A Billionaire's Forbidden Love

Evelyn

Their laughter rolls over my skin like shards of glass. The clanking of coffee cups and dishes blasts like bombs in my ears.

“Evelyn, I told you not to drink that last shot,” Sylvia chides me with a soft laugh. She shifts in her seat to help block some of the sun from pouring through the café window into my face. It doesn’t help.

“I don’t think it’s that,” I say, taking another sip of my coffee. My head hadn’t ached when I woke this morning. It’s only since I sat down with Sylvia and Purity that a dull ache took root then bloomed into the thunderous pounding it is now.

“You look sort of pale,” Purity says, pressing the back of her hand to my cheek. “No fever.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s just a headache. A migraine probably. I haven’t had one in a long time. I’m due.” I brush her hand away. The alarm on my phone dings, and I check the time. “Shit. I’m going to be late.” I down the rest of my latte in one large gulp.

“Off to the suburbs? Can’t you stay a bit longer? We were going to go shopping.” Sylvia tugs on my hand. A wave of nausea hits me, and I still myself for a moment until it fades. Maybe a trip out to my brother’s house isn’t such a good idea.

“Dom will murder me if I don’t show,” I say when I get moving again. Showing up with a migraine is better than not showing up at all. My oldest brother doesn’t need another reason to lecture me on my perceived irresponsibility.

“Evelyn, you really look bad.” Purity stands from her chair. “Maybe I should drive you home.”

“No. I’m fine.” I sling my purse over my shoulder. The café is filled, not an empty seat to be had. I’m going to have to maneuver through the crowd to get to the door and every move I make brings another wave of unsteadiness.

“Are you sure?” Sylvia asks, concern weighing down the question. She glances over at the counter. “Let Aguero walk you to your car.”

Aguero is her latest fuckbuddy. He’ll do pretty much anything she asks if it means he’ll get into her panties.

“No. No. It’s too busy.” I push her arm down. “It’s just too crowded in here. I’ll be fine once I get outside in the fresh air. Kaleb’s waiting and my father too. I’ll be fine,” I assure them, but the dark cloud fogging my head suggests I’m lying.

“What can I get you ladies?” Aguero pops up at our table, his eyes focused on Sylvia.

“Aguero, Evelyn’s not feeling well. Will you take her to her car?” Sylvia lays on the sugar with her question.

“Sure.” He turns to me. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” I roll my eyes, which sends my head into another spin. I grab hold of the back of my chair and take a deep breath. “It’s all right.”

He darts a look at the counter then back to me. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m good.”

He nods, but his eyes are focused off in the distance, behind me.

“Okay, then. I should get back.”

“I’ll talk to you before I leave.” Sylvia wiggles her fingers at him. He throws her a wink then hurries back between the tables. Aguero’s family owns the Corner Café, a small café in the center of Chicago’s Little Poland.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow.” I lean over and give Sylvia a peck to both cheeks then do the same with Purity. “I need to give you the presents I brought back from Poland for you.”

“Just be careful driving.” Purity squeezes me when she hugs me. “You really look bad.”

I laugh, sending more pain through my head. “Thanks.” I wave off her apology. I’m late, and my oldest brother will make me sit through a lecture I’m in no condition to sit through if I don’t hurry.

Maneuvering through the café leaves me dizzy, but I don’t stop moving until I’m outside. Taking a few deep breaths helps to settle my head. Maybe I’m nervous. My father has set the bar high for Kaleb’s wife, but he’s impressed with her. If she’s been able to tolerate Kaleb for this long withing attempting his murder, I’m sure she’s worth my father’s approval. Standing beside her will probably only highlight my shortcomings.

My phone dings again with my notifications. I need to get going. I hurry across Milwaukee Avenue and head down the side street. Parking lots are a luxury this part of town doesn’t have. I was lucky to find a spot on the street not too far from the café.

As I walk, another pair of footsteps falls in behind me. I slip my keys from my purse and tuck a single key between two of my fingers like Kaleb taught me when I was in high school. My car is only two spots ahead of me.

My heart hammers into my ribs, falling in line with the heavy throb of my head.

I turn my head enough to see a single man walking. He’s dressed in a pair of black jeans and a black t-shirt. His dark hair is slicked back across his head, and he’s wearing a pair of sunglasses. He’s catching up to me.

There’s a bus stop on this corner. Maybe he’s just trying to get to it before the next pickup.

Once I’m close, I click the unlock button on my fob and hurry to my door. I grab the door handle and look up. The man’s gone.

As I pull the door toward me a hand smashes over my mouth from behind. I’m yanked backward into a hard chest. My mind whirls at the jerky movements. I can’t catch my footing and my balance is gone.

“Keep quiet.” The command is growled into my ear as I’m yanked toward the trunk of my car. I fling my arms, trying to catch him with my fingernails, but I’m losing strength. What was dizziness moments before has turned into a cyclone. My legs are heavy, my hands even more so.

Something’s wrong with me. I’m not even fighting him as he pops the trunk and shoves me inside.

Once inside, I roll to my side, looking up at him. The man walking behind me. His glasses cover his eyes, but I can see the disgust curling his lip.

“Keep still.” He points a finger at me. The sunlight from behind him blurs my vision. I push my hands again the trunk and try to sit, but my body rebels against me. I end up sinking down and laying my head against the pile of dry cleaning I was supposed to drop off yesterday but never did.

I close my eyes, but it’s when the trunk is slammed that the darkness covers me. The car shifts. One door shuts then the other.

Two men speak. I can’t hear them clearly. My head pounds harder, as though my brain wants out of my skull. I should be making the same noise against my trunk. I should be kicking and screaming, but it takes every ounce of energy I have to stay awake.

But even that only lasts another moment. The car’s moving into traffic.

The men are still talking, and I realize why I can’t understand them.

Lord help me.

These men are speaking Russian.