Tipping The Billionaire: His Runaway Lover

The brass doorknob was freezing against Alida's palm, but the ice in her veins was colder.

She stared down at the floor of the Greenwich Village apartment. A pair of black lace panties lay tangled with a familiar blue polo shirt. Deron's shirt. The one she had ironed for him yesterday.

A heavy, wet sound leaked through the crack of the bedroom door. A low groan. A high-pitched, breathy giggle.

Bile surged up Alida's throat, burning like battery acid. Her stomach violently contracted. She didn't cry. The shock was too absolute, paralyzing her tear ducts and turning her muscles to stone.

She took a sharp breath, the air scraping her lungs, and shoved the door open. It hit the wall with a loud crack.

The two bodies on the bed froze.

Krystal let out a piercing shriek, scrambling to pull the white duvet over her bare chest. Her eyes darted to Alida, but the panic in them quickly morphed into a defiant glare.

Deron whipped his head around. All the blood drained from his face, leaving his skin a sickly, ashen gray.

"Alida," he stammered, his voice cracking. "It's not... wait, let me explain."

Alida's spine locked into a rigid line. Beneath her skin, her heart shattered into a thousand jagged pieces, tearing at her chest. A primal urge to scream, to tear the room apart, clawed at her throat. But she bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, forcing the hysteria down. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of her tears. She dug her fingernails so hard into her palms that crescent moons of broken skin formed. Only then, with her emotions violently suppressed, did she force her hands to remain steady as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.

She raised the camera.

Click. Flash.

Click. Flash.

Click. Flash.

The harsh white light strobe-lit their naked, terrified faces.

"Are you insane? !" Deron roared. He lunged off the bed, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor, reaching for her phone.

Alida side-stepped with clinical precision. Deron's momentum carried him forward, and he crashed hard onto his hands and knees, panting like a cornered animal.

Alida looked down at him. Her chest was tight, a physical band of iron squeezing her ribs. She shifted her gaze to the nightstand.

A piece of paper sat next to a half-empty glass of water. The fraternity crest was printed at the top.

She walked over, her heels clicking methodically, and picked it up.

"Target: Alida McGowan," Alida read aloud, her voice devoid of any human warmth. "Bounty: Fifty thousand dollars. Condition: Full submission."

The words tasted like ash in her mouth.

Deron scrambled to his feet, sweat beading on his forehead. "Alida, please. That was a joke. A stupid frat joke. I love you."

Krystal let out a harsh laugh from the bed. "Oh, please. You're a boring, frigid prude, Alida. What did you expect him to do?"

Alida turned. She closed the distance between them in two strides. She raised her right hand and brought it down hard across Krystal's cheek.

The slap echoed like a gunshot in the small room.

Krystal shrieked, clutching her face, a red handprint instantly blooming on her skin. "I'm calling the cops! You psycho!"

Alida held up her phone, the screen displaying the high-definition photo of them tangled in the sheets. "Call them. And I'll hit send. The entire alumni network will have this in their inboxes before the dispatcher picks up."

Krystal's mouth snapped shut. She shrank back against the headboard, her bravado evaporating.

Alida pivoted back to Deron. She held out her empty hand, palm up.

"The fifty thousand," she said, her voice flat. "Now."

Deron stared at her, his jaw dropping. "Are you out of your mind? You're a gold-digging bitch!"

"Consider it compensation for emotional damages," Alida said, her eyes dead. "My father needs surgery. You treated me like a whore for a bet. Pay up, or the photos go viral. Your corporate internship will be gone by morning."

Deron's chest he heave. He looked at the phone, then at Alida's unblinking eyes. His psychological defenses crumbled.

He cursed, violently kicking a discarded shoe across the room, and stomped over to his leather briefcase. He yanked out his leather-bound personal checkbook from the side compartment. His hands shook with a mixture of terror and fury as he uncapped a pen and hastily scribbled out the amount, tearing the slip of paper from the spine and shoved it toward her, his eyes burning with hatred.

Alida snatched the paper. She unfolded it, her eyes scanning the hastily scrawled numbers and the signature. Fifty thousand dollars.

She folded it neatly into a perfect square and slipped it into the inner pocket of her purse. She zipped it shut. The slow, deliberate motion was a physical slap to his face.

"Get out," Deron spat, pointing a shaking finger at the door. "I never want to see your face again."

Alida turned and walked to the doorway. She paused, looking back at the two of them.

"You deserve each other," she said, her voice dripping with pity. "Trash belongs in the dumpster."

