The Billionaire Bad Boys Club(76)
Author: Emma Holly

The driver was a big kid, but he had no chance against Zane’s determination and athletic skill. The mere fact that 6 foot 4 worth of solid muscle was barreling toward him rendered him too scared to shoot. He froze, and Zane hit him, the heels of his palms targeting his lungs. The blow threw him back. Zane’s momentum carried both of them onto the bed, on top of the suitcase. There, they struggled for about ten seconds for control of Owens’ shooting hand, which Zane held wrenched above his head. Losing patience, Zane did something to his wrist. Owens cried out, and the gun clattered to the floor.

Not required for the wrestling match, Trey kicked it farther away. The weapon looked a lot smaller now that it wasn’t aimed at them.

“You can’t . . . kill me!” Owens panted, cradling his possibly broken wrist. “Even you’d go to jail!”

Zane sat on top of him, hands trapping his upper arms, subduing him with his greater weight. “What is your damage? We hired you as a favor.”

“A favor to my f**king aunt,” Owens spat, trying to wriggle free. “You and she think you’re such hot shit. The famous bad boys. Ooh, how awesome to work for you! Everyone’s supposed to kiss your stupid billionaire asses. The truth is you’re nothing but a pair of jumped-up homos trying to pretend you like girls.”

Zane growled, the sound more irritated than enraged. Owens flinched anyway.

“You hit me again, I’ll sue,” he blustered. “You already broke my wrist.”

“You had a f**king gun in your hand!” Zane shook his head at the kid’s stupidity. Trey knew then that Zane wouldn’t hurt him. Owens wasn’t an equal enough opponent, and Zane’s history didn’t allow him to play bully. That was too bad. Trey wouldn’t have minded seeing the kid with at least one more broken body part. Since Zane was setting the standard, Trey stepped to the side of the bed and looked down at him.

“Where’s the footage you took?”

“Somewhere you’ll never find it,” Owens sneered.

If never meant five seconds, his claim was true. The little shit’s gaze cut left, where a laptop sat on a coffee table. Trey strode to it. Owens’ email program was open. Trey’s spirits sank when he saw the last message sent. They weren’t going to catch a break tonight.

“He emailed a video file to a [email protected].”

“Anybody else?” Zane asked.

“Not that I can see on first glance.”

“Shut it off,” Zane said. “We’ll go through the hard drive after we deal with this idiot.”

“Hey!” Owens objected. “That’s my property.”

Zane gave him a look, swung off him, and retrieved the gun from the floor. Once he’d checked the safety, he tucked it into the back waistband of his trousers. Owens had just enough sense not to protest that.

“You have five minutes to finish packing,” Zane said. “Since you seem a little slow, I’ll explain that you’re fired, and you shouldn’t use me as a reference. You violated the nondisclosure agreement you signed when we hired you, and for that you can be sued.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Owens huffed. “I’ll turn you and your ass-licking butt-buddy into laughing stocks.”

Zane seemed to take this coolly, but a vein ticked at his temple. “Considering your new best friend is sure to do that anyway, that’s hardly an effective threat.”

Owens sat up, about to spout off again. Zane stopped him with narrowed eyes. “I don’t give in to blackmail, boy. Not from you and not from her.”

“She has lawyers too,” Owens retorted.

“I’m sure she does, but if you think she’ll pay them to work for anyone but herself, you’re stupider than you look. She has what she wants from you. You’ll be lucky if she returns your calls.”

“She cares about me! She said I’m the best lover she ever had.”

Zane simply smiled at him. Jumped-up homo or not, Trey expected that title belonged to him. “Are you planning to pack? You’ve got maybe three minutes left.”

Owens packed, hefted his suitcase, then stomped like a surly teenager down the outside stairs. He owned a scooter, which he putted down the long drive. Thanks to his broken wrist, the machine wobbled at intervals. Trey joined Zane at the window to watch.

“Much as I hate to admit it, you did the right thing not beating him up. He’s still Mrs. P’s nephew.”

Zane grimaced, his frustration showing now that Owens was gone. “Missy will give him his comeuppance. What do you want to bet he’ll dial her the minute he’s off the grounds?”

“Are you going to call her?”

“And say what? She’d enjoy it too much if I beg, and I refuse to pay her off. Money isn’t what she’s after anyway. This is about revenge.” He covered his face. “When that film goes public, the media will have a field day.”

“We have friends in the media. Maybe they’d agree to keep a lid on this.”

“It won’t matter. Missy can post the file on f**king YouTube or a hundred of her fan’s blogs. Our lawyers might get it taken down, but not before it’s seen—and copied—who knows how many times.”

Zane’s arm muscles were hard with tension when Trey rubbed them. Zane wasn’t in the mood for sympathy.

“It’s my own damn fault,” he said bitterly. “I’m the one who hid what he was and gave them something to expose.”

“Everyone has a right to keep their private life private.”

Zane snorted. “Not me. And not you, apparently. I’m sorry, Trey. You saw what Missy was. I should have known better.”

“I wouldn’t have predicted she’d do this. Anyway, maybe we should worry about Rebecca. She’s in that footage too.”

Trey’s reminder hardened Zane’s face. “Damn it. She doesn’t deserve this.” He looked toward the house and sighed. “We should go back. Warn her what happened.”

“We can’t let her go home tomorrow,” Trey said.

“No,” Zane agreed. “Whatever it takes, we protect her until this blows over.”

Unlike Owens, they went quietly down the garage stairs.

“So,” Trey said, because he truly couldn’t leave it alone. “Were you trying to give me a heart attack by running toward a guy with a gun?”

“He wouldn’t have hit me,” Zane said. “He was too scared to aim. Besides, sometimes the best defense—”