Damaged & Off Limits Books 5--6 Read online

  Damaged & Off Limits Books 5 - 6

  A Dark Billionaire Romance (The Billionaire’s Secret Club Series Book)

  C.C. Piper

  Contents

  Damaged

  1. Jessie

  2. Trevor

  3. Jessie

  4. Trevor

  5. Jessie

  6. Trevor

  7. Jessie

  8. Trevor

  9. Jessie

  10. Trevor

  11. Jessie

  12. Trevor

  13. Jessie

  14. Trevor

  15. Jessie

  16. Trevor

  17. Jessie

  18. Trevor

  19. Jessie

  20. Trevor

  21. Jessie

  22. Trevor

  Epilogue - Jessie

  Off Limits

  1. Alaina

  2. Mason

  3. Alaina

  4. Mason

  5. Alaina

  6. Mason

  7. Alaina

  8. Mason

  9. Alaina

  10. Mason

  11. Alaina

  12. Mason

  13. Alaina

  14. Mason

  15. Alaina

  16. Mason

  17. Alaina

  18. Mason

  19. Alaina

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  © Copyright 2020 - All rights reserved.

  It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  Damaged

  The Billionaire’s Secret Club Series Book 5

  1

  Jessie

  OCTOBER

  I glanced up at the large circular clock on the cement block wall. Damn. Ten minutes left. I hated essay tests, even though I loved Student Engagement, the subject of the class. Once this semester was complete, I’d only have one more semester ‘till I’d have my degree in Early Childhood Education.

  My dream.

  Becoming a teacher would allow me to do two things. One, make a difference in the lives of children. And two, have some way to support myself financially. Not that pay for teachers was fantastic or anything, but it would be enough to survive on. Well, as long as I was careful. And since careful was my middle name, I knew I could swing it.

  Besides, I was sick of living in survival mode. All. The. Time.

  Technically, I already was a teacher. I had been making an almost living as a fitness trainer and Zumba instructor for the past three years, so being in charge of a class would be nothing new to me. Of course, teaching adults was far different than herding five-year-olds. But I looked forward to this upcoming change in my life just the same.

  Now, if I could only get there.

  I wrote and wrote and wrote. Part of my scholarship package required maintaining a certain grade point average, and because my life tended to be tumultuous, sometimes that proved to be a challenge. It’s difficult to concentrate when you don’t know where your next meal might come from or if you’ll have a roof over your head that night.

  Being homeless my freshman year had nearly caused me to drop out.

  Thank God for Ashley Winter. Ashley had been one of my friendly acquaintances in high school. Since that time, she had become my BFF and roommate. Like a lot of teenagers, I’d had a large loose band of fair-weather friends back then. The types of girls who liked to gossip and borrow your lipstick, but when the shit hit the fan, sort of disappeared.

  I hadn’t realized it at the time, but that’s exactly who I’d surrounded myself with. Surface level personalities without much substance. So when things went south in my life—and by south I mean straight to hell—the true measure of these friendships was tried and tested big time.

  This meant that after the ordeal I’d faced, my posse went from eight girls to one.

  Ashley, although she’d been on the outside of that circle, had ultimately become the one that stayed.

  Not that I could blame the other seven, really. After being ejected from the apartment I’d grown up in, I’d been alone and in a pretty sorry state. It wasn’t easy to be kicked out of your childhood home by your own flesh and blood. Regardless, though, who wants some blubbering teenage girl taking up long term residence on their couch?

  The fact that I was pregnant and hormonal—not that I’d told anyone—hadn’t helped much, either.

  The first night, I slept out under the stars in a local park. I sobbed the entire time. Then, since that experience was scary enough to not repeat it, I went from one friend to the next until I wore out my welcome on each. Some friends let me stay a week, some a weekend, and with one, only a few hours. All of them said sorry Jessie, I didn’t sign up for this, and showed me the door.

  Needless to say, the slumber party invites came to a screeching halt after that.

  I went from popular, good-time Jessie to “that Jessie Souza chick is like, such a drag,” overnight. I had to grow up instantly, which at seventeen proved hard. Somehow, I managed to graduate that spring, but I didn’t walk the stage. I couldn’t afford the extra expense of a cap and gown.

  During my first week of college, I miscarried. The first thing I felt was devastation. Then, I felt relieved to not have the responsibility of another mouth to feed. Then, I was consumed with guilt for feeling relieved. What kind of sadistic monster would experience relief, no matter how brief, over the loss of her baby?

  Me. That’s who. I inadvertently became as bad of a parent as my own mother. And that shit was unforgivable.

  “That’s time, everyone.”

  Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck.