Krystal screamed in rage, grabbing a pillow and hurling it. It bounced harmlessly off the doorframe.

Alida stepped into the hallway and grabbed the heavy apartment door. She slammed it shut with every ounce of strength she had. The boom rattled the pictures on the walls.

She walked fast toward the elevator. Her vision blurred. A hot tear spilled over her lashes, burning her cold cheek, but she kept her spine perfectly straight.

The elevator doors slid open. She stepped inside and stared at her pale reflection in the mirrored wall. She clutched her purse against her chest, feeling the stiff paper of the check.

She needed to numb the pain. She needed a drink.

The bass from the club's speakers vibrated through the soles of Alida's shoes, rattling her teeth.

She pushed through the sweaty, grinding bodies on the dance floor. The flashing neon lights sliced through the darkness, making her nausea worse.

She reached the sticky surface of the bar and slammed her hand down.

"Tequila. Neat," she ordered.

The bartender slid a shot glass toward her. Alida picked it up and threw the burning liquid down her throat. It felt like swallowing broken glass, but the heat spreading in her stomach was a welcome distraction from the ice in her chest.

She rested her forehead against the cool edge of the bar. A sob finally tore its way up her throat.

"Well, well. If it isn't my perfect little stepsister."

Alida stiffened. She turned her head. Belva slid onto the stool next to her, a sickly sweet smile plastered on her heavily contoured face. Belva pushed a napkin toward her.

"Rough night?" Belva asked.

"Go away, Belva," Alida rasped, shoving the napkin back.

Belva didn't move. "Just trying to be family. Have another drink. It helps."

Alida turned her head toward the dance floor, ignoring her.

In that split second, Belva's hand hovered over Alida's glass. A tiny white pill dropped into the remaining drops of tequila, dissolving instantly. "It's a custom chemical mix," Belva thought to herself, a cruel, triumphant glint in her eyes. "In just a few minutes, she won't just be compliant; she'll be a desperate, burning mess, begging for anyone to touch her."

"Come on," Belva urged, signaling the bartender for a refill. She pushed the freshly topped glass into Alida's hand. "To moving on."

Alida was too exhausted to fight. She wanted the pain to stop. She brought the glass to her lips and drained it.

Less than two minutes later, the club began to spin.

The neon lights smeared into long, blinding streaks of color. A sudden, unnatural heat flared in the pit of Alida's stomach, radiating outward and making her skin flush. Her heart raced, pumping a dizzying, euphoric fog into her brain. Alida's legs turned to jelly. The air grew thick, suffocating her.

She swayed, her grip on the bar slipping.

Belva's arm wrapped tightly around her waist, catching her before she hit the floor. "I've got you," Belva whispered, her voice dripping with malice.

Belva half-dragged, half-carried Alida away from the crowded bar, pushing through a heavy black door that led to the back alley hallway.

The music became a muffled thud. The hallway was dimly lit and smelled of stale urine.

A massive man with a thick neck and a cigar clamped between his teeth stood by the exit door. Mortimer.

Belva shoved Alida's limp body toward him. "Here. Now we're even on the loan."

Mortimer tossed a thick manila envelope at Belva's chest. He reached out, his rough, calloused hand grabbing Alida's jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek.

The repulsive touch sent a violent shockwave through Alida's nervous system. The sheer terror sliced through the chemical fog in her brain. The drug hadn't fully paralyzed her muscles yet; instead, it had sent her nervous system into a hypersensitive overdrive.

She was being sold.

Alida bit down hard on her own tongue. The sharp, metallic taste of copper flooded her mouth. The intense pain acted like a defibrillator to her brain.

As Mortimer bent down to throw her over his shoulder, Alida lifted her right leg. She drove the stiletto heel of her shoe down with all her remaining strength, crushing it directly into Mortimer's instep.

Bones crunched.

Mortimer let out a guttural roar, dropping his cigar and stumbling backward, clutching his foot.

Alida didn't look back. She shoved the heavy fire door open and stumbled back into the club, veering wildly into the VIP corridor.

"Grab her!" Belva shrieked from behind.

Footsteps pounded against the concrete.

The drug was fully taking over now. Alida's blood felt like boiling lava. Her vision was completely black at the edges. She was running on pure, blind instinct.

She rounded a corner.

A wall of men in black suits was walking toward her. In the center walked Jax Vaughn.

Alida couldn't stop. She crashed headfirst into a chest that felt like a slab of solid granite.

