Kidnapped by the Billionaire Read Online Free PDF Page B

T-shirt, jeans, and a thick, black hoodie, that the pain began to subside from a shriek to a dull roar and he began to feel moderately human again.
    It helped that the plan on how he could use Violet was coming together in his head.
    He was still turning the details over, but he thought it might work. In fact, it fucking better since he really had no other options, thanks to Eva goddamn King, a really piss-poor decision, and lack of planning on his part.
    He’d never expected Rutherford to not protect her. He’d never expected her to pick up the gun and shoot Fitzgerald herself.
    Bitch.
    Let it go. You can’t change it now and anyway, you have bigger fish to fry.
    His anger coiled like a snake, shifting and turning.
    Since losing Marie, he’d managed to divest himself of every single emotion. Anything that could hurt, anything that could undermine, he’d gotten rid of. Everything except anger. And that he’d kept sharp and bright, and most of all cold. He’d had to. After all, revenge took its time and hot rage burned itself out soon enough. Cold rage though, that kept going, kept sustaining.
    And he was going to need all of it if he wanted to go through with the plan he was forming in his head right now. A plan that was bigger than merely crushing Fitzgerald.
    A plan that took it right back to the source.
    To Jericho.
    Back out in the lounge, he found Violet frantically going through her purse, bits of crap strewn all over the couch. As he approached her, she had her hands in her lap and was bent over them, one hand twisted over, something clutched in her fingers.
    It took him a moment to realize she was trying to get the handcuffs open with a hairpin.
    He stopped not far from the couch and folded his arms, watching her. There was no way she was going to succeed, but a tiny part of him was vaguely impressed with her tenacity. Especially since it was clear by her movements that she’d never picked a lock in her entire life.
    After a moment she stopped what she was doing and looked up. Color crept into her pale cheeks. Then she tossed the hairpin away and leaned back against the couch cushions, her expression changing from steely determination to barely masked boredom.
    Ah, that’s the Violet he knew.
    â€œIt would never have worked,” he said flatly. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
    â€œYeah, well, that’s pretty fucking obvious.” Her turquoise gaze met his, then flickered away again. “So what am I supposed to do? Just sit here? Wait until you deign to tell me what you’re going to do with me?”
    He ignored the questions, studying her instead. She was definitely scared, he could see little flashes of it leaking out from underneath the mask of sarcasm and anger she was desperately trying to hide behind.
    Good. He was doing his job properly then.
    â€œYes. That’s pretty much exactly what you’re going to do.” He turned toward the kitchen area, sectioned off from the rest of the apartment by a big white wall.
    â€œTell me why I’m here.” Again the edge of desperation in her voice. “Tell me about Dad.”
    â€œAll in good time.” He had to get himself something to eat, something that would get rid of this fucking dizziness.
    â€œNo,” Violet demanded. “Now.”
    He didn’t know what it was in her voice that made him stop and turn around, but he did.
    She was sitting bolt upright on the couch, the look on her face blazing. Fear was there, yes, definitely, but a healthy measure of anger too.
    Jesus, she had some nerve. Handcuffed and his prisoner, she was sitting there demanding answers like she had a right to them. Like she wasn’t merely the spoiled daughter of a man the Mafia would have been proud to call their own. A woman oblivious to the monster who’d given her life.
    A poor little rich girl whose life had never been touched by darkness. An innocent.
    The volcanic rage