Page 101 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)
“No,” I cut her off, remembering the terror of nearly losing her to Herbert. “James is right. Stay in LA where it’s safe.” The words tasted bitter, like the burned garlic still lingering in the kitchen. “I’m fine. It’s Matt who’s—” I couldn’t finish.
“Oh, Andy.” I could hear her fighting tears, could picture her pacing, probably stress-baking like she always did in a crisis. James would have his security team watching her place, keeping her safe. After Herbert, none of us took chances anymore. “Promise you’ll be careful?”
“Always am.”
Her snort of disbelief could have registered on the Richter scale. “Liar.”
The penthouse doors swung open with enough force to make the art on the walls tremble.
Tory strode in like an avenging samurai, flanked by two men whose sharp suits and sharper eyes screamed Yakuza.
His usual easy smile was nowhere in sight, replaced by something ancient and dangerous that reminded me his family had probably been ruling Japan since before America was even a concept.
“Mia, I have to go. Tory’s here. With backup that looks like they eat small countries for breakfast.”
“Call me. Please?”
“Promise.”
Tory’s men took up positions by the windows, the city lights cast shadows behind them, making them look even more intimidating. If that was possible.
“My people are already searching.” Tory’s normally playful voice was steel-edged. “If he’s in Vegas, we’ll find him.”
“Thank you.” The words felt inadequate. I ran a hand through my hair, probably making it stand up worse than usual. “I was thinking… maybe Xavier?”
Tory’s laugh held no humor. “Xavier’s many things, but he’s not stupid enough to kidnap the king of Sin City.” His dark eyes met mine.
I slumped onto the couch, the leather cool against my overheated skin. “Yeah. You’re right.” A thought struck me. “That Porter guy was there too. He always watches Matt like?—”
“Like he wants to eat him?” Tory pulled out his phone, fingers flying over the screen. “I’ll have my people look into him.”
I ’d watched the sun rise over Vegas, a spectacular show of pink and gold that I barely registered.
The penthouse had transformed into some kind of crisis command center overnight, with people moving in and out like a particularly well-dressed ant colony.
If ant colonies wore Armani and carried concealed weapons, that is.
James stood at the dining table—now covered in laptops, papers, and enough technology to make NASA jealous—barking orders into two phones simultaneously.
His usual perfect composure had cracked just enough to show the steel underneath.
“I don’t care if he’s the Pope’s personal secretary, get me those security feeds…
No, all of them. Yes, including the maintenance corridors. ”
Tory’s men lined the walls like lethal decorations, their dark suits and darker expressions adding to the tension-filled atmosphere. William prowled the space like a caged predator, occasionally pausing to snap orders in what sounded like Russian.
“Got something!” One of Eddie’s men called out, only to deflate under James’ arctic stare. “Never mind. False alarm.”
I’d lost count of how many times that had happened in the last few hours.
Ryan had stumbled in around dawn, looking like he’d wrestled his clothes on in the dark. Knowing him, he probably had. His usually perfect hair stuck up at odd angles, and his designer shirt was missing two buttons and?—
“Is that inside out?” I asked, latching on to the distraction.
“Is this really the time to critique my fashion choices?” Ryan dropped into the chair next to me, then paused. “Wait, is it?”
“Your tag is waving at me.”
“Fuck.” He didn’t bother fixing it. “I left New York in such a hurry I think I packed my neighbor’s cat by mistake.”
“You don’t have a cat.”
“Exactly.”
Daniel and Jeremy arrived shortly after, and wasn’t that just a fun way to meet my boyfriend’s brothers?
‘Hi, nice to meet you, sorry it’s under kidnapping circumstances.
’ Daniel, the oldest, radiated calm competence that reminded me painfully of Matt, while Jeremy paced and talked rapidly into his phone, gesturing with his free hand.
“No, Tessa, stay in Boston,” Jeremy was saying. “I’ll call when… yeah, I know. Love you too.”
Daniel approached me, his warm hazel eyes so different from Matt’s stormy gray ones. “Andy.” He pulled me into a quick hug. “Not exactly how I pictured meeting you.”
“Yeah, well, your brother has a flair for drama,” I quipped weakly.
That earned me a small smile. “Must run in the family. Ryan once staged a production of Hamlet with stuffed animals just to ask for a higher allowance.”
“I was twelve,” Ryan protested from his laptop. “And it worked.”
“The poor butler had nightmares about tap-dancing teddy bears for weeks,” Jeremy added, pocketing his phone.
