Billion Dollar Bad Boy (Big City Billionaires #1) (13 page)

Laralie looked me over, her tone gentle. “Maybe you should go, Alexis.”

I leaned away from her. “What?”

“Are your memories from back then really... you know, gone?”

Her concern was throwing me off. The armor I'd crafted out of terror and bitter exhaustion cracked off of me in bits. “Yes,” I whispered.

“That would drive me crazy.” Her shoulders rode high. “I don't know. As much as this guy is grating my nerves from how up your ass he's being—”

“Excuse me,” Roose coughed.

“As much as all that, not knowing would be the worst. If going back there can shake things loose, what's the harm?”

Both the detective and I blinked at her. He was baffled, and I was—amazingly—not as betrayed as I expected to feel. Laralie's heart was in the right place, and she had no idea she was putting me in a tough spot.

Except... maybe she was right.
If it can help me stop blocking things out, isn't it worth the fear?
I wasn't sure, but a sliver of me lit up like a firework at the idea of regaining my memories.

“Alright,” I said, trying to mute the defeat in my voice. “I'll see what happens.”

How much more could one event ruin my life, anyway?

Laralie reached out, pulling me in for a hug that left me blushing. Then, she backed up the steps, rounding on the detective. “If something bad happens to her,” she said flatly, “I'll stick that pen of yours up your ass.”

He threw his hands up, managing to look entertained instead of scared. “Why do you keep treating me like I'm the bad guy here?”

She pointed once more, then she waved at me before vanishing inside.

Roose sighed loudly, twisting the pen in his fingers. “She wasn't serious, was she?”

Looking up at him, I lingered on the pen. “You don't want to find out.”

His laugh was real, until he saw how I wasn't amused. Coughing, he tucked the pen in his pocket and waved an arm to the left. “Let's get going.”

My steps down the sidewalk became heavier and heavier. I had the sense that, in spite of all the promised results, I was heading towards the gallows.

Old Stone bank, the place everything had changed.

No matter how I tried to prepare myself... I didn't know what was waiting for me.

Alexis

T
he drive went by too fast. It always worked that way when you didn't want to be somewhere, didn't it?

Roose had driven us in an old, beaten up Subaru. Again, I didn't know what I expected from this guy, but it wasn't this. The floor of the car was messy—not with trash, I realized, but crumpled bits of notebook paper.

Nudging one, I tried to read the scribbles, but I was distracted by the sight of a Tool CD underneath. Were detectives allowed to listen to that kind of music?
Good
music?

“Hey,” he said, trying to start a conversation for the eighth time. “Thanks again for doing this.”

“Thank me if it works.”
It won't work.
But what if it did?

In my purse, my phone buzzed. It was loud enough in the silence that Roose glanced at me. “You gonna get that?”

On impulse, I dug inside and peeked at the phone. It had been a text.

Silver: I need to see you.

Clutching the phone, as if the warmth from it was connected to the man himself, I shivered.
If I respond, what do I say?

Roose coughed politely. “Something come up?”

Nervously, I zipped my purse up. “No no, everything is fine.”

“Well, good. Because we're here.”

I tasted bile in my mouth. Old Stone Bank was as big as I remembered it. It hadn't changed at all in five years, not that I could see. The pale structure reached for the sky, leaving our car in shadow.

Pain rippled up my forearm; I was crushing my seat unconsciously. Letting it go, I flexed my hand and glanced at Roose. “It's weird,” I admitted. “I never planned to come back here.”

Leaning in the car door, he watched me with interest. “I wouldn't have asked you to do this if I thought there was another way. You might not believe this, but I don't normally like making girls pissed at me.”

I cracked a smile. “That
is
hard to believe.”

Warmth entered his eyes. “Listen, Miss Willow... I promise, if it gets to be too much for you, I'll get you out of there.”

His sudden kindness threw me for a loop.

He said, “I'm really just trying to put a dangerous man behind bars. ”

Dangerous.
If I shut my eyes and dug down, I could vaguely recall that the man who'd held me hostage
had
put a gun to my head. Roose had confirmed that last week, too. It was strange that I'd forget such a detail, but I'd done my best to avoid talking or reading about the crime for so long. All of it was a big foggy mess.

