The Billionaire's Craving - Page 2

“Your signature affirms that your acceptance of funds came with unspecified future obligations.”

She struggled to digest his statement. She spotted a line about obligations highlighted in the top contract. It hadn’t been highlighted when she’d signed the paper, not to her recollection. But then, she hadn’t read the thing closely, had she?

She’d been so eager for the financial relief, so happy that she’d been selected for the special new program, she hadn’t been thinking properly, hadn’t taken care. Sabela felt ill, her stomach churning. She’d been stupid — very, very stupid.

And now, some man she didn’t know was telling her she had to just up and leave? To go wherever he wanted? Damn.

Retaining the envelope the man had given her, Sabela refolded the contract papers and handed them to the man. She had to wiggle her way out of this mess. Maybe if she talked to this Mr. Morgan, she could make him understand that she hadn’t read the contract closely, hadn’t known the money was a loan. Perhaps he’d —

It was maddening, the whole situation. The suited man’s expression grew fiercer by the moment. She didn’t have the courage to ask another question. Fear washed over her and spurred her into action.

Sabela turned and rushed into her room, her heart beating wildly against her ribcage. The envelope in her hand burned her fingers. She’d been so stupid … and desperate. So ridiculously desperate. And now it was time to pay the piper.

She carefully took her passport out of the lockbox underneath her bed.

The passport had been her way of trying to keep herself motivated with design. It was on her bucket list to go to Paris and attend fashion week.

The passport hadn’t had any use at all since she’d gotten it two years ago. Now it would be used to take her to some mystery location with a mystery man to do something mysterious with another mystery man.

Not exactly what she’d had in mind when she’d decided to get a passport.

She stuck it into her purse and thought of Trevor. Should she go tell him that she was about to leave for longer than a double shift at the restaurant? No. It would only agitate him, especially since she had no idea where she was going or when she would be back.

She’d call someone, maybe one of her fellow waitresses at work. She’d ask them to check in and make sure Trevor really was taken care of the way the suited man had promised.

Would they do that for her? She didn’t know. She wasn’t close to any of them. She wasn’t close to anyone. She didn’t have time for friends. All her old ones had moved on without her.

Hopefully, she wouldn’t be gone more than a day. Sabela didn’t want Trevor to worry. He might be an asshole to her, but she believed he loved her, and would miss her. And they were all each other had.

When Sabela returned to the hall, the man stood in the threshold of the open door as if he thought she’d try to run past him, to escape. She considered the idea, briefly.

“Ready?” he asked.

“What if I’m not? What if I say I won’t go?” Her heart hammered in her ears.

The suited man’s stare turned even darker. “That would be up to Mr. Morgan to decide. And the authorities, I would presume. You should ask yourself how much you owe, and what you believe the consequences of not living up to your obligations would be.”

Sabela could only imagine, and it was terrible indeed. She envisioned herself in a jail cell and her handicapped brother sleeping in a rat-infested alley.

“Ready?” the suited man asked once more.

She couldn’t run anyway. She had a debt that needed to be repaid, an obligation. She’d taken a lot of money from this Mr. Morgan, and now it was time to pay up.

She swallowed and nodded her head slowly. “Ready.”

She felt numb all over, and with her gaze downcast, Sabela followed the man out the door. She was off to meet her fate.

Chapter Three

COLIN SAT STRAIGHT-BACKED IN his plush leather chair and drummed his fingertips against the antique teak wood of his desk. Upon it were only a few items, but out of them, only one mattered: the phone.

If he didn’t stop worrying, he’d scratch the polished finish as his fingers beat their anxious rhythm. But Colin didn’t care. What was a scratch or two in the grand scheme of things?

For the last few months, imagining this moment had been a constant refrain. Now it was here. As soon as he got the call, he’d know that everything had gone according to plan.

One of the phone lines started to blink. It was his private line.

Colin’s heart skipped a beat, and he snatched the phone out of its cradle. “Morgan,” he barked, near breathless with excitement.

The voice on the other end was toneless. “She’s in the sedan.”

“Don’t let her out of your sight. Make sure she gets on the plane. No other stops. No calls. Nothing,” Colin said.

“You got it, boss.”

“Did she give you any trouble?” Colin asked.

“You mean other than looking scared shitless? No, no trouble.”

“Good. Go straight to the air field. Keep her off balance. Make sure it happens.”

Colin hung up the phone without any further instructions. The hard part was out of the way, and there would be no further complications. Colin had turned the scenario over in his mind so many times that he was sure of it.

Get the girl and put her on the plane on the predetermined schedule. No fuss. No muss.

Nothing was simpler than that. Nor more complicated, if she’d refused to cooperate. But she had done exactly as Colin had predicted she would. She’d been too scared to do otherwise. Perfect.

Beside the phone sat a thick file folder. Colin had fostered its growth over the last few months, and although he knew its contents well, he couldn’t resist flipping open the cover to glance at the first paper set atop the stack.

The application that had started it all.

Application of Assistance for Emergency Medical and Living Expenses, the form read. Beneath, in a feminine hand, under paragraph after paragraph of deliberately confusing legalese, was the signature that had sealed her doom.

Ms. Sabela Vaughn.

At long last, after all these years, Colin would get what he’d been craving.

Chapter Four

SABELA SAT IN THE BACK SEAT OF the sedan, watching the man in the suit stand on the broken sidewalk outside her apartment building and make a call. With the doors and windows closed, she couldn’t hear what he said. Still, the conversation made her uneasy.

The call didn’t last long. The man opened the door and got behind the wheel.

He started the car. “Buckle up.”

“Where are we going?” Sabela asked. If she was getting whisked away to another country, she thought she deserved to know which one.

The man pulled out into the street, ignoring her question. “It doesn’t matter. You should know that Mr. Morgan prefers that you refrain from any outside communications. That includes emails, text messages, and phone calls. If you can’t comply with these wishes, I have been instructed to take your phone.”

What the hell had she gotten into? One red flag after another warned her that whatever was about to happen wasn’t in her best interest.

But when was the last time Sabela’s life had been about her own best interests?

“I don’t have anyone to email or call,” she said, barely managing to keep her anger in check at having to make the admission.

It was the sad truth.

Other than Trevor, she wasn’t close to anyone else. Not anymore. Working double shifts and taking care of her paralyzed brother took all her time and every ounce of her energy.

“Where are we going?” Sabela asked again, clinging to a false bravado. She wasn’t sure that the man would answer her, but she had to insist, if not for herself, then for Trevor.

“Buckle up and sit tight, Miss Vaughn. We’ll get you safe and sound where you need to go.”

Whoever this Mr. Morgan wa

s, Sabela was starting to suspect that he was someone to be feared. Why else would the man in the suit be so vague?

“And where is it that I need to go, exactly?” she persisted. She couldn’t let him spirit her away without any further explanation, not when there was so much at stake. Her hand strayed toward the door handle. She could hop out when they stopped for a light or something, if need be.

“To meet Mr. Morgan,” the man replied.

Right. She’d already guessed that much.

She wasn’t going to get anything out of this guy. Sabela took the envelope out of her purse, running her fingertips over its flap and over the embossed M.

The note was written in a masculine hand. Had Mr. Morgan written it himself?

These thoughts, Sabela recognized, were a distraction from the dread of the unknown. The car zipped through traffic. It seemed there was little chance of getting out of this mess. What would the man in the suit do if she screamed for help?

Tags: Mia Caldwell Billionaire Romance
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