Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells (Not Another Billionaire Romance) (51 page)

Struggling to remain calm and levelheaded, I say, quietly, “Excuse me?

“Last week, when we took a trip together to catch up, he told me he was getting married. Seeing as it’s been a while since we chatted or hung out, I asked to meet the fiancée. He told me she was in Brazil with her family. That I could come visit them after they moved to Dubai. He’d bought a villa there.”

Every cell in me freezes up, fire and ice chewing my veins as I exchange a glance with Muscles. He cares for Charlotte almost as much as I do, so I know how he’s feeling things right now, too.

Muscles poses, “You and boss are tight. How did he know you were in the dark about the connection with him and Lotty? Trust you enough to let you know where he’d be taking her, knowing sooner or later you’d find out?”

Q throws his hands up, standing again. “The bloody hell do I know? Drew always seems to know things. Got no idea how he does but he always does. He’s always been a wee shady, seedy, but I never really paid it much attention. Let him be him, you know? I tried to bond, tried to hold on to my only sibling. In spite of how he came about, I never took it out on him. I welcomed him in my life. But all he’s ever done is fight that. And the only time he voluntarily rings me is when he needs something. As for
why
he divulged where he intends on living with Lotty, my guess it that by the time we all figure it out, Lotty will be his wife, and we won’t be able to do anything about it.”

Not a chance
. “What did he need from you this time?”

“My jet,” Q answers, scratching his forehead. “He’s been running it red over the past couple of weeks.”

Running it red searching for Lotty. Goddammit!

“He also wanted references to some of my contacts in Dubai, so he could get an expeditious set up there.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t know, mate. Swear to God, I didn’t know. I didn’t tell you I had a brother out of respect for Drew. He asked that I bite down on it. Doesn’t want anyone knowing we’re related, knowing his story. Bollocks.”

“Why would he need to borrow your jet?” Muscles digs deeper. “From what we’ve gathered, the guy’s loaded.”

“He is,” Q agrees with a nod. “But he loathes the money because he loathes Father. Loathes his Mum for shagging around with a married man and making him a product of that. Loathes himself for being a product of an affair. Loathes that he had to grow up with an ever-absent father because said father had another family who was priority. So, he doesn’t embrace his fortune. Doesn’t allow himself to have the things he can have and chooses to live his own way.” He sits down again, a solemn sigh leaving him. “When Father died, he left Drew shares in the manufacturing company, a chain of restaurants, and penthouse in Manhattan. Drew refused to accept any of it for months. When he finally did, instead of moving in and taking over, he sold it all. Locked his wealth away in the bank and went back to living like a broke bloke.”

Seems our guy has some serious Mommy/Daddy issues. Sees it fit to take it all out Lotty. What would the sick, troubled bastard do to her now after she’s spread for another man? The thought of this makes my blood boil. I swear to God, if that asshole lays another hand on her again, I’m committing murder. “You have any inkling of when he plans on moving to Dubai? Something that can tell us where the hell he is or where the hell he’s going?”

Q sighs. “Nope. But wherever he’s going, he’s using
my
jet to get there, yeah? All I gotta do get is in contact with pilot. If they’re in the air already, we’ll have to wait until they land. In the meantime, you ring up your pilot and get the jet ready for takeoff.”

“Or,” Muscles stresses the word, “we can beat the ever-loving-shit out of Mike until he tells us where Drew is taking her. He’s on your payroll, but he’s also my worker. Say the word.”

I shake my head. “That guy is smarter than to tell Mike his plans. I can guarantee you he doesn’t know squat. And even if he does know, I told you before, I’m a businessman, not the mafia, I can’t cut his fingers off one by one until he breaks. I’ll deal with Mike in a more civilized manner when we get Lotty back. Right now, he needs to think we’re letting her be. Let him feed that illusion to Andrew.”

Q gets his phone out and starts dialing.

I get my phone out and start dialing.

Muscles heads to the safe and gets out
the
duffle bag.

One hour later, we get word from Q’s pilot.

The jet has just landed.

In
Las Vegas
.

T
WENTY-
S
EVEN

I
STARE OUT
the car window as the glitzy city of Las Vegas flies by.

Bright lights, towering buildings, laughing faces, drunken staggers.

