Chained by Love Vol. 1: Angel (Vegas Billionaires #1) Read online

  I was just flicking through an article about some fashion beauty tips when my boss, Mr. Collins, called out to me, catching my attention.

  “Yes, Mr. Collins?” I queried, wondering if he wanted me to stock the shop again, which I had only just done last evening. I was sure the display shelves were neatly packed, filled with items, and couldn’t have been emptied again so soon—since there hadn’t been many customers around during this time of the year.

  The elderly man came over to me and looked around seriously. A few teenaged boys walked in at that moment and headed over to the soft drinks area.

  Mr. Collins turned to me and said, “It’s pretty quiet. Why don’t you head on home?”

  I flicked my gaze to the clock on the wall. “Are you sure?” I asked, wondering if it was all right to leave half an hour early yet again.

  “It’s fine,” he said, waving me away from my position behind the counter. “It’s quiet. I can look after the shop until closing time.”

  I knew Mr. Collins didn’t like me working so late since I was only seventeen. Fact was, he had never intended to give me this position in the first place, but I had insisted since I needed the money. As for Mr. Collins, he was in desperate need of a staff member for this unpopular shift, and because no one had offered, he had reluctantly taken me on. Ever since I had started this job not too long ago he always shooed me off home before my shift was over.

  “It’s getting late,” he said. “And a pretty young girl like you walking the streets at night isn’t safe.”

  He had stated that many times to me, and I knew he was worried for my sake. If he didn’t have a shop to look after, I was sure he’d go so far as walking me home himself, too. Gosh, if only my own father was a little like him, then I wouldn’t have to be in this type of situation in the first place. I’d be like most girls at my school; they didn’t have to worry about money to pay the bills, which were my responsibility, or not having enough food on the table.

  “I left you some leftover pies in the staffroom,” he said over his shoulder as he headed across the shop.

  I presumed he was going to check on the two boys around the corner to make sure they didn’t do any stealing, which was common in this part of the neighborhood.

  “It’s in a plastic bag on the table.” He added.

  I put the magazine down and got up from my post.

  “Thanks, Mr. Collins,” I said loudly so that he could hear me. He chuckled in amusement, which told me that he had heard me.

  As I headed toward the back of the shop, I once again felt my heart tug at Mr. Collins’ kindness. He was always offering me food to take home, even though those items weren’t leftover or past their freshness date. Thanks to him, I wasn’t so often starved, as I usually had been prior to my position here. Generally, I’d go without food until dinner, which I’d have to make myself at home with whatever was available in the fridge and freezer. But since I had started working here, I’d get the leftover bread and savory pies for breakfast and lunch the next day, which was a lifesaver.

  In the staffroom, I took my backpack from my locker and then pulled on my jacket. After untying my long hair and letting it fall to my waist, I sighed in relief. Once I was set with my backpack securely over my shoulders, I turned my attention to the plastic bag sitting on the table.

  I stepped forward and peeked inside. Once I had seen the contents, I smiled in delight. It wasn’t just pies, there was an assortment of nuts and chips, this morning’s loaf of bread, a couple of canned soups, and a bottle of soft drink.

  Though I felt more than a little guilty at taking such a lavish offer, deep down I was delighted. I was poor, after all, and any generosity I was given I’d gladly take.

  Grabbing the bag, I headed out the door toward the front of the shop, my feet light. As I came around, I smiled at Mr. Collins and said, “Thanks, Mr. Collins, for the food.”

  Mr. Collins, who was now serving the two boys, nodded at me with a big smile on his face. “No problem,” he said.

  I was at the exit when I said loudly again, “Good night, Mr. Collins, and see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” Mr. Collins said. “You be careful out there.”

  I smiled and waved. “I will.”

  Alone, I headed down the street, humming to myself. Suddenly, I shivered a little. Gosh! It was colder than usual this winter, wasn’t it?

