Page 157 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Cade

"You sure are taking your frustration out on that thing, hmm?" JJ Kane smirks at me from behind the punching bag.

If only I could also dissuade my friends and acquaintances from coming by and saying hi.

I scowl at JJ, hoping he’ll get the message and leave.

But the wanker merely widens his grin and nods toward the speed bag.

Okay then. I gather my strength, then ram my left fist into the punching bag, then the right, then the left again and the other.

I keep at it until my biceps burn, my triceps scream in agony, and my shoulders protest. Sweat drips down my temples and clings to my chest planes by the time I pant to a stop.

My chest rises and falls as I take a step back.

"Not bad." JJ snatches up the towel I dropped to the ground earlier and hands it to me.

I nod my thanks and wipe my face before balling it and throwing it back at him. Without any change in expression, he hangs it around his neck, then beckons to the mat. "How many sit-ups can you do before you collapse, you reckon?"

"Many more than you can, I reckon," I scoff.

JJ’s smile widens. "Not a competition, ol’ chap."

"Life’s a competition, then you die."

"Ah, the confidence of callow youth. If only you realized life’s a marathon, not a sprint." JJ says on a sigh, then adds, “And sometimes, it’s a relay race.”

"I’ll let you get on with the marathons and relay races. Give me hard and fast and on my own any day, except when it comes to sex, of course."

I prowl toward the exercise mat I used earlier, then throw myself down on my back. I stretch out my legs, and JJ holds my ankles. I begin my sit-ups, and his grip tightens to stabilize me.

"How’s Abby doing?"

I frown up at him, but don’t interrupt my rhythm. "What’s it to you?"

He laughs. "Simply being polite."

"Well don’t be," I snarl.

"You’re possessive about her; that’s good. You’re going to need all of that aggression to fight off the suitors."

"Suitors?" I pause half-way up my next sit-up. "What do you mean, suitors?"

"You do know she’s a mafia princess?"

"She’s disowned her parents."

"But have her parents disowned her?"

This time I straighten.

"What do you mean?"

"Her father is—"

"A prick," I snap.

"And one of the most powerful mafia lords in the world. She’s his only daughter. You think he’s going to give up the opportunity to make a match for her with a rival mafia clan? It’s the way this world works. Sons are heirs and daughters are collateral damage."

"I can’t claim to know the ins and outs of how a mafia lord thinks, although I’m assuming you know all about it, given your background."

"Pot, kettle, and all that?"

I narrow my gaze on him. "You have something to say, old man?"

His lips curve up in what’s supposed to be JJ fucking Kane’s version of an innocent smile. My arse. It’s like the smile of a shark while baring its teeth. "Just that you need to look after what’s yours better."

"The fuck you talking about?"

"If she were mine—" I lunge at him, but he evades me, and in a move that belies the fact he’s at least twenty years older, he grabs my wrist and twists. I find myself sprawled on my chest, with my arm doubled behind my back.

"Stop talking about her," I growl.

"This temper is bound to be your downfall, my boy."

"Keep talking and that’s not the only thing that’s going to be a downfall, my man."

He laughs. "Very good. A halfway decent rejoinder, too. Why don’t you rein in that superiority complex of yours and listen to what I have to say, hmm?"

I try to pull free, but asshole only tightens his grip. Pain shoots up my arm, and I pant. "The fuck you trying to tell me, grandpa?"

"None of your insults take away from the fact that I keep my girlfriend, who’s eleven years younger than you, by the way, very sexually satisfied."

"You buy the factory that makes those little blue pills?" I sneer.

"Actually, I hold the patent to a competitor that’s made from herbs and is ten times more effective, but that’s beside the point."

I glance at him over my shoulder. "What-fucking-ever."

"The classic rejoinder of the youth." He blows out a breath. "We could stay all evening trading insults, but I’m afraid time is of the essence."

A cold sensation grabs my chest. "The fuck you talking about?"

He inclines his head. "As I was saying, if she were mine, with an emphasis on the if—because she’s yours, not mine, and I’m very happy with my Lena, thank you very much—but if she were Lena, I’d never let her out of my sight."

I glare at him. "I know exactly where she is right now, you piece of shit."

"Do you now?"

That cold sensation in my chest spreads to the rest of my torso.

I flex my biceps, and in a sharp move, shake off his hold, then jump to my feet and race to the locker room with JJ on my heels.

I tear open the door to my locker, yank out my phone and pull up the security app that controls the cameras in her apartment. "The fuck?"

"Everything okay?" JJ asks.

"Everything is not-fucking-okay. The cameras are down." I switch my phone off, then on, then try the app again. Still, no visuals on her. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

The blood roars in my head. My vision tunnels, and sparks of red swirl at the edges of my vision. I raise my phone and am about to hurl it on the ground when JJ slaps me.

“Get ahold of yourself, asshole!”

The shock reverberates through my mind. All thoughts fade away, and in their place, a calmness descends. I lower my hand, then glare at him. "I have to go to her."