Page 22 of Trailer Park Billionaire (Distinguished Billionaires #3)

BEN

“ F uck!”

This could ruin everything—everything we’ve worked for so hard.

I could flagellate myself right now.

How the fuck did I blow my cover?

And more importantly, what the fuck am I going to do with her now?

She knows too much. I can’t let her get away.

Helena notices the expression on my face, and it’s like she can read my thoughts.

“Actually, never mind,” she mumbles, spins on her heels and tries to run off.

She doesn’t get far, though, because Alexei, who must have seen her approach, already moved in to block her escape.

I guess we’re doing this.

I step out of my trailer and, before Helena can scream, wrap one hand around her mouth, the other around her body, pulling her towards me. She drops her art supplies and begins to struggle.

Of course, she’s tiny—almost surprisingly weak—and overpowering her takes barely any effort. The hardest thing about it is not smelling her. Because she does smell nice. Like burned caramel and turpentine. It’s intoxicating.

This isn’t good. We shouldn’t be doing this.

I carry her inside the trailer, sit her down on the bench at my kitchen table, and tell Alex to bring me the box from under my bed.

Helena has given up struggling and just glances at me now. There’s anger and hatred in her eyes—but no fear. Which is good. She can hate me all she wants, but I don’t want her to be afraid. Not after what must have happened to her.

“We’re not going to do anything to you. Don’t worry,” I assure her in the most emphatic tone possible as Alexei puts down the box and opens it to reveal a bunch of ropes, ties, and handcuffs.

Helena looks inside the box, then up to me, and crosses her arms. Now I’m pretty sure I can read her mind.

“Not what it looks like,” I try to assure her again, even though, yes, in this case… it’s sort of what it looks like. “I promise. We’re not going to hurt you. We just can’t have you run off right now. It’s for your own safety.” I grab the zip ties and extend my hand.

Reluctantly, she holds hers out, letting me cuff her. Then I add ties around her legs and fasten them to the metal pole of the kitchen table.

“Shouldn’t you ask for my safeword first?” she says mockingly, shaking her head like she can’t believe any of this is happening.

This is my fault.

I was careless.

I must have led her here.

“This is your fault,” Alexei grunts from behind me. “You idiot led her here. I saw her follow you on my way to the museum.”

Shit. I took the usual detour through the skyscraper like I always do. She shouldn’t have been able to follow me.

“It’s fine,” I grumble. “We can figure this out.”

“Said the kidnapper to his accomplice,” Helena mutters, her eyes darting angrily between the two of us.

Kidnapping.

Yeah.

That’s a first.

“Oh, my god,” she lets out suddenly, like something just dawned on her. “Iris did say that you’re her neighbor. I thought she meant seat neighbor. But she didn’t. She lives here, doesn’t she?”

“Just around the corner,” Alex confirms. “Sweet kid.”

I should make sure Helena is okay. She looks okay. Pissed, but okay. “The ties aren’t too tight?” I ask, immediately regretting how stupid I sound.

Helena doesn’t bother answering, instead she just stares.

Kidnapping.

How do we unfuck this?

What are the rules for this?

If only I had taken Kidnapping 101 in college.

“Oh!” I blurt suddenly, open the cabinet next to me and grab a bunch of snacks, candy, and treats. “We’ve got a wide selection! What would you like?” I ask—maybe a little too upbeat considering the situation.

Helena furrows her brows, until, a second later, she realizes what I’m doing.

“You know I’m not nine anymore, and I’m not trying to steal the museum’s donation—” she stops mid-sentence, her brain obviously working something out.

It only takes a moment for realization to hit her again.

“But you are! You’re a con artist trying to steal paintings from the museum!

Hence, why you’re pretending to be a billionaire!

Hence, the private tour of our archive!” She disappears in her thoughts once more before going on.

“Hence why you kept walking into storage rooms ‘on accident.’ You were casing the joint!”

Alex gestures into the air as if to say, ‘What now?’

I exhale slowly, scrubbing my hand over my stubble. Yeah, good question. I don’t know what to do now either. Even my hostage has more experience with kidnapping than I do. “So,” I decide to simply ignore her accusations for now, “what are you doing in our lovely part of town?”

“Taking my paintbrushes for a fucking walk.”

Alexei chokes on his own spit, leans against the door, and observes us silently.

“The better question is, what the fuck are you doing here?” she fires back, putting extra emphasis on the next four words: “ Mr. Rich and Powerful ?”