  Very aware that it was getting darker and more baleful the farther I walked away from the main streets, I tightened my hand around the plastic bag and increased my pace. I’d be honest that I never liked walking along this street alone at this time of the night. It was more than a little uncomfortable and nerve racking, to be sure, beside the fact that this neighborhood wasn’t the safest in Las Vegas. Numerous gangs ruled the streets, and to encounter them at this time of the night, I’d surely be in big trouble. Thank God, that had never happened to me, but I knew luck wasn’t always going to be on my side, so I had always been on my guard.

  Only one more block to go, I thought, realizing that the street was getting quieter and more sinister. That couldn’t be helped since most of the people around here had gone off to their relatives’ places for Christmas to celebrate, and to be sure, the area felt like a ghost town.

  Yes! Only a little more to go, then I’d be home, safe and sound. I couldn’t wait to lock the door behind me, change into my old, comfortable pajamas, throw a pie into the microwave, and then eat to my heart’s content. I was more than a little hungry as I had not eaten since lunchtime today, and that had only been a slice of sandwich I had made for myself. I had to admit I was good at neglecting to eat. It was habit, I supposed, since they, Dad and Marie, had always neglected to feed me when I was young, and it was now a habit for me.

  I turned the corner of the street and sighted my apartment complex not too far away. The place was a five stories-high building made of gray stone. Not that anyone could see the color of the dull structure at this time of the night, for it was dark and overbearingly gloomy, just like most of the occupants, some thirty small families or so, who lived there.

  With my mind now fully occupied on what book I should read tonight before going to bed, as I knew I was saved from any gang encounter, I headed straight toward the building. Once I got closer, where the lights were brighter, I stopped short in my tracks at the sight I beheld. I blinked twice, thinking I must have over exhausted myself at work and that my eyes were playing tricks on me. Because surely…

  Surely there wasn’t a man lying there on the concrete.

  I shut my eyes for a brief second to clear the apparition, reassuring myself that I was merely seeing things because I was tired and that it was also late.

  When I fluttered my eyes open again, I sucked in my breath in dread. Dear God, the body was still there.

  My step faltered once I realized what I had seen wasn’t because of my overly active imagination. It was real.

  My eyes widened in shocked surprise as my breath caught at the back of my throat.

  Oh, dear Lord! It was truly a man, and he looked lifeless.

  I rushed forward, my heart racing as I scanned the body from head to toe. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t dead before I did anything stupid, like touch him. After all, I didn’t want to contaminate evidence if there was going to be an investigation taking place.

  Gosh, I thought, as I examined the body with sharp eyes, but surely, the man was handsome. His clothing, too, though disheveled and covered in dirt, looked expensive. Fancy shirt, jacket, trousers, and shoes that would have cost quite a lot of money to buy.

  I flicked my eyes back to his face. God, he looked like a dead angel with such pale hair. And his angular features, though covered in scratches and bruises, were beautifully breathtaking. If this wasn’t Las Vegas and he wasn’t lying on his back with so many raw wounds at this time of the night, I would have thought he was a hot male model posing as an injured hero for some awesome magazine.

  I dropped the plastic bag in my hand on the conc
rete and got down on my knees. Then I leaned my face toward his.

  Are you dead? I asked internally. Please don’t be dead. Please…

  I moved closer and checked the pulse at the base of his neck. Please, I thought in dread, let there be a pulse. Then I felt it, a slight kick against my two fingers, confirming that there was indeed a pulse.

  A gasping noise came my way. This was followed by a slow, shallow intake of breath and then a long exhalation. I felt my heart burst with delight and relief.

  He wasn’t dead! He was still breathing.

  Without further ado, I touched his face as I called out to him.

  “Hey. Are you okay? Can you hear me?” I asked loudly. “Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

  I cupped his face in my small hands, begging him to respond to me and praying he’d be all right. God! Please let him be all right.

  “Can you hear me?” I asked again, my voice shaking now, fearing the worst because he wasn’t responding.

  God, please let him be all right.

