Page 1 of Snowed in with the Billionaires

Chapter One

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Madisyn

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I’m in, and now there’sno going back.

I close the door behind me, entering the opulent abode and blocking out the blistering icy wind and snow-capped mountains. Protected from the harsh elements outside, the walls inside the cabin feel like a big, warm hug.

I drop the bag containing my clothes, among other things, onto the gleaming hardwood floors of the foyer, then stuff my gloves into my jacket pocket for safekeeping. My gear is stashed behind a boulder outside, an easy grab when I make my exit.

Getting inside the cabin required disarming their rather high-tech alarm system first—obviously not savvy enough for me. But apart from the alarm, there isn’t any other security I need to worry about on the inside.

The luxury cabin boasts some expensive stuff. A trinket here and there, one of those rare Persian rugs rolled up into a backpack, sports collectible items, and even a couple of those bottles of vintage whiskey will make for a good payday for an average thief. But for something substantial, the paintings on the walls are where the real money is at. But to transport them, you’d need a helicopter.

And if you don’t have a helicopter on hand, the only way to get up here would be to scale the mountain, which is what I did.

The instant I remove my insulated jacket, my body breathes a sigh of relief that I made it up here without falling to my death, while simultaneously letting me know that every muscle I’m worth hurts like hell tenfold.

I reset the alarm, then turned up the heat from a fancy air-conditioning device. I peel off another jacket and a thermal long-sleeve top, leaving me in a sports bra. My boots come off next.

Picking up my bag again and carrying my clothes and boots with my other hand, I walk toward the bedrooms on the ground floor. The thick carpet feels absolutely blissful under my feet.

Feeling uncannily bold, I choose the biggest room I come across with the biggest ass bath in the universe. Perfect. I unzip my bag and grab a bottle of water. From a small vanity purse, I shake two ibuprofens onto my palm and swallow them one at a time.

While I fill the tub, adding some Epsom salts to the water, I spend the next ten minutes stretching and regulating my breathing. I have at least eighteen hours to kill before they arrive, and I plan to do nothing but recuperate.

And the 'they' in question...

Tristan Dane. Ren Knight. Kaiser Martin. The three richest men in the world. My ticket out of hell. I can almost taste victory on my tongue.

The warm water feels like heaven, and after soaking for a solid half an hour, I step out, dry myself, and don a pair of track bottoms, a thick hoodie, and socks.

My stomach growls, informing me in no uncertain terms of the level of my hunger. I make my way to the kitchen, admiring the open-plan kitchen and living room setup. It’s so damn cozy.

Winter is my least favorite season, but even I wouldn’t mind being locked up here, putting my feet up in front of that enormous fireplace, getting lost in a stack of romance novels, and a bottomless supply of chocolate. Completely unlike what my life is right now.

To prepare for their arrival, the fridge is fully stocked with such a wide variety of fresh supplies I can’t even name half of them. I pull out some cheese, olives, grapes, and another bottle of water, the kind that comes in a bottle that means it’s for rich people.

I find crackers in the pantry to complete my provisions and stuff my face as I take in my surroundings.

The vast kitchen comes with marble countertops, a rustic coal stove, copper pots hanging from the ceiling above the island, and pristine and gleaming white cupboards all around. It contains every single modern kitchen appliance, but at the same time, it’s comfortable and homely.

But homely least describes the owners of this cabin. They’re ruthless, unapologetic, and illegally too good-looking for words. They live by their own laws and bow to no man.

I don’t much care for them, or any overly rich person for that matter, but they have what I need, and nothing is going to stop me from taking it. I won’t mess this up, as scary as they are when crossed.

They might appear legitimate on the surface, law-abiding, philanthropists and all that, feeding and housing millions upon millions of people daily, rather they have people do that for them, but they’re also the most dangerous men in the world.

There’d been an incident where the cartel and the mafia were locked in a war over possession of an island in the Patagonian region. The location was a perfect base for drugs and arms storage, except for the fact that the island belonged to DKM Industries, Dane, Knight, and Martin, as in Tristan Dane, Ren Knight, and Kaiser Martin.

The three billionaires hopped onto their private jet with no protection, no bodyguards, just the three of them, and went and handled their business. By the time they left the island, neither the Mexican cartel nor the Russian Bratva would ever step foot on the island again.

Since then, the underground world speaks of the trio of billionaires in hushed tones, too afraid to step on their toes in case they get their heads handed to them. No one crosses them and lives to relate the tale—those are not silly rumors. They don’t hire other men to take care of their business; their egos are big enough that they do it themselves.

Well, they’re my problems now, and when I’m done with them, they won’t even know I was here.

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