  I had one more question to answer. The room came to life around me, yanking me back to my current reality. Shuffles of backpacks and the clomps of shoes filled my ears as wafts of various perfumes and colognes clogged the atmosphere—except for that one dude who reeked of weed. Still, I kept my head down and rushed to finish. Just a few more sentences. I need to pass. I have to pass.

  “Ms. Souza,” called my professor, once everyone else was gone.

  “Yes, Professor Shirley?”

  Professor Shirley was my all-time favorite teacher. Ever. She had short black hair that always looked windblown, and dark, discerning eyes. She was also even more petite than I was, and considering I was five foot three while wearing two-inch heels, that was saying something.

  I fully expected her to tell me to wrap up my last word and bring her my examination paper. Instead, she collected the tests into a rudimentary stack and came to stand next to me. I stared up at her and was met with a soft, compassionate gaze.

  “I’m going to go get a quick cup of coffee. Can I assume you’ll be waiting on me when I get back?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She nodded, then left, giving me an additional fifteen minutes to round out my response. It was the exact amount of time I needed. Unfortunately, staying over meant I was now running late for the gym. My workplace was ten blocks away from the university. After handing in my paper, I threw on my jacket as I ran for the door. At the threshold, though, I turned back.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, but due to the acoustics, even that low sound echoed through the cavernous classroom.

  Her smile reflected in her eyes. “Don’t mention it.”

  Who knew a college professor would end up being kinder and more ge
nerous than the woman who’d given birth to me?

  But all that crap with my mom was … whatever.

  I didn’t like to think about how my life had imploded or why. I had to keep on keeping on just like I had for the past three and a half years. So I would.

  I jogged through the crowds of Brooklyn, skirting down leaf-strewn sidewalks and across busy intersections without stopping. It was a good thing all the lights changed just as I approached them. A rare bit of good luck. Because it was October, the air was crisp when I inhaled, but I didn’t pay the weather much mind. New England was known for its cool, colorful autumns, and I liked experiencing all four seasons. At least, as long as I didn’t have to sleep outside in them.

  By the time I arrived at the gym, my students were stretching out their hamstrings and calf muscles along the back wall. Taking just a second to regain my breath, I turned on some loud percussive music and changed into my workout shoes. Then, clapping with the beat, I faced the mirrored wall, just like my students. Getting into the appropriate rhythm, I demonstrated an easy punching step and began the class.

  “Jessie, sweetie, can you come into my office?” came the saccharin voice of my direct supervisor, Lance.

  Red flag. He only called me “sweetie” when he had bad news.

  “Yeah …” he said slowly when I stood in front of his desk,, reminding me of that jerk of a boss in Office Space. “You see, the thing is, the enrollment levels in your classes are down. So effective immediately, we’re going to cut back your hours, okay?”

  “By how much?” I asked, a sinking feeling taking over my gut.

  “Oh, by about ten. You’ll go from thirty to twenty a week, so it shouldn’t be too awful.”

  Maybe not for him, but for me that type of cut meant I couldn’t make either my meager portion of the rent—Ashley paid sixty percent to my forty as it was—or pay for school. I could only afford one and not the other.

  Dammit.

  “Lance, I really can’t afford for you to do that.” He threw me an expression that seemed torn between a fake smile and a real grimace.

  “Sorry, sweetie, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles sometimes.”

  Was he seriously bringing up stupid platitudes right now?

  “Maybe if your numbers increase, we can find a couple more hours for you in the future,” he suggested, not sounding very encouraging since his eyes were on his phone.

  “Fine.”

  I’d forgotten a change of clothes, so I hopped aboard the B train feeling stinky and sweaty. I should’ve known my tiny moment of good luck wouldn’t last.

  2

  Trevor

  I ain’t gonna lie, going from the Big Easy to the Big Apple required some adjustments. Several of them, in fact. The main one was acclimating myself to the temperatures going colder earlier. Weather down in New Orleans was mild year ‘round. Granted, we had our little cold snaps now and again, but right now, even though it was still October, it was forty degrees. To me, that was downright chilly, and it was only going to get chillier.

  Mostly, though, I liked being here.

  NYC has this frenetic energy, a super-fast pace, you know? A certain vibe, as my Nana would call it. Nana always was into mysticism. She was Cajun, and as superstitious as anyone I knew. But then coming from a part of the world known for its occult practices and voodoo made believing in things others might not more likely. I should know.

  I’d been raised not to walk under ladders or to break mirrors. I couldn’t even say how many times I’d been freaked out as a kid by the rocking chair on my parent’s porch rocking all by itself. That sort of thing didn’t bother me so much anymore, but I did still put stock in my instincts, in feeling situations out and backing away from circumstances that didn’t feel right.