  “Hey, wake up. Please…can you hear me? Are you all right?” I asked again, trying hard to keep my voice calm, but it was impossible. I was panicking, wondering if he was more severely injured than I had previously thought. I didn’t want him to die. Not here and definitely not in my hands when I was trying to help him.

  A groan came my way again, telling me the man was still conscious.

  Pleased with his response, I sighed in relief and said quickly, “I’m going to call for help. You just hold on for a moment, okay? I’m right here beside you. Help is going to be here soon.” I assured him, hopefully, successfully.

  I turned my attention away from him and hastily went about searching my jacket pocket for my cell phone. I felt it and, with a shaky hand, swiftly took it out. Swiping it to unlock, I started dialing 911. All the while, I kept one eye on the man beside me to make sure he wasn’t getting any worse or going into an unconscious state.

  I was about to push on the ‘phone’ button when suddenly, a large, strong hand—covered in cuts and bruises—grabbed my wrist and pulled me forward.

  Chapter 3

  Savanah

  I gasped out in surprise, and without warning, I found myself landing on top of the man, my face resting against his massive chest. My heart was thumping furiously as I lifted my head, confused and disorientated, wondering why I was in such a position, lying on top of a beaten man.

  Once I managed to get my bearings back, I gazed at the stranger. Up close, I noticed he was more handsome than any man I had ever met, with an aquiline nose and dark, broody features. When he slowly opened his eyes and stared straight at me, I swallowed hard and felt my heart skip a beat, which was followed by furious racing.

  I held his gaze, mesmerized by the pale blue-gray color of his irises, which suddenly whisked me away to another place…a place that wasn’t anywhere near here. A place of paradise and tropical islands, of freedom and love. Yet there was something else there as well… I felt as if there was an intrinsic link to me, sown deeply in his eyes and rooted in his soul. It was a sort of bondage and chain, of trust and unconditional love. I felt drawn to him, as if his dark, intense stare was embracing me, cradling me, and branding me hotly, as if I was his, as if I belonged to him.

  Deep in my soul, I felt that I was his, bound to him via an unseen chain that could never be loosened or cut. I felt it, this overwhelming desire to be owned, a sense of belonging. Not to a certain place, but to him, this man whose name I did not know, lying here after being beaten by some gang.

  Lord, how I wanted to be his. I wanted him to embrace me, love me, and do so much more to me than my innocent virgin self could ever imagine. God, I had no idea what I wanted him to do to me, but I wanted him to thrill and excite me, bind me and kiss me. Most of all, I wanted him to love me.

  I sucked in my breath and felt tears brewing in my eyes at that sudden realization.

  God! What was wrong with me? One look from this beaten man and I was undone? Suddenly, I wanted him to ravish me? I wanted him to fuck me? I wanted him to do all those dark, erotic things to me that I had only ever overheard from other girls in my class? Things that enticed other girls to sneak off in the night with their boyfriends to dark places and lose their virginity. Things I refused to think about because they were so far removed from my objectives, which were to be free and independent. To be able to leave home, go to college, and get a good job. My ultimate goal of not having to worry about Dad and Marie, and not be involved in their sick and destructive relationship, and more importantly, to not have to worry about money, ever again. But now…

  Now, one look from this half-dead angel lookalike man and I was unwittingly destroyed.

  I swallowed hard as the new, hot emotions this man caused erupted within me.

  I felt shaken and scared, as if for the first time the glass wall barrier that was protecting my small realm against invaders from the outside, alienated world was shattered. Lord, but I felt exposed and vulnerable—and against a half-dead man, at that.

  How stupid could I get?

  Aware that I was on top of him and in his arms, I hastily sat up straight and said weakly, trying hard to brush away the intense emotions this man stirred within me, “I’m calling for help.”

  I turned my attention to my cell phone again, intending to push the dial button. The man stopped me by tightly holding on to my hand. I felt warm sensations rush through my being, stirring deeply in my core, which made me breathless. I became weak at his contact, and he easily grabbed my phone from me.

  Confused, and with my brain more than a little muddled, I watched helplessly as he threw my phone away.

