Page 319 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

“Don’t look at me,” she says. “I was perfectly fine kicking it in your boyfriend’s beach mansion. How would I have anything to do with this?”

I wasn’t looking to blame her; I was hoping she had an explanation. There was nothing in the store. Whoever did this, it had nothing to do with theft.

Whoever did this wanted to hurt me, and you know what? They succeeded.

CHAPTER12

DOWN THE LINE

ZACH

“The fact you won’t tell me how bad it is, tells me how bad it is,” I say through the phone to Malcolm. It’s three o’clock in the morning, and he knows better than to call if something’s not seriously wrong.

I look out the window of my penthouse overlooking Manhattan and rub my eyes. The sky tonight is all a sick orange light. That means clouds.

“I’m sorry, sir, I just need you to get in here,” he says. “I don’t know if this line is secure.”

Okay, so it’s bad, bad.

“I’ll be right in,” I say and hang up the phone. Anyone who says rich guys don’t work for a living should try it for a while. Success is what they call the target on your back.

Not that I’m complaining.

I get dressed and decide to forego the driver. A night like tonight, I need to feel like I’m doing something.

Boarding the private elevator, I slip down to my private garage in the sub-basement of the building.

“Good morning, Mr. Scipio,” Hank, one of my lot’s security guards—and a former Marine—says. “Will it be the Chiron today?” he asks, heading toward the rack of keys.

“No,” I answer. “I’m in the mood for something less opulent. I’ll take the One-77.”

Of the seventy-seven Aston Martin One-77s made, I used to own three of them. I found they did better as donations to charity auctions than they did gathering dust in my car cellar.

“Excellent, sir,” Hank says, grabbing the keys and tossing them to me.

I put a lot of trust in Hank and the two others, Ed and Val (a former Army Special Forces and a former Navy SEAL, respectively.) They guard sixty-four sets of keys; each one goes to a vehicle worth a lot to a lot of people.

I don’t worry too much about it, though. They each make half a mil a year, plus benefits. More than that, we’re all on friendly terms. Also, I make sure to keep them in the latest models of the car of their choosing as well.

Not mine, though. Setting boundaries is good.

I walk out into the vast expanse of my private garage and nod to each of the guards as I see them. What can I say? I protect the things I care about.

Some people collect wine.

It’s been awhile since I’ve been down here, so I save myself the search and hit the lock button on the key fob. The car horn beeps as the doors re-lock, and I follow the sound to the fourth row on the left, finding my One-77 where it always is.

I need to unclutter my head or wake up or something. Ithasbeen awhile since I’ve been down here, but this one’s special.

Getting in, I’m cradled in the near-form-fitted seat. I start the car, listen to the rumble a moment, and start on my way.

The problem with having an underground parking structure like this is it’s a long, winding drive up to street level. I don’t mind, though.

As necessary as it may be to get to work as soon as possible, I’ve been fighting battles on almost every front. So I’ll go in, and I’m sure I’ll even break the limit on the way, but I’m savoring every unavoidable delay.

Grace’s in and out of touch since she left. Any other time, figuring out what’s going on there would be my number one priority. Right now, though, I’m fighting for my job, my position, my company. I’m fighting for everything that made me who I wanted to be.

I finally reach the guard post at the top, before the thick metal of the first garage door. There are seven, each opener functioning on a different frequency. Also, there’s a locking mechanism at the bottom, so when the doors are down, they’re also anchored to the foundation below.

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