Las Vegas. Of all places, we’re in Las Vegas. And I have enough common sense to guess why. 

My dull gaze shifts down to the dazzling diamond on my finger. They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend. But in this case, it’s a
nightmare
.

Andrew forced the ring on my finger the second he hauled a struggling, protesting me onto the plane.

Now, we’re in Las Vegas. His intentions obvious.

The hellion’s hand rests on my thigh, and I stiffen, holding my breath, waiting.

“Baby, you don’t need to be afraid of me anymore, alright?” His voice soft, smooth, caressing. Just like it was when we first met. But I know better now. Better than to trust that voice. Better than to trust
him
.

He shifts across the leather seat, draws up beside me, fixing his chin on my shoulder. “I will punish you for running from me, for letting that man touch you, kiss you, and take what’s mine. I will punish you.” I jerk my knee away from his touch and he quickly adds, “Not now, baby. Not now.” His hand returns to my knee. “After. After I make you mine, officially.
After
. When you can no longer run from me and
no one
can take you away, because you’ll be mine. Legally.”

A shuddering breath flees me. I close my eyes. A tear squeezing out anyway.
I knew it
.

“I need to let you bleed him out. Get rid of any traces of him. But I promise, after that, I’ll never hurt you again. Only love you. Cherish you. Take care of you the way I should have been taking of you all along. So you wouldn’t have to run from me. I love you, Lotty. You’re my whole heart. I couldn’t breathe without you. You’re oxygen. You can’t leave me again.”

“Then don’t punish me.” My voice trembles. I sound pathetic. “Or I’ll leave again. Even if I have to kill myself to do so.”

His hand comes up and I flinch, bracing for the blow. But he doesn’t hit me. No, he brushes my hair to one side, kisses the side of my neck, along the top of my shoulder. “My mother’s name is Lolita Sanchez. I’m supposed to love her because she gave birth to me. Yet, I hate her because she gave birth to me. She’s a Bathsheba. A Rahab. She spread her legs for a married man. She took what did not belong to her. For money. For pleasures of the world. And I’m the product of that sin. I didn’t die like Bathsheba’s baby died. No, I was shown mercy. I was punished: I lived, I grew, I learned the truth, and was left to live in it as if it was
my
sin. A father who only came to see me once a month because he had a real son, a son that was born the right way, out of love. Not out of lies and greed. Because of my mother, I was a sin, a guilt, a mistake visited once a month.” He trails his fingers down my arm, down to my wrist, laces our fingers. “You were mine. You knew you were mine. I
told
you you were mine. Yet you left and spread for someone who isn’t me. Let him hear that little sound you make when you’re about come. A sound that belongs to me.”

Unlacing our fingers, he moves his hand back to my thigh, and squeezes. “No one punished Lolita Sanchez. Today she’s rich, lives in a fancy house, and she’s
still
sleeping with married men. Because
no one punished her
.” In a flash, his hand is holding my face, jerking my head to him, hard. Troubled black eyes piercing mine. “Do you understand now why I have to punish you, baby?” When I give no acknowledgment, he repeats in a feral growl, “Do you
understand
?”

Mouth sealed, I just stare at him, and this pisses him off, like I knew it would. Andrew doesn’t like being ignored. Now with that story he just spilled, I understand why he hates being ignored so much. Dude has some serious Daddy issues.

Nostrils flaring, his other hand flies to my throat, fingers tightening, my breathing capacity lessening.  “You
will
answer me, Lotty!”

“See? Your words…mean nothing,” I croak past the strangulation. “They’re…weightless. Like ashes. All I had…to do was…ignore you, and look…Look at what…you’re doing to me? You’re…a liar. You’re…an abuser. I…will…never…love you.”

His face hardens to granite, eyes to stone, and his fingers squeeze ever tighter, just before loosening, slowly, slowly, until he releases me completely and I’m left hustling for air.

“You can love me,” I gasp out, “you can kidnap me, you can force me to marry you, but my heart will always be his. My love will always be his. And if I get to choose a million times over, I will
always
choose him.” 