Visiting the bank might actually jostle things into place and allow me to remember the past clearly. The idea gave me a sense of dread more than anything.

“Miss Willow?”

Blinking, I said, “Just call me Alexis.”

“Alright, Alexis. You can call me Vermont.”

Smiling weakly, I nodded. “Okay.” I had no plans to call him by his first name.

He smiled back. The moment stretched awkwardly. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Are you going to get out of the car?”

I scurried onto the sidewalk and slammed the door behind me. “Uh, sorry. My mind is all over the place.”

He led the way up the large stone steps. I noticed that the closer we got to those giant doors, the closer I stood to the detective. Fear was rustling in my guts, stinging me like a nest of wasps.

Inside, the floors and walls were a rich granite. There were several security guards on the perimeter, and the one nearest to us gave a quick nod. The lack of reaction made me think they recognized the detective.

Stepping to one side, he faced me. “Alright, here we are.”

Crossing my arms so hard I was bear-hugging myself, I asked, “Now what?”

His face fell. “Is nothing coming back to you?”

“I guess I remember coming here that day.”

“That's it?”

Biting my tongue, I gave him a sour look. Spreading his hands in the air, he said, “Sorry, sorry. I just expected it to all come rushing back to you. Maybe you could try to focus harder,” he suggested gingerly. “Walk around. Do you remember where it happened?”

My eyes tracked the room, sliding over the customers, the bank tellers, the shining floors and the velvet ropes. “Not really.”

“Let me try and remind you, maybe we have to jump start your memory a bit. It was there.” He pointed a thin finger at a spot across the way.

When I looked, I wavered on my feet unsteadily. “I... I guess it
was
over there.” The long wall of faces behind computers was giving me vertigo.

Nodding, he motioned for me to follow him. Hesitantly, I did, my knees creaking like old wooden boards in a house. “That's good. Okay. So you were over here when the robber grabbed you?”

His question was funny. I didn't remember being grabbed at all, so why would I know if it had happened here or... My thoughts trailed away as I looked down at the floor. There was a spot there where the light was hitting just right.

“I remember that,” I whispered.

“What?” he asked excitedly.

Ignoring him, I knelt down and touched the hard surface. The light bounced into my eyes, causing me to wrinkle my nose.
Too bright,
I thought.
Just like back then.
Across from me, the walls reflected my image like a mirror. I remembered that, too—how I'd been standing here, watching myself and thinking... What was I thinking?

How cute my dress was.
I covered my mouth and gasped into my palm.
That's right. I... was here to take out money for my trip out of the city.

For my future.

Colors and images pranced behind my eyes. The memory stabbed into me, fish-hooks that sank into my veins and tugged until everything came tumbling down.

On the fringe of my memories, I started to see something. People... a gun pointed my way... a low, rich voice and firm hands and the realization that everything was ruined and broken and... and...

“Miss Willow?” Roose asked. “Are you—Miss Willow!”

I was already running.

Alexis

I
heard Roose calling my name.

I didn't look back.

The fear was real... tangible. It choked me and blurred my eyes. I felt my purse rumbling, knew it had to be the detective calling me over and over.

I can't go back. I won't put myself through that again!

Those memories sickened me, clawing and twisting until I'd been living the terror all over again. The trauma had allowed me to bury it deep. Therapy hadn't even brought it to the surface.

This had come close.

Except I'd stopped it. I'd thrown my hands up over my eyes and insured I couldn't see the ghosts of my past. There was no reason to remember, nothing good could come from it.

I knew just enough about the Old Stone robbery, as much as any other person did or needed to. The sanitized version from the News channel had spelled it out.

Someone had stormed the bank.

They'd held everyone hostage... they'd hacked the systems on site...

And then they'd vanished.

What the hell mattered beyond that?

Why did that day wreck your world?
No. Fuck wondering. I didn't need that answer. I just needed to move forward.

I felt like I could run forever.

