Page 65 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)
Twenty-Six
MATT
M att sat at the head of the conference table, a sleek expanse of polished mahogany stretching out before him.
Important people filled the room—CEOs, investors, key stakeholders.
Their voices droned on about quarterly projections and market shares, but his mind was far from the financial forecasts and corporate strategies being discussed.
His gaze wandered past the spreadsheets and pie charts, settling on nothing in particular as his mind traced the contours of a different sort of figure.
Andy’s image flickered behind his eyes—the glimmer of light in his golden-brown eyes, the curve of his lips when he smirked, that devil-may-care swagger in his walk.
Andy was a tempest in Matt’s otherwise orderly world.
A spitfire with quick wit and an even quicker temper.
But beneath that fiery exterior lay a tenderness that made Matt’s chest ache.
This fixation was maddening. He’d never been one to lose focus, especially not when his empire demanded vigilance. Deals like these were his lifeblood, yet today, they seemed like pale shadows compared to the fire that Andy ignited within him.
The room buzzed with talk of acquisitions, mergers—words that usually sparked his predatory instinct—but now they just fell flat.
A surge of possessiveness tightened in his chest as he remembered Andy’s desperate offer to James.
That foolhardy sacrifice for Mia had sent a jolt through him—a possessive streak he didn’t recognize as his own flaring to life.
The idea of Andy with anyone else made Matt’s stomach churn.
He’d known other lovers, sure, but they were ephemeral delights—candles snuffed out with a breath.
Andy was different; Andy was… everything .
“Mr. Caine, if I could direct your attention to the projected growth chart,” one of his partners interjected.
Matt’s eyes flickered toward him, but before he could feign interest in whatever profit margins were being discussed, his phone vibrated against the polished wood.
Eddie’s name flashed across the screen—a lifeline thrown into the sea of numbers and contracts. Matt excused himself with an apologetic nod no one believed and stepped out into the corridor. His heart pounded an ominous rhythm as he swiped to answer.
“Eddie,” he said tersely, every fiber braced for news that could shatter his world.
“Boss, Andy’s gone,” came Eddie’s voice, weighted with urgency.
Matt’s jaw instantly went into a tight viselike clench. “Find him,” he demanded. It wasn’t a request; it was an order etched in stone.
Eddie continued, his words tumbling out like a cascade of bad omens. “We found his stuff at his place, but the door’s been smashed in and the whole apartment’s turned upside down.”
A sickening sensation rose in Matt’s chest, an unwelcome guest that spelled out trouble. One name came to mind—a curse in itself—Carlos. That bastard must have been behind this.
“Move a team to search for him. Now!” Matt commanded, every syllable laced with iron.
The urgency propelled him back into the conference room, where he declared the meeting over with a finality that left no room for debate.
As he exited the boardroom, the constricting worry for Andy squeezed tighter than any high-stakes deal ever could, every step fueled by adrenaline and fear—a cocktail he wasn’t accustomed to drinking.
He tapped on his phone with an urgency that matched his heartbeat, activating the tracking app linked to Andy’s choker.
A solitary dot blinked back at him from a sea of darkness—the desert swallowing it whole. He dialed James without hesitation.
“James,” he said when the call connected, “Andy’s been taken.”
There was a pause—a fraction of a second where James likely pieced together the gravity from Matt’s tone alone.
“We’ll need backup,” James replied coolly.
Matt nodded even though James couldn’t see it. “I’m calling William and Tory.”
T he desert swallowed the predawn gloom, an expanse of sand and shadows that stretched to the horizon. Rudd’s hands were steady on the wheel as the sleek car sliced through the darkness, a beacon of urgency against the vast nothingness.
Matt sat like a coiled spring beside James, each man radiating a silent storm.
Behind and ahead, the procession of vehicles bore his men, each one handpicked for loyalty and skill in situations precisely like this one.
The tracking app on Matt’s phone was their compass in this barren landscape, guiding them toward what was left of Carlos’ empire—a dilapidated warehouse that squatted in the wasteland like a toad waiting for flies.
It loomed ahead, walls scarred by time and neglect.
Shadows clung to its crevices, reluctant to part even as dim lights flickered from within—sickly yellow patches that hinted at movement and life.
It was an ugly bruise on the landscape, but it held something precious—something Matt would reclaim with fury and fire.