The audacity of this woman is intoxicating.

Imagine having the gall to speak like this to someone who has you zip-tied to their kitchen table.

I want to be exasperated. I should be exasperated by the whole situation.

But instead, all I can think about is how ridiculous this all is—and how my biggest problem right now isn’t that my cover is blown…

It’s that I want to brush my hostage’s hair, find out who hurt her, and then hunt them down and ? —

I motion for Alex to open the door. “We’ll be back,” I explain to Helena. “I’d recommend the poffertjes before Alex can get to them. It’s the mini pancakes. Dutch and delicious.”

She just stares, unimpressed. “Yep. By all means. Can’t wait for the genius plan you two are going to come up with to get out of this mess.”

I close the door quietly, then slam my head against it once or twice.

Alexei just grunts approvingly. “Let me know if you need help with that.”

“What are we going to do? This is a nightmare.”

“You know what we need to do.” He leans against the side of the trailer. “We need to take care of her. It’ll be a problem if we don’t deliver that painting in time. So…”

“What the hell, Alexander?” I whisper harshly. “We’re thieves, con artists, fraudsters, strippers if necessary?—”

“Hey!” he interrupts. “We promised never to talk about that night again.”

“But we’re not killers,” I snap back.

Alexei rolls his eyes and waves me off theatrically. "Who said anything about killing her? I meant we keep her here for a couple of days, take care of her until the job is done, and then release her.”

I look into his smug grin. “Maybe I should take care of you too, old friend.”

"You guys know this trailer isn’t soundproof, right?” Helena calls from inside.

Alexei's jaw tenses. “You’re a terrible kidnapper, you know that?”

“Me? You mean we!”

“Stop it, both of you,” Helena reprimands us, while opening the door.

Then she fixes her eyes on me. “Alex is right though— you suck at this. After all, you’re the one who dragged me into your trailer and then zip-tied an innocent young woman to your kitchen, which is full of knives and scissors.

” She holds up one of my knives and tosses the zip-ties against my chest. “Now get in here before someone gets hurt. And pick that up.” Helena points at the zip-ties on the ground. “I hate littering.”

I rub my temples, trying to manage the oncoming headache.

This is definitely karma coming for me.

The two of us step into the trailer, where Helena is already sitting on one side of the kitchen table, knife still in hand with which she gestures for both of us to sit on the bench opposite her. Alex squeezes in first; I follow, though the bench is much too small for two men our size.

“So,” she starts, flips the knife upside down and rams the tip into my wooden cutting board, “what’s our plan then?”

Tension hangs in the air. Alex hesitantly turns his head to me. For a moment, my eyes rest on Helena, processing what she just said, then I look over to my friend.

“Come on, I don’t have all day. Tell me how you two artists were going to con the museum, or do I need to start guessing?” She drums her fingers on the table, utterly unimpressed by the fact that she's supposed to be the one tied up and intimidated right now.

I stare at Helena. Helena stares at me. Alex, who apparently has just capitulated to this whole situation, has moved on to stare longingly at the poffertjes currently on the table, as if he hasn’t eaten all day.

I, on the other hand, am grappling with the very real and deeply inconvenient urge to be utterly charmed by this woman. Charmed by her unapologetic resistance.

Over the years, I’ve learned how to manipulate people to get what I want: you disarm them with your smile, make them feel at ease to let you in, and then you make them feel understood and special.

Once you’ve given them that feeling a few times, they crave more of it.

Which is when you make your move. Not with Helena, though.

She’s impervious. Every time I think I’m getting close to cracking her shell, she reveals an even thicker one underneath.

It’s like she only entertains me so she can shut me down a moment later. You never know what to expect with her.

I clear my throat. “The plan was simple. I locate the painting while you show me the archives, Alex creates a distraction, I steal the canvas, stash it in one of the storage rooms, Alex picks it up while I keep you busy, and we make a clean getaway. No one ever notices.” This much is true.

Or at least it was, until I found out who was giving me the tour of the museum: Edward Frame’s granddaughter.

In my mind, I have since pondered slightly different versions of the plan.

Especially after discovering her grandpa’s collection of paintings.

Helena hasn’t stopped staring glaring at me the entire time. That stubborn glint in her eyes doing things to me that are profoundly unhelpful—especially when one is attempting to be a serious criminal.

“So what does the expert think?” I ask. “Wouldn’t work?”