  I stared blindly as my precious item hit the wall of the building. I gasped in shocked surprise.

  What? Why did he do that?

  I said, my voice shaking with both confusion and anger, “I was phoning for help.”

  “No,” he said, his voice dark and cold. “No help.”

  “What?” I couldn’t help asking, even more confused now. I prepared to get up, intending to retrieve my precious cell phone, but the man caught my wrist again and pulled me against him.

  I gasped and found myself perched on him. He was strong, I thought in surprise, despite being so wounded.

  Staring into his eyes, I said weakly, “I’m only trying to help. You’re injured.”

  He cocked his head to one side as he stared long and hard at me. Suddenly, he smiled—that dark, sinister sort of grin that was both alluring and terrifying.

  At that instant, my gut instinct told me to run away, leave this man alone, don’t get involved, because he was dangerous. I knew right there and then that if I were to get myself entangled in this man’s life, I’d have more than my time to lose. I knew I’d be in jeopardy—both emotionally and physically. I knew that this man, despite his angelic looks, was in fact a devil in disguise. Once I entered his dark and dangerous world, there was no way I could get back out. I’d be trapped, entwined with him in his wicked domain.

  Yet… Why couldn’t I move? Why couldn’t I just get up and walk away, as my gut instinct was telling me to do?

  “You want to help?” he asked, as if that was a most preposterous thing for anyone to do when encountering a person lying half-dead on the street corner, severely injured from a beating.

  I nodded my head mutely.

  “Why?” he asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion at me.

  I blinked. Why? What?

  I shook my head, not understanding the meaning behind his query.

  “I’m sorry? What? You look like you’re about to die. Who’s just going to walk by and not help?” I said logically.

  My honest answer didn’t seem to move him one way or another. He stared long and hard at me, his gorgeous face impassive. Then he closed his eyes and stated in a cold, aristocratic voice that could only belong to rich, influential people like those pompous, arrogant billionaires who ruled Las Vegas, “If you want to help, don’t call the police or th
e ambulance.”

  I licked my lips and protested, “But you’re hurt.”

  “I’m fine!” he snapped at me, as though he was frustrated with my stubbornness.

  “Look,” he said, still holding on to me tightly, which was more than a little painful. He was branding my skin hotly with his touches, and I was more than a little disturbed by it. My whole body was shaky, weak, and warm in a way I had never felt before. My heart couldn’t stop racing either, and truth be told, I wasn’t sure if my reaction was due to the man himself or being so close to him, sprawled on top of him, with my small form intimately cradled in his arms. Or whether it was because of the precarious situation in which I had found myself.

  He grunted, I assumed in pain, as he moved a little. I felt sorry for him and tried to move back, to ease my weight from him. The stubborn man, however, wouldn’t let me out of his clutches and tightened his hold on me as if I were his prisoner.

  I gasped and said, “You’re in pain. Please… I’m hurting you. My weight…”

  His answer was to glare at me, ignore my sympathetic concern for him, and continue with his lecture, “Look, you walk away and pretend you didn’t see anything.” Only then did he loosen his hold on me. “Now, go, and leave me alone.”

  He thrust me away from him as if I was no longer important to him, as if I were a thing of distaste.

  I fell on my backside with a thud, and I groaned in discomfort.

  Stupid man! Who was he to act so high and mighty in this part of the town? Didn’t he realize his very life was in danger if he were to linger around here much longer? Those gang members would be back in no time, with more of their friends—the higher-ups in the chain who were more ruthless—to finish him off. Never mind the fact that he was already severely injured and wouldn’t be able to stand against them.

  I brushed dirt off my jeans and then headed over to retrieve my cell phone, which was lying on the concrete not too far away. As I was doing so, my mind was racing, wondering what I should do. Obviously, I wasn’t going to just leave him there. The fact that he didn’t want me to call the police or the ambulance was made abundantly clear by him, too, and I couldn’t possibly disobey his demand. Although I did wonder why. Was he a wanted man?