The cars came to a halt in a choreographed dance of precision parking, their headlights cutting swathes through the gloom. Doors clicked open in unison, and Matt stepped out into the chilled air that smelled of dust and forgotten dreams.
Soon Tory’s car rolled up with William’s following suit. Both men emerged into the waning night, each with their own entourage of grim-faced soldiers. Mark’s absence was noted but not dwelled upon; he was already back in New York handling other matters.
James nodded at Tory—a greeting devoid of warmth or words—but when his gaze landed on William, it was clear that their usual beef simmered just beneath the surface. Yet this wasn’t the time for personal feuds; it was a time for unity against a common enemy.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Tory greeted them with his characteristic charm, a smile playing on his lips as if they were about to embark on a leisurely breakfast rather than a rescue mission.
Matt nodded at both men. “Thanks for coming.”
“It’s what friends are for,” Tory responded with ease while William simply nodded—an unspoken understanding passing between them all.
As if summoned by an invisible signal, dozens more men joined them—black suits against the pale dawn light. Each man armed and alert, they looked like chess pieces ready to storm an enemy castle.
Matt’s instructions cut through the air—sharp and commanding. “Secure the perimeter. Shoot first if they’re not ours.” His words were met with curt nods as his men fanned out like shadows come to life.
Tory turned back to Matt, James, and William with an arch of his brow. “Shall we?”
A tight knot clenched in Matt’s stomach—a tangle of nerves and anticipation that only Andy could unravel. His hands balled into fists at his sides as he felt every muscle tense in preparation for what lay ahead.
They approached the warehouse door—solid steel waiting to yield to their forceful entry.
Subtlety wasn’t on tonight’s agenda, brute force was.
Matt drew back his foot and unleashed years of pent-up aggression into one thunderous kick.
The door gave way with a crash that echoed through the empty space beyond.
“Carlos!” Matt’s roar filled every inch of the forsaken building, rage searing his throat raw. “You just signed your death warrant taking Andy from me! I swear you’ll regret this until your last breath!”
The air inside the warehouse was thick with tension, the stench of desperation mingling with the metallic tang of firearms. Matt eyed the assembly of Mexican thugs coldly, each one brandishing their weapon with a bravado, the dark muzzles pointing at Matt and his friends with an eagerness that spoke volumes of their intention.
They were ready to turn this grim pageant into a bloodbath at the twitch of a trigger finger.
He stood rooted to the spot, his friends flanking him in an unspoken formation of solidarity. The numbers were against them, sure, but Matt knew well that it wasn’t numbers that won wars—it was will. And his will was an unbreakable fortress.
Carlos made his entrance then, an overconfident waddle set to the rhythm of his own misguided bravado.
His bald head shone under the weak lights like a beacon of idiocy.
He spread his arms as if he were about to embrace them or perhaps take flight—though it would take more than hubris to lift him off the ground.
“Bienvenido! Bienvenido!” Carlos chuckled, spreading his arms as if he were about to offer a hug instead of a bullet. “I can’t believe you actually came because of a boy.” He laughed again, the sound grating on Matt’s already frayed nerves. “And all four of you too.”
Matt’s response was instinctive, hands clenched at his sides, his fury barely contained. “Where’s Andy?” he demanded, voice low and dangerous—a growl from the depths of a beast roused to wrath.
Carlos feigned thoughtfulness. “We’re here to do a deal, are we not, Senor Caine?” He tipped his head mockingly. “No deal, no boy.” The arrogance oozed from him like oil from a slick.
The taunt was a match to gasoline; Matt felt the flames lick up his spine. “You can shove your deal,” he spat.
From beside him, Tory piped up with feigned disappointment, lighthearted as ever despite the gravity of their situation. “Damn, Matt, no fun tonight? Just endless jabber?”
Matt could almost appreciate Tory’s attempt to slice through the tension with humor—if the situation weren’t so damn dire. Every second wasted on Carlos’ theatrics was another second Andy was in danger.
“Listen up,” he shot back at Carlos. “No deal. Your trash won’t taint my city. Now bring me Andy.”
Carlos recoiled as if slapped; rejection wasn’t in his playbook. He puffed up like an indignant rooster facing down an unruly henhouse. “You’ll all die here!” he blustered.
Matt met Carlos’ fury with an arctic smile. “You’re mistaken,” he corrected him coolly. “You’re the one who won’t walk away.”