Sinful Rewards 5: A Billionaires and Bikers Novella by Cynthia Sax

Author:Cynthia Sax [Sax, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harpercollins
Published: 2014-11-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

THE STORM DOESN’T ease. I wash my hands and dress in my nightclothes—my threadbare boy shorts and camisole. It’s early in the evening and I return to the main room, lounge on the couch, not ready for bed but having no plans to leave the condo either.

I text Hawke, asking him where he is. He replies within seconds, saying he’ll be home soon, whatever his definition of soon is. I send a similar message to Nicolas, feeling guilty that I thought of him second. This juggling-men business is tricky. I don’t like it. At all.

Nicolas doesn’t reply. I haven’t heard from him since this morning. He could be busy or he could be kidnapped by the bad men Hawke is supposed to be protecting him from.

Except Hawke isn’t protecting him because he’s working on my problem. Which means, oh my God, Nicolas could be dead. I call his number.

“Nicolas Rainer,” he answers on the third ring, his voice curt.

“You’re alive.” My shoulders lower, the tension easing from my body. “Did you receive my message about having extra bodyguards today? Because I’ve seen movies, and I know the bad guys always use storms to cover up their activities.” I’m rambling and I can’t stop. “In the movies, the police or the secret service or whoever is supposed to be keeping the peace are busy dealing with weather-related emergencies and they never notice.”

“You’re worried about me again.” My billionaire sounds bemused. Men yell in the background and doors slam.

“Of course, I’m worried about you. I’m your friend.” I listen intently and the yelling grows louder, the anger palpable. “Are those hostiles?” I use the fancy military word I learned from Hawke’s friend Dawg.

“They’re definitely hostile.” Nicolas treats me to one of his rare laughs. “That’s my executive team. We’re in the middle of a situation.”

And I interrupted him. I grimace. “I’m sorry. I’ll end our call and let you get back to your situation.”

“Thank you, Bee.” There’s a pause. “For worrying about me,” Nicolas adds softly. There’s a click, followed by silence. My billionaire has hung up on me again.

Minutes later, Boyfriend, a.k.a. Hawke, sends me a text with a video attachment.

Boyfriend: Watch this and tell me if anything looks suspicious.

Nicolas turns down my offers of help while Hawke actively solicits my assistance, trusting me with his top-secret security work. I access the file on my laptop, requiring the bigger screen to see details.

The full-color footage features a ritzy dinner party. The men sport the expected black tuxedos, only their pocket squares and other accessories adding variety. The women wear long beautiful ball gowns, diamonds and other precious stones encircling their necks, wrists, fingers. Famous individuals mingle with not-as-famous yet still ridiculously wealthy people. The waitstaff wear white jackets and black dress pants. The serving sizes are tiny, the food prettily displayed, and the chairs appear as uncomfortable as the one I claimed at lunch.

I watch the video once, studying the guests as they eat and chat. I watch their faces, trying to read their expressions.

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