Page 173 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Cade

“Come on, pick up, pick up.” I dial her number again, but there’s no answer.

After that talk with Declan, I left immediately to head to her place. First, I called the men I’d put on her, but they didn’t answer their phones. That was the first sign something’s wrong. I tried her right away, and when the call went to voicemail, the hair on the back of my neck prickled.

Of course, there’s always a chance she’s so pissed with me, she refused to accept the call—and she has every reason to be—but my instincts say otherwise. Something isn’t right.

I never should have told her that the proposal was fake.

Never should have pretended I was going out to party with my mates.

Never should have pushed her away. What kind of a coward am I, that I couldn’t face up to my own emotions?

That I couldn’t admit to myself that I had feelings for her?

What kind of a monster refuses to even acknowledge when the woman of his dreams confesses her feelings for him?

What kind of a knobhead turns his back on his woman when she’s at her most vulnerable?

If anything happens to her, I’ll… I’ll never be able to forgive myself.

I press my foot on the accelerator, tempted to go above the speed limit—damn the consequences—but that won’t help my case.

The last thing I need is to be caught speeding through London.

The press would have a field day with that, and it would only neutralize any of the positive press from our engagement.

If not for myself, I owed it to her to keep my name out of the tabloid headlines.

She agreed to the engagement and did her part. She so convincing as a woman in love; it’s part of the reason the reporters bought the story. That, and the fact that I meant every word I said. Only, I never told her that. Instead, bastard that I am, I told her the opposite.

When I see her next, I’m going to make sure she knows everything.

Please, please let her be safe. She has to be safe.

I redial her number using the hands-free gear when an incoming call shows up on screen.

I accept it, and a woman’s voice fills the space.

“Cade, thank god I reached you. It’s Abby—something’s wrong. ”

My heart catapults into my throat. “What’s wrong with her? Who’s this?"

“It’s Solene. I’m Abby’s friend; I got your number off Zara and—"

“What happened?”

“I was talking with Abby, when I heard her exclaim in surprise, and the phone went dead. More than likely, she dropped the device. Something’s very wrong.”

“I’m on my way.” I press on the accelerator, this time, not caring if I break the speed limit.

I cover the distance to her house in less than half the time it normally takes.

Then screech to a halt in front of her apartment block.

I’m out of the car before it’s come to a stop and racing across the sidewalk, up the steps and through the front door of the building.

I call JJ’s number as I take the stairs two at a time.

“Kane,” he answers.

“I’m at Abby’s apartment block—something is wrong. I need back up.”

“You got it.” The line goes dead.

That’s the thing with men who prefer the gray to the black and white.

When you’re in trouble, they’ll jump to your help first and ask questions later.

And fuck, if I don’t need all the help I can get now.

Maybe I’m being overzealous in calling for reinforcements, but I’ll take that over being underprepared, any day.

It’s what being in a street gang taught me.

Never underestimate your enemy. And I had.

I should have tracked down the stalker who broke into her apartment sooner, but I didn’t.

This is my fault. Mine. I reach the door to her apartment, and once again, it stands ajar.

My heart expands, until it’s constricting my airways.

My lungs burn. Sweat beads my forehead. I slip inside the apartment and glance around the living room when the sound of breaking glass reaches me.

Adrenaline spikes my blood. My vision tunnels.

My feet don’t seem to touch the ground as I race toward the kitchen.

I burst in to find she’s grappling with a stranger.

As I watch, she grabs a knife off the countertop and swipes at him. He steps aside, then throws up his fists.

“Stop!” I yell.

Abby jerks her face in my direction. Her gaze widens.

“Abby, no—" I cry out, but it’s too late. The next moment, the intruder’s grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her around to face me.

“Let her go.” I take another step, then come to a stop.

He laughs, pulling her against his chest. “You think I’m going to stand by while you marry my woman?”

I stiffen, every muscle in my body wound up, all of my senses on alert, “She’s not yours.”

“She’s not yours, either. I’ll never let you have her.” He tucks her head under his chin and my blood pounds at my temples. Anger flushes my skin. I take another step forward and he scowls. “Don’t come closer.”

“Let go of her.”

“No fucking way.” He squeezes her wrist, and she cries out. The blade slips from her grasp, and he catches it.

My heart slams into my ribcage, anger pulses through my veins. I move toward him, then freeze, for he’s holding the blade to her neck.

“Now we’re talking.” His grin widens. “On your knees, asshole.”

I bend one knee, then the other.

“Put your hands behind your head.”

I comply.

“How does it feel to be on the losing team, eh?”

I stay silent.

“Oh, I forgot. You’re used to it. You’re a loser of a captain, you know that? The least you could do is lead the team to victory. When did you last do that, eh?”

“The team won the last three matches,” I point out.

“They were limited over-matches; they don’t count.”

Jesus, another puritanical cricket lover? How many of them are there anyway? “Is that why you went after her—to get to me?”

He blinks, then laughs. “You give yourself too much credit. Abby and I knew each other, much before you came on the scene.” He lowers his cheek to hers. “Don’t we, sweetheart?”

She stares at me, eyes wide, cheeks shorn of color. She’s barely breathing, her body so rigid, it’s as if she’s encased in ice. I hold her gaze, try to convey to her there’s nothing to worry about. Her eyes flicker, and I’m sure I’m getting through to her in some form.

“Stop talking to each other, or I swear, I’m going to tear up this pretty face.” He raises his hand and places it against her cheek.

A small cry leaves her lips and my heart shatters. My muscles jump. Adrenaline fills my veins. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How do I stop this, how do I get him away from her?

“What do you want? Is it money? I can pay you.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head. “How much are we talking about?”

“Everything. Take everything I have but let her go.” I sense her lips part in surprise, but I don’t take my gaze off of his face. “You know you want to accept the offer.”

His eyebrows knit.

“You know you want to. Take it. Think of everything you can do with the money. We’re talking billions here. All the money from my sponsorships, and my winnings that I have invested—you can have it all.”

“Tempting.” He nods slowly, then smiles. “But no, thank you, I’ll take her instead.” He begins to inch away in the direction of the rear door of the kitchen. It backs onto a fire-escape; I’m sure that’s his destination. It’s how he left last time, as well.

“Wait,” I call out. “You’ll get VIP tickets to the next World Cup.”

He pauses.

“And to every single match played by the English cricket team for the rest of your life.”

He blinks, and I know I have him. I rise slowly to my feet.

“Think about it. A life’s supply of the best tickets. That’s something even money can’t buy.”

I take another step in his direction.

“That is tempting,” he admits slowly. “Every single game, huh?”

I nod. “I’ll throw in tickets to every single Arsenal game, as well.”

He straightens. “Not a footie fan, but Arsenal’s different.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” I slide my foot forward. “If I weren’t the captain of the English cricket team, Arsenal would be my team of choice to play for.”

“That last match when they defeated Man-U?” He shakes his head. “That penalty shot—"

“—My fucking favorite.” I’m within three feet of them, when he seems to realize how close I am.

“Stop,” he cries out.

I do.

“If you think you can distract me by talking about sports, you—"

I snatch up the pan from the stovetop and leap forward.