gun isn't there, and he realizes it. I'm out too, but the red car is gone, out of sight turning another corner, and I sink to my knees, going into shock. Nathan comes up and grabs me, dragging me to my feet. “Come on, Jackson. There's nothing we can do here. Let's go.”

“Go?” I ask, stupefied. “Go where?”

“Out of here for one,” he says, pulling me toward the Tahoe where Maverick is up and barking loudly. “You can't get whoever did this if the cops find us. Let's go.”