Page 31 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)

Fifteen

ANDY

T he morning sun streamed through the blinds, prying my eyes open.

As consciousness settled in, a rush of heat flooded my face.

Oh God, I couldn’t believe I did that last night.

My brain replayed the scene in an unforgiving loop—me, on my knees, taking Matt’s cock in my mouth.

Mortification tangled with something else, a featherlight feeling I couldn’t quite name.

Nope. Not going there again.

I swung my legs out of bed and headed for the shower, determined to scrub away both the memories and the lingering scent of Matt’s cologne from my skin. Hot water cascaded down, but it did little to wash away the jumble of emotions swirling inside me.

Once clean, I opened the closet Matt had generously stocked with clothes from that swanky men’s store.

There were crisp shirts in shades of white and blue, both casual and formal.

Pants ranged from dark jeans to tailored trousers that screamed spoiled rich kid —a title I never thought would fit me.

Even the underwear was top-tier: silky boxers that felt scandalously good against my skin.

I dressed in a light-blue shirt and a pair of dark jeans, admiring the way they fit me perfectly. The reflection in the mirror showed a polished version of myself, someone who looked like he belonged next to Matt Caine.

Maybe playing dress-up wouldn’t be so bad after all.

I ordered breakfast and checked my phone while waiting. My heart skipped a beat when I saw multiple missed calls from Mia. The texts were frantic: Andy, are you alright? Call me ASAP.

Why was she so worried? We had just talked a few days ago.

I dialed her number but it went straight to voicemail. Probably busy with work.

Bruno arrived with breakfast—a feast of scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, fresh fruit, and croissants. He set it down on the table with a grunt.

“Thanks, Bruno,” I said, offering him a seat. “Want to join me?”

He shook his head and left without a word. Stoic as ever.

I tucked into the meal alone, savoring every bite like it was manna from heaven. Once done, I settled at my desk and powered up my laptop, diving into lines of code. This app wasn’t going to build itself, and if there was one thing I could control in this topsy-turvy world, it was this project.

The rhythm of my fingers tapping away at the keyboard was almost therapeutic. Lost in the lines of code, I managed to push aside all thoughts of Matt and his infuriating, sexy dominance. The project was my lifeline, a thread of sanity in this chaotic whirlpool my life had become.

Midmorning rolled around, and my phone buzzed on the desk, breaking my concentration. Mia. Her name flashed on the screen, bringing a smile to my lips despite the interruption.

“Good morning, sis,” I chirped. “Got your messages—what’s with the barrage of calls?”

Mia’s voice crackled through the speaker, wound tight as a coiled spring. “Andy! What is going on? Are you alright?”

I frowned at her tone. My sister was tough as nails; it took a lot to rattle her. “I’m good, Mia. What’s all the fuss about?”

Her next words landed like a sucker punch. “I received an email from someone named James Maxwell.”

My heart plummeted into my stomach, and a wave of nausea washed over me.

“He… uh, what did it say?” I managed to choke out.

“It’s about you and a two-million-dollar debt.”

Air refused to enter my lungs as I began to hyperventilate. I clutched the edge of the coffee table, grounding myself in its solidity. Breathe, Andy, breathe.

“I’m sorting it out,” I said at last, once oxygen decided we weren’t breaking up after all. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But how?—”

“Don’t reply to that email,” I cut her off with more force than I intended. “Period. And don’t answer calls from numbers you don’t recognize either.”

Mia was silent for a beat before her voice softened. “Andy, how are you going to sort this out? Why do you owe that man two million dollars?”

“It’s… complicated.” Understatement of the century. “I’ll fill you in later, but right now, I really need to handle this.”

“Okay.” She sounded unconvinced but dropped it—for now. “Just be careful.”

“I will.” I ran a hand through my hair, already strategizing my next move.

Her voice was gentle but laced with unspoken concern. “Love you. I’ve got to get back to work now.”

“Alright,” I said, forcing a smile she couldn’t see. “Talk soon.”

I hung up with Mia, my heart pounding like a bass drum in my chest. James Maxwell—his name alone made my blood run cold. I needed to call him. Now.

I tapped James Maxwell’s number into my phone with the kind of familiarity that breeds contempt. How many times had I dialed those digits, heart full of hope and head bursting with dreams? Now, it was desperation that made my fingers fly across the screen.

