Page 3 of Billionaire’s Cruelty

Dave’s hand was back on me, this time on my shoulder, urging me away from the situation.

Whether he knew it or not, I wanted to get out of here as much as him.

“Call for backup.” The woman yelled at her walking talkie next to her shoulder.

“Don’t call for backup.” What backup? Who was this woman other than a rent-a-cop? Who else was with her?

“We go now.” Dave’s assistant moved swiftly next to me and put his hand on my other shoulder. Any minute now, I would have no say in where I was going.

“Ma’am, I work for the airport security. You’re safe with me.”

My stomach twisted, like it was reacting to a bad lunch.

“We really have to go.” Dave’s words hung in the air, but they did nothing to change the fact that we were still trapped here.

Though I knew it was coming, a scream still escaped my mouth as two pairs of hands hoisted me off the floor.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Needless to say, she was angry now. A pair of cuffs appeared from her back.

“No.” Dave’s roar was so loud. My head snapped to my shoulder, instinctively shielding my ear.

“Sorry, assholes, you’re not going anywhere.”

One second, we were on our feet, then all three of us hit the floor hard. No question about it: we’d been tackled.

“Mack got out.” Dave half-grunted, half-whispered in my ear. “You need to run.”

How was that possible? Was that why Dave was acting so strange?

I had so many questions, but now wasn’t the time to ask them—not while we were still pressed to the ground, trapped inside the cave of attackers.

When I was finally pulled back to my feet, I saw that Dave and his man were hand cuffed. Each of them was retrained by two large men wearing the same uniform as the mean bitch who had confronted us. Dave shook his head, mouthing a few words at me—I couldn’t make them out—but I knew it could only mean one thing.

Feeling the cold touch of metal against my wrist, I panicked. Shoving the guy next to me, I ran as fast as I could without looking back. They were after me—I knew that much. If they were just concerned about of a woman possibly being abused, why would they bother cuffing me? Who cuffs the victim?

Outside, I spotted a car that had just dropped off a passenger and jumped in without hesitation. “Go, go, go!”

“Get the fuck out!” the driver barked in his thick accent.

“Twenty thousand dollars if you drive me to Myrtle Beach!” The words blurted out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop them. I couldn’t believe how much I sounded like my mother—trying to solve my problems by throwing money at them.

“Thirty.”

Seriously? Did he have no morals? Who haggles with a distressed woman?

“Fine,” I wasn’t going to win this haggling game, and he knew it.

“Fifty.”

What a greedy piece of shit!

“Go, go, go!” I screamed as I spotted the men approaching the car.

He grunted something in a foreign language. Finally, he hit the gas, peeling away from the curb.

I hadn’t exactly thought this through. To be fair, I wasn’t given much time. And now, I was stuck in a near ten-hour drive with a stranger—one who had possibly just saved my life for a reward of fifty thousand dollars.

“So… are you, like, an Uber driver or something?”