He recoils. Pain, hurt, dejection fading in and out in his face like a slide-show. It’s sorrowful enough to make me want to feel sorry for him, but I’m not. “Is it the money?” he asks, a quiet voice I’ve never heard him use. “I can give you everything he can, baby. You’ll see. I’ve got money, too. I’ll lay the world at your feet. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Just promise not to be afraid of me.” Again, his hand rests on my knee, caresses. Tender, affectionate. “And please, don’t purposely taunt me. I have a problem; it’s obvious I have a problem, and I’m trying to fix it, I’m trying to be better for you.”

Bullshit. More bullshit. Bullshit of top of bullshit. That’s all I ever get from him. “You’re no different from your mother, you know,” I tell him.

Taking umbrage, rigidness seizes him. “What did you just say?”

“He’s owned me since I was sixteen. I was his then, I was his when I was with you, and I’m his now.” I hold his tempestuous eyes. “So you see, just like your mother, you’re taking what’s
not yours
.”

The car stops moving.

“You were with him before me?” he asks. “When you were sixteen?”

“Yes,” I lie. Or not. It’s a half-truth.

His eyes shifting pass me, pensive, he chews on this.

We sit there, in tense silence, for a full minute and a half before his eyes cut back to mine. “You were underage. You weren’t married. You weren’t even supposed to be together. So, it doesn’t count. Get out of the car.”

At that, he shifts back to his side, opens the car and is out before I can attempt to convince him otherwise.

“It does and you know it!” I shout at him across the roof of the car when I’m out. We’re parked in front of a white building with a chapel facade, named Ball & Chain. A young couple, no older than I am, skips out hand in hand, squealing “
Oh my God, we did it! I can’t believe we did it!
” Engages in a deep, tonsil-knotting kiss, and then skips on down the sidewalk.

In apprehension, I stare at the building. I can’t let this happen. I can’t just allow him take my life from me. If we get married, even if Noah does come after me, there’s nothing he can do, because I’ll be Andrew’s wife. The only way out, knowing Andrew, would be death.

If I let this happen, my life is over. Either from him killing me, or me killing him and ending up rotting in jail. If I let this happen, I’ll be subjected to a life of abuse and lies and resentment, a possible end through suicide. I can’t. I can’t go in there. I can’t let him win.

Thinking quick, my eyes dart around, watching and waiting for the rest of his minions to pile out of the second car. Four men and only one is a familiar face from Brooklyn. His right-hand-man, Lucas. All the others, including the driver of our car, are new faces. Seems he bought himself some new friends.

Once everyone is in front of the building, Andrew discussing whatever to them in hushed mumbles, his back to me, I straighten and declare out loud, “I know a way you can fix it, Andrew.”

Pausing his discussion, he looks over his shoulder, keeping his back to me. “Fix what?”

“The ownership issue.”

“There’s no ownership issue,” he grounds out. “I own you, he doesn’t. End of story.”

“You have too much pride to believe that,” I push, gambling with my life. “You told me you don’t want to hurt me anymore, but if you do this, and live with the guilt of being exactly like Lolita Sanchez, you will. You’ll grow to resent me and take it out on me. You’ll be incapable of loving me the way you want to, of making me happy.” I know my words are hitting him hard when his whole body visibly tenses up. “I’m giving you the permission to hurt me tonight, so you’ll never have to hurt me again.”

Ever so slowly, his six-feet of leather-jacket-and-jeans body turns to me, interest piqued. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he orders, “Explain yourself.”

Heart ricocheting in my chest, I swallow. Here’s to stupid, ludicrous ideas. But I
have
to try something, so here goes nothing. “I challenge you to fight for your ownership of me. Earn it.”

The bumble of men exchange looks, mutters under their breath, a few chuckles.

Andrew takes a step closer to me. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean. Are saying you want me to fight
you
for ownership of
you?
”

“At the moment, I consider you as nothing but my abductor,” I express, loud, firm, and confident. “I didn’t come willingly. You took me. If we duel and I win, and you lose, you let me go. If you win, you gain ownership of me, and I’ll go willingly with you. I might even grow to love you.”

His minions watch for his reaction, to see if he would wimp out, or take the challenge like a man and put me in my place. Precisely the reason I challenged him in front of them. He’s their leader, and he’s got pride; no way he’s going to laugh me off when it’s obvious I’m dead serious. If these are all new men, on the payroll or not, he’ll worry about what they think of him, of his formability.