Bending over at the first crosswalk I came up against, I hung my head and heaved. Great gulps of air filled my lungs. I was so disoriented, it took me a long while to notice my phone was still buzzing.

When it didn't stop, I brushed the sweat from my eyes and grabbed it.
It's Roose,
I told myself, trying to work out an excuse for why I'd fled so suddenly. But the number flashing on my screen wasn't the detective's.

Like I was in a dream, I pushed my thumb on the green icon. “Hello?” I asked.

“Finally,” Silver breathed into the device. “Why weren't you picking up?”

All at once, every negative feeling I'd had towards this man washed away. His voice was comforting, even if it sent prickles up my skin. His flat confidence grounded me. He helped melt the terror from my heart.

Shivering, I heard my voice breaking. “Sorry, I was busy.”

“What's wrong?” he said quickly. “You sound out of breath.”

Hesitating, I backed away from the cross-walk as it blinked with its tiny white signal. “It's nothing. I'm just having a weird day.”

“Where are you right now?”

Shit, he sounded really concerned. Again, I reminded myself that I'd been pissed—and confused—because of him. Silver had scared me the other night, and I still didn't know what he'd meant by threatening that I belonged to him. I belonged to
no one.

But the surety in his tone... it warmed me.

“Pet,” he demanded. “Tell me where you are.”

“Just down by Heagan street.”

“I'm coming to get you.”

“What?” I lifted my head, scanning the roads like he'd appear from thin air. “That's not necessary.”

“Something is wrong, I can tell. I'm heading there now.”

“Just wait a second!” I didn't need him rushing here when I wasn't in any danger. At the same time, fuck, I wanted to look into his eyes all over again. I was itching to touch him... and to get answers.

Not for five years had the world felt more awful than it had minutes ago. Whatever reason I had for distrusting the man who'd been spying on me, he was the only thing that made me feel good.

Was this how drug users justified their choices, too?

I started to turn, and across the street, I glimpsed a building. “Here, listen. There's a coffee shop right across the street, the...” I squinted. “Caffeine. I'll wait inside for you.”

“Alright,” he said. “I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

The line ended, the click as good as a smack to my head. Was I insane? I wanted to laugh at myself. I'd invited my stalker to have coffee with me.
Maybe he's infected me with that thing—what's it called, Stockholm syndrome?

Ducking across the street, I stood under the cafe's eaves. It was small, the door pink with green edges. Pushing it open, I walked into the comforting warmth. The smell of cinnamon and bread was distracting, and if I needed anything, it was a distraction.

The shop was a cute, tiny little place with low tables and various rugs strewn over the dented hardwoods. Considering the grey-bloated-ready-to-rain weather outside, it was a welcome escape.

Something firm brushed my leg. Unprepared, I jumped sideways, knocking over a shelf of books over. “What the hell?” I gasped.

At my feet, a calico cat flipped its tail and purred.

“Are you alright?” A young woman asked, hurrying over to me, her green apron marking her as an employee. On top of her black, cropped hair, a pair of fluffy white ears perched.

Slowly, I scanned the room again. Then, even slower, I looked up at the chalkboard over on the wall. The name of the shop was scrawled there, and I understood that I'd misread it outside.

It wasn't Caffeine, it was
Caffeline.

A cat cafe.

Scratching my cheek, I said, “I'm fine, sorry.” When I knelt to fix the books, another cat came my way, purring and nudging my thigh.

“It's alright,” the cat-eared woman giggled. “The kittens forgive you, so all is well.”

Blushing, I straightened the last of the books. Reaching over, I gave the newest cat a quick rub behind its cheek. “I've never been inside this kind of coffee shop before.”

“We're new.” Waving for me to follow her, the woman said, “My name's Amina. Here, have a seat and when you're ready, just pick from this menu and flag me down.”

I sat on top of a big fluffy beanbag, sinking deep in the far corner of the shop. It was pretty busy inside, most chairs occupied by people who chatted or browsed on their laptops. Fingering the menu, I grinned at the tiny drawings of kittens and the funny drink names.

I took it upon myself to order two drinks. Silver shoved through the front door moments after Amina set them in front of me.