Free The Billionaire's Caress by Olivia Thorne Page A

is.
    “No? Fine, then,” the voice says. “I’ll just keep up a one-way conversation. That’s how it would have been, anyway. For me, that is. Intellectually.”
    ASS… HOLE.
    I almost want the guy to appear, just so I can stab his smug little face with my key.
    I start walking again. As I do, I scan the ceilings, trying to detect the cameras. I finally see them: they’re little black domes, about two inches across, that jut out from the ceiling. They’re almost invisible in the gloom… and unfortunately, there are a lot of them.
    “Circumstances preclude me from telling you my real name, but you can call me Epicurus. Like the philosopher, I’m a man of refined tastes. Unlike him, though, my tastes are somewhat… unusual. Compulsions, you might say. They’ve been entertaining the last few years… although recently, they’ve led me into some very dark territory. Very dark territory indeed.”
    The voice is both terrifying in the horrors it implies… and irritating in its arrogant self-regard.
    “I pride myself on controlling everything in my world. That’s what I do: control things. Create things. Seize things. Whatever I desire, I get. Whatever I want, I take. That desire – that urge – is always there. Untamable. Uncontrollable. Unquenchable. Undeniable.”
    Uninteresting , I want to shout.
    “And then, Grant Carlson stumbled across my path,” the voice continues. “And spoiled all my fun.”
    I stop in my tracks.
    “He hasn’t told you what he did yet, has he?” Epicurus asks. “He’s kept it hidden from you. Like his rooms… his secret passageways…”
    My skin crawls. The fact that this guy knows about Grant’s thing for secret passageways is unnerving.
    You know… in addition to the absolute terror of being trapped in a dark building with a serial killer.
    “Poor, lost little lamb,” the voice mocks me. “He’s been leading you to the slaughter with all his lies…”
    All his lies?
    “What lies?” I shout, unable to contain myself. What does it matter, anyway? He can see me over the surveillance system.
    “Finally, it speaks,” the voice chuckles.
    I want to kill him.
    “What lies?” I repeat.
    “You have no idea what Grant is up to. But I do… because he stepped in the middle of something he shouldn’t have.” The voice suddenly takes on a darker, more menacing tone. “Ask him about the hidden room. Ask him about what he found inside. Ask him about the fire.”
    I frown.
    How can I ask him if this psycho is trying to kill me?
    “Exactly,” the voice says, as though he’s reading my mind. “I’m letting you go, my pretty little thing. Once, and only once. Because you’re going to be my messenger. You’re going to let him know how close I actually am. Ask him if he can feel my breath on his neck. As for you, well… next time we meet will be different. Very different.”
    His words send shivers down my back.
    “Au revoir, mademoiselle, ” the voice purrs.
    Suddenly all the lights come back on at once. I hear the elevator ding far away.
    I pull out my phone.
    Three bars of service.
    I start to dial 911 when I get a text – from ‘Grant.’
    Don’t call the police – it will ruin the game.
    Just run.
    Otherwise, I might change my mind.
    – Epicurus
    For once, I’m not stubborn.
    I run for the nearest exit, dash down the stairwell, and burst out into the street moments later, sobbing and shaking. The hardened New Yorkers speedwalking past ignore me completely.
    Hodge and the Rolls are nowhere to be seen.
    I pull out my phone, stop the voice recording, and save it. Over six minutes long. At least I have something from the terrifying encounter.
    Then I dial Grant’s number, hoping I won’t hear that psychopath’s smug, creepy voice.

3
    Grant roars up five minutes later in a metallic red Bugatti. I would normally go gaga over it if I weren’t so scared. The twenty people walking by certainly do a double take, though.
    Grant jumps out of the car, runs over to