“Maxwell,” came the crisp voice on the other end, as if he was expecting a call from anyone but me.

“Mr. Maxwell. It’s Andy Donovan. Sorry for the cold call.” I crammed every ounce of regret I could muster into my voice, hoping it sounded like I’d just accidentally stepped on a kitten rather than begging for financial mercy.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” There was amusement in his tone—probably picturing me squirming on the other end, which wasn’t far from the truth.

“I just got wind you’ve been emailing my sister about… well, about the unfortunate matter of the two mil.” I rushed through my words, tripping over them like a clumsy ballerina. “Could you maybe not drag her into this?”

There was a chuckle that crawled down my spine like a playful spider. “Ah, family ties—the knots that bind us, whether we like it or not.”

“Not helpful,” I gritted out.

“It’s simple,” he said, that chuckle still tainting his voice. “Get me my money back and your sister is out of the picture.”

My mind raced faster than a hamster on a wheel doped up on espresso shots. “How soon do you need it?”

“As soon as possible,” he replied, and there was that teasing lilt again, as if he enjoyed dangling me over the edge just to watch me squirm. “There’s someone willing to settle your debt,” he added casually. “But if you insist on doing this yourself…”

“I’ll handle it,” I interrupted before he could finish. No way was I going to let someone else clean up my mess. “Just… be patient.”

“Patience is a virtue I rarely indulge in,” James said smoothly. “But I’ll consider it—for now.”

The line went dead, and I was left staring at the phone like it had personally offended me.

Okay, Andy, think.

But thinking wasn’t my strong suit when panic clouded my brain like a bad weather front. Instead of plotting a rational course of action, I hit Sean’s number with the force of a thousand angry gods. The phone barely had time to ring before his voice crackled through.

“Andy! Knew you’d come to your senses,” he gushed like a leaky faucet.

My jaw clenched. Patience wasn’t exactly sprouting in abundance these days. “Cut the crap, Sean. What’s my cut, and when’s this shady deal of yours going down?”

Straight to the point, no frills.

There was a pause, and I could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “Just over two million for you,” he said, a smugness creeping into his tone. “Enough to wipe that debt clean.”

My pulse hammered at the thought—two million could set Mia and me free. “When?”

“Today, Andy-boy. Everything’s lined up.”

My mind raced like a greyhound on a sugar high. I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. This was it—my shot at redemption or my ticket to an early grave. “Meet me outside the Maxwell in twenty,” I said, already on the move.

“Will do.” He hung up.

In my room, I grabbed my battered old backpack and stuffed it with jeans and a hoodie—the kind of clothes that whispered Andy Donovan pre-Matt Caine era. The familiarity of them was comforting, like a secret handshake with my past self.

I strode to the door, slinging the pack over my shoulder, but not before casting a wary glance at Bruno who stood there like a human fortress.

“I’m heading out to meet a friend,” I informed him, aiming for nonchalance but probably landing somewhere near barely contained hysteria.

Bruno nodded once and followed me into the elevator without a word. My heart raced as we descended; every ding of the elevator felt like a tick of a bomb counting down to detonation.

One step at a time, Andy. First meet Sean, then figure out how not to get yourself killed in this shady deal.

The doors opened with a ding that sounded more like a death knell than a polite chime.

The lobby buzzed like a beehive on a sugar rush, people swarming every which way.

Men in suits clicked past on phones, barking about stocks and shares, while ladies in shimmering dresses glided by, leaving trails of perfume that could choke a skunk.

I had to weave through the throng like a slalom skier avoiding human pylons.

Amid this whirlpool, I scanned for my escape route, my eyes flicking to Bruno—a mountain of muscle and silence—standing at my shoulder.

Turning to him, I flashed my most innocent grin. “Gotta hit the head, man. All this water I’m chugging is making a beeline for my bladder.”

He nodded, stone-faced as ever, and lumbered behind me as I made for the men’s room.

Slipping into my old jeans and hoodie felt like putting on a superhero costume—Andy Donovan: Master of Disguise. With the hood up, I became just another face in the crowd.

I waited, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted out. Then, as if the universe had my back for once, a gaggle of rowdy college guys stumbled in, all loud laughs and flailing limbs.

Perfect.

I slid into their midst like a ninja joining a parade—casual, inconspicuous. We moved as one entity back into the lobby, and with each step toward freedom, my pulse thrummed with adrenaline.