The impact knocked the breath out of her. She started to fall, but two massive hands clamped onto her waist like iron vices, holding her upright.

Jax looked down. His jaw ticked in annoyance. He hated being touched.

Alida buried her face into the crisp fabric of his suit. The scent of expensive cologne and clean male skin filled her lungs. It grounded her.

She grabbed his lapels, her knuckles turning white. She tilted her head up. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, swimming with tears.

"Help me," she breathed, her voice a broken whisper.

Belva and Mortimer skidded around the corner.

Instantly, Jax's bodyguards drew their weapons, the metallic clicks echoing in the hallway. Mortimer froze, his face draining of color at the sight of the guns.

Jax didn't look at the pursuers. He stared down at the woman trembling against his chest. Her skin was flushed a deep, unnatural red.

A dark, dangerous spark ignited in Jax's black eyes. He didn't push her away.

"Boss," the lead bodyguard said, his gun still trained on the alley thugs. "Should I throw her out?"

Alida couldn't hear him. The drug in her veins mutated from a sedative into a raging inferno. Her skin felt like it was on fire.

She twisted in Jax's grip, a soft, desperate whimper escaping her lips. She pressed her flushed cheek against his chest, seeking the cool silk of his shirt.

Jax's entire body went rigid. The muscles in his arms bunched under his suit jacket. His dark eyes darkened to the color of an abyss. He raised a single finger, silencing his bodyguard.

Alida blinked, trying to clear her vision. The man holding her was a blur of sharp angles and raw power.

Her drug-addled brain tried to make sense of the situation. VIP hallway. Handsome man. Strong hands.

She reached up. Her trembling fingers slid over the lapel of his jacket, pressing flat against the hard muscle of his chest. "You feel... so good," she mumbled.

The bodyguards around them sucked in a collective breath. No one touched the tyrant of Wall Street. No one.

She fumbled with the zipper of her purse. Her fingers were clumsy, but she managed to pull out the folded piece of paper. The personal check. Fifty thousand dollars.

She slapped the paper flat against Jax's chest.

"I'm buying you," she slurred, her words running together. "Best escort in the club. You're going to take care of me tonight."

The silence in the hallway became absolute. It was a heavy, suffocating quiet.

Jax looked down at the piece of paper pressed against his chest. A muscle feathered in his jaw. The vein at his temple throbbed.

He reached up and grabbed her chin. His long fingers dug into her soft skin, forcing her head up.

"Do you have any idea," Jax whispered, his voice a lethal, silken threat, "who you are talking to?"

The pressure on her jaw hurt. Alida frowned. Driven by the chemical fire in her blood and the sheer frustration of the night, she pushed up on her tiptoes.

She clamped her teeth down on his lower lip and bit him. Hard.

The metallic taste of his blood rushed into her mouth.

The last thread of Jax's legendary control snapped.

He let out a low growl. His hand moved from her chin to the back of her neck, his fingers twisting into her hair. He crushed his mouth against hers, turning the bite into a punishing, brutal kiss.

Alida gasped, her knees buckling completely. She melted against him, surrendering to the overwhelming sensory overload.

Jax broke the kiss. He bent down and scooped her up into his arms, carrying her bridal style.

"Lock down the private elevator," Jax ordered his men, his voice harsh and ragged. "No one comes up."

He strode toward the end of the hall. Alida's hands roamed over his shoulders, her fingers clumsily tugging at the knot of his silk tie.

The elevator doors slid open. Jax carried her inside.

When the doors opened again, they were in the penthouse. Jax kicked the double doors shut behind them with a slam that shook the walls.

He walked into the master bedroom and threw her onto the massive King-size bed.

Alida bounced on the mattress. She writhed, clawing at the collar of her dress. "It's so hot," she cried, tears of frustration leaking from her eyes.

Jax stood over her, his chest heaving. He yanked his tie completely off.

"You asked for this," he said, his voice dark with a primal hunger.

He grabbed her wrists, pulling them above her head, and wrapped his silk tie around them, binding her hands to the heavy wooden headboard.

Alida didn't fight him. The drug demanded release. She arched her back, offering herself to the fire.

Jax stripped off his jacket. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Manhattan skyline glittered like crushed diamonds. Inside, the temperature was boiling.

He came down over her, a predator claiming his prey.

When the initial pain hit, Alida gasped, a single tear slipping down her temple. But the pain was instantly swallowed by a tidal wave of heat. The penthouse disappeared, leaving only the sensation of his skin against hers, until the darkness finally took her.