Bound to the Billionaire's Revenge

Chapter 17

Jealousy’s Grip

Ava Harper stepped out of the corner drugstore into the chilly October night, clutching a small white bag with her father’s cold medicine. The street was quiet except for the occasional swish of tires on wet pavement. She pulled her coat tighter and started the six-block walk home.

She never saw the black van until it rolled up beside her, tires hissing. The side door slid open with a metallic shriek. Two men in dark jackets lunged out. One clamped a gloved hand over her mouth; the other hooked an arm around her waist. She kicked, tried to scream, but the cloth pressed hard against her face carried a sickly-sweet smell. Her limbs went heavy. The world tilted, then vanished.

When consciousness clawed its way back, Ava tasted copper and chemicals. Her head throbbed. She was sitting, wrists and ankles bound to a metal chair that smelled of rust and old motor oil. A single hanging bulb cast harsh shadows across the empty warehouse.

Damien Voss stood ten feet away, arms folded, face unreadable except for the storm in his gray eyes. He looked both furious and exhausted.

Hello, little sister, he said, voice low.

The words hit her like a slap. She stared, breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat.

He unfolded a sheet of paper and held it in front of her face. Official letterhead. DNA Diagnostic Center. Probability of paternity: 99.9998%.

Robert Harper is my father, too, Damien continued, quieter now. Thirty years ago he spent one reckless weekend with my mother in Prague. She never told him she was pregnant. I grew up believing some nameless diplomat was my dad. I only learned the truth two years ago when she was dying.His jaw flexed. Then I saw your picture. Saw you with Lucian Blackwell. And something in me snapped.

Ava found her voice. So you kidnapped me.

I needed leverage, he said, almost apologetic. Files. Access codes. Whatever it took to finish crushing Blackwell’s European holdings. He’s been choking my company. I thought if I hurt something he loved, He stopped, rubbed a hand over his face. I thought it would feel better than it does.

You thought wrong, she whispered.

Damien’s mouth twisted. Give me the routing numbers for Blackwell’s Zürich accounts. Ten minutes at a keyboard and you walk out unharmed.

Ava lifted her chin. No.

Something like regret flickered across his features. I was afraid you’d be difficult. He turned toward the door. Give her time to reconsider, he told the two guards. Their boots echoed as they followed him out.

The moment the lock clicked, Ava tested the ropes. Her father had taught her this trick on a camping trip when she was twelve thumbs in, twist slowly, use the slack. The coarse fibers burned her skin, but she kept moving. One wrist slipped free. Then the other. She was fumbling with the knots at her ankles when every light in the warehouse died.

Darkness swallowed everything.

Then came the sharp cracks of suppressed gunfire, shouts in at least two languages, the screech of metal tearing. A concussion grenade flashed white through the gaps around the door. Silence followed, thick and sudden.

The door exploded inward. Lucian Blackwell filled the frame, silhouetted by emergency strobes, gun still raised, chest heaving. Blood streaked one sleeve, but his eyes locked on her and everything else seemed to fall away.

Ava!

She was already running. He met her halfway, dropping the pistol to catch her with both arms. One hand cradled the back of her head, pressing her face into the warm skin of his neck. He smelled of gunpowder and winter air and Lucian.

I’ve got you, he rasped against her hair, over and over. I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.

Behind him, his security team moved like shadows, zip-tying Damien and the guards. Damien didn’t resist; he only watched Ava with something that might have been sorrow.

Lucian didn’t let go the entire ride home. In the back of the armored SUV he examined every mark on her body with shaking hands, rope burns on her wrists, a bruise blooming on her cheekbone. He kissed each one, murmuring apologies and promises in the same breath.

At the penthouse he carried her straight through the marble foyer, past the worried household staff, into the master bedroom. He laid her on the bed as though she might shatter.

Are you hurt anywhere else? His voice cracked on the last word.

She shook her head. Then the tears came ugly, wrenching sobs she couldn’t control.

Lucian kicked off his shoes, climbed in fully clothed, and pulled her into his lap. He rocked her the way her father once had after nightmares, one hand stroking her back, the other tangled in her hair.

I saw the van on the drugstore camera, he said, voice raw. Forty-three seconds from the moment they grabbed you until they drove off. Forty-three seconds and I am ten years.

You found me, she whispered.

I will always find you. The words were a vow carved in stone.

He kissed her then forehead, eyelids, the corner of her mouth, finally her lips. Gentle, reverent, tasting of salt and terror and relief. Clothes fell away slowly, no haste, no dominance tonight. Just skin seeking skin, proof of life.

He mapped every inch of her with hands that trembled: the curve of her waist, the soft underside of her breast, the faint scar on her knee from childhood. When he finally slid inside her, they both exhaled like they’d been holding their breath for hours. He moved carefully, eyes never leaving hers, tears tracking down his own cheeks.

I love you, he said with every slow thrust. Love you safe. Love you breathing. Love you here. Love you forever.

She wrapped arms and legs around him and clung, anchoring him as much as he anchored her. Climax came quiet and shattering, a shared sob more than a cry.

Afterward, he tucked her against his chest, fingers drawing endless circles along her spine.

Damien is your half-brother, he said softly. Not a question.

She nodded against his skin. He wanted revenge on you and on Dad for never knowing he existed.

Lucian’s arms tightened. He’ll spend the rest of his life in a very small room regretting tonight. That I promise you.

She believed him. For the first time in years, Ava let herself be held without calculating escape routes or testing locks. She slept deeply, dreamlessly, wrapped in the man who had quite literally torn through gunfire to bring her home.

And somewhere in the dark, she finally understood: real love wasn’t the cage she’d always feared.

It was the only place on earth she never wanted to leave.