A burst of rapid-fire Japanese from the corner drew our attention. Tory was conferring with his men, his usually playful demeanor replaced by something ancient and deadly. One of his men nodded sharply and disappeared out the door.
“Your contacts in Asia?” James asked, covering one phone.
“And Europe,” Tory confirmed. “If anyone tries to move him out of the country, we’ll know.”
“My people tracked several suspicious accounts,” William said, drawing everyone’s attention. “Too many dead ends. Too clean.”
“Someone planned this,” James muttered. “Eddie?”
Eddie emerged from what had become the communications center—formerly known as Matt’s home office. “CCTV footage shows him entering the Cosmopolitan at two p.m. No sign of him leaving.”
“He had to leave somehow,” Ryan snapped, frustration evident in every line of his body.
“Unless he didn’t,” I said slowly, a horrible thought forming. “What if he’s still there?”
The room went silent. James’ fingers flew over his phone. “Getting the blueprints now. William?—”
“Already on it.” William was speaking rapid-fire Russian into his phone.
“I’ll have my team sweep every floor,” Tory added, “including the maintenance levels.”
“Service entrances?” Daniel asked.
“Eddie’s got teams there,” James replied. “Ryan, can you?—”
“Hacking their internal security now,” Ryan confirmed, fingers dancing across his keyboard. “Their firewall’s good but I’m better.”
“That’s illegal,” Jeremy pointed out.
“Sue me.” Ryan didn’t look up. “Actually, don’t. Daniel would probably turn it into a movie.”
Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t tempt me. The Hacker Prince: A Vegas Story does have a nice ring to it.”
“Starring Ryan Caine as himself,” Jeremy added with a weak smile. “Because God forbid anyone else try to capture your essence.”
“Hey, I have very specific requirements for my leading man,” Ryan shot back, still typing. “Must be devastatingly handsome, great with computers, and able to rock an inside-out shirt.”
“I’ll alert casting,” Daniel deadpanned. “Though the inside-out shirt might be a dealbreaker in Hollywood.”
“Might want to wait on the movie rights,” I suggested. “The current story’s still developing.”
That earned me a few strained chuckles. Even James’ lips twitched slightly.
“Eat something,” James ordered suddenly, fixing me with a look that brooked no argument. “You’re not helping Matt by making yourself sick.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered, even as my stomach betrayed me with an embarrassingly loud growl.
“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England,” Ryan called out, still typing. “Eat the damn food, Andy, or I’ll tell Matt you survived on energy drinks and spite.”
“That’s rich coming from someone wearing their shirt inside out,” I shot back, but I grabbed a sandwich from the spread someone had ordered. It tasted like cardboard, but I forced it down under James’ watchful eye.
“Now shower and sleep,” James ordered. “We’ll wake you if—when—we find anything.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but Daniel cut in. “Matt will kill us all if we let you run yourself into the ground.” His smile was gentle, so much like Matt’s it hurt. “Go. We’ve got this.”
“Fine.” I stood, my joints cracking in protest. “But if you find anything?—”
“We’ll wake you,” William’s cool voice drifted over. “Even if James tries to be noble about it.”
James shot him an irritated look. “I wasn’t?—”
“Yes, you were,” everyone in the room chorused, even Tory’s usually silent men.
“Betrayed by my own security,” James muttered, but there was a hint of fondness in his voice.
The shower helped, hot water washing away some of the tension if not the worry. I pulled on one of Matt’s t-shirts, drowning in the soft fabric that still smelled like him. The bed felt too big, too empty, but exhaustion dragged at my bones.
“You better be okay,” I whispered into the silence. “Because if you’re not, I’m going to kill you myself.”
The last thing I saw before sleep claimed me was Ryan, slouched in an armchair he’d dragged into the bedroom, his inside-out shirt now accessorized with coffee stains.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered, not looking up from his laptop. “I’ve got first watch.”
“Your shirt’s still inside out.”
“And your hair looks like a hedgehog had a crisis. Sleep.”
I drifted off to the sound of his typing, the distant murmur of voices from the living room, and the weight of worry in my chest.
At least someone was making questionable fashion choices in my honor.
T he buzz of my phone dragged me from sleep, a jarring electronic chirp that should be illegal before…
I squinted at the screen… noon. I fumbled for it, nearly knocking it off the nightstand in a move that would’ve made Matt wince at my assault on his expensive furniture.
Ryan was gone from the armchair, probably lured away by the siren call of more coffee and the chance to hack something legally questionable.
Unknown number. My heart jumped into my throat, doing an impressive gymnastics routine.
“Hello?” My voice was rough with sleep and worry, a charming combination I’m sure.