Free Kidnapped by the Billionaire by Jackie Ashenden Page B

physical need, every soft emotion. The only things he had to have were food and drink and ice-cold anger. That was all that sustained him, that was all he needed until the day came to claim his revenge.
    After that he didn’t give a shit what happened to him. He didn’t give a shit about anything.
    And yet now, suddenly, Violet fucking Fitzgerald was running soft fingers over his tattoo and although he knew he should brush her hand away, shove her off his lap, he couldn’t seem to move.
    â€œIt doesn’t mean anything,” he heard himself lie. “I got it years ago.”
    â€œHmmm.” Her fingers smoothed over him. “You’ve never really liked me, have you? Why not? What did I ever do to you?”
    He blinked, the question unexpected and taking him completely off guard. Just like everything else about this situation.
    Why was he sitting here, letting her touch him? He should move, he really should.
    Yet he didn’t. He just sat there, holding her wrapped up in the blanket as she ran her fingers idly over his chest. Those pretty gilt lashes of hers had fallen closed and somehow she’d nestled herself even closer to him. “Answer the question,” she said sleepily, dragging her nails lightly over him.
    Sensation caught him by the throat, an electric shock of it. Like her nails had caught an exposed nerve.
    He hadn’t wanted a woman for years. At first grief had done its work nicely and he’d had a good two years of not even seeing women as sexual creatures. But then his libido had started firing up, grief or not, and he’d had to take himself in hand both literally and figuratively. Even the shit he’d seen working for Fitzgerald, the trafficking shit he’d had to involve himself in, hadn’t managed to cool his stubborn libido. Not that he’d availed himself of any of the women on offer. He didn’t want to be with anyone other than Marie. Not ever. All he wanted was to take his revenge and then let whatever happened to him afterward happen. Live, die, he didn’t much care which.
    Over time, he’d gained a reputation for being ice cold, a reputation he cultivated since it suited him. Plenty of Fitzgerald’s associates had tried to bribe him with women or money or drugs, but none of that ever worked with him. He’d stripped himself of everything for precisely that reason. Because if you didn’t want something, no one could use it against you.
    That was what Fitzgerald had found so valuable about Elijah. He was incorruptible. Loyal. And he was ruthless. He’d descended into the pit with Fitzgerald and made himself into a monster.
    He was okay with that.
    But what he was not okay with was being touched as if he were … some kind of fucking animal. Petted like a cat or a dog. As if he were harmless. And there was no way in this fucking world that he was harmless—there were plenty of people now dead who could attest to that.
    Yet still Violet Fitzgerald snuggled herself up against him as if he were safe, as if she trusted him. Touching him like she had the perfect right to do so, as if he was hers.
    Like Marie did.
    His throat had gone dry and that tight, shifting thing in his chest wouldn’t budge; that she was high as a kite on Vicodin made not the slightest bit of difference.
    He found himself looking down at her, studying her face the way he had the day before, when she was curled up asleep on his bed. She’d made him feel strange then too, and he hadn’t been able to work it out. Because what was she to him? A stupid little innocent who hadn’t even realized a monster had fathered her. He’d spent years protecting her and that cold bitch of a mother, and he’d never found her particularly interesting. Just your typical rich girl, spoiled and entitled and doing her teenage rebel thing about ten years too late, wafting around and relying on Daddy’s dirty money to do exactly what she