  I might not be able to explain it, but I knew there was more to this life than meets the naked eye.

  It was that instinct that caused me to move here in the first place. I needed a fresh start.

  Not that I didn’t love Louisiana. My family were all from there, and so was my best friend, Jaxson Liddell. I’d been here for six months now and I missed them all terribly. I missed the warmer temps, too. But I didn’t feel like New Orleans had the same opportunities for me that Manhattan did. So I weighed my options and did the whole list of pros and cons. Then, I went exclusively with my gut and hopped aboard a plane.

  For the first time in my life, I felt like I might actually get the chance to step out from beneath Jax’s shadow.

  I even told him as much, as tactless as that might’ve been. But I’ve never had much of a filter and lying about my feelings seemed wrong. So I explained that I wanted to strike out on my own. Make a name for myself that had nothing to do with Liddell Industries, his family’s billion-dollar tech firm.

  The name Liddell held a lot of clout at home. Few people from that neck of the woods wouldn’t know it. I wanted the same for myself. I wanted the name recognition and respect. I wanted success that was exclusively my own.

  I’d worked for Liddell Industries my entire adult life, and yet I could never seem to accomplish the sort of recognition and prestige I’d aimed for. Jax had been away for four years in the company’s London office, and I thought I’d made some headway in that time. And I had. I received three separate promotions and believed I’d covered some important ground.

  But the moment Jax returned, much of what I’d done seemed to mean nothing. Everyone deferred to him automatically and not only because of his last name. It was because of the qualities my best friend had. His steadfastness and strength of character; his decency and sense of fair play. His father had ruled the place with unyielding ruthlessness, but Jax took the opposite approach. Liddell Industries had flourished under it, too. It was amazing to watch.

  Yet, staying there meant I’d never be top banana. And maybe this was selfish, but I wanted my own piece of the pie.

  So when an opportunity arose to become an investment banker on Wall Street, I took it. I’d had my nose to the grindstone so hard over these past few months that I discontinued every other aspect of my life. I hadn’t gone home to visit. Hadn’t engaged in any nights out with friends. Hadn’t dated. I’d made work my only priority. And now that I lifted my head from my metaphorical ledgers, I realized something.

  I was lonely.

  I’d never gone so long without my family or my friends. I’d also never gone so long without a woman in my bed. That was another advantage Jax had over me. He was now a happily married husband and father, even if his initial escapade into fatherhood had been unknown to him. His parents had hidden the truth of his girlfriend Roxy’s pregnancy, the sickos; still, he wound up with the girl he’d always wanted. The girl he’d always loved.

  But I knew better than to wish for that. It was one thing for me to go after money. With the right investments and know-how, money would accumulate and grow. It wasn’t even that hard to do as long as you were willing to put in the time and effort, especially since I already held an MBA. But love? That was a whole other species.

  There was no rulebook when it came to love, no strategy. Sure, you could strategize sex and dating, but love? That was a beast I didn’t think possible to tame.

  You just had to be lucky. To be at the right place at the right time. Both the people involved needed to be right for each other, too, and that was tricky as all hell. Possible but massively difficult. Especially for me.

  My problem was I had certain, shall we say, proclivities when it came to sexual gratification. I could only ever feel satisfied when my bed partner was okay with engaging in some unique forms of play. Jax knew this because he approached his sex life in a similar way. As I stared out the window of the forty-story skyscraper and into the night, I chuckled to myself. Jax fell hook, line, and sinker for the notion that I had some perverted fire fetish that I indulged in.

  But the joke was on him. Can you imagine? What would such a thing even look like?

  “Hold still, darlin’, as I set your long
lovely hair aflame.”

  I mean, damn. Sadomasochism, indeed.

  No. I wasn’t into anything that extreme. But I enjoyed being a dominant in the bedroom. I liked to have control and be in control. I liked to give orders and have them followed without question. Well, like might not be a strong enough word. I had a difficult time getting off without those measures being taken. I didn’t just like being in charge. I needed to be.

  Yet, in my experience, the average woman of dating age often wouldn’t agree to such things. Which left me in a quandary. I needed some X-rated time with a woman. Like, ASAP. I just wasn’t certain how to go about tracking down a submissive here in the city that never sleeps.

  Surely, in a metropolis of eight million, there had to be someone.

  Then, the light bulb went off. The Wish Maker.

  Duh.

  At home, I’d frequently utilized her services in finding me the kind of date I was looking for. She’d make certain all my parameters were met. Of course, working with the mysterious Wish Maker came at a premium cost. Truthfully, it cost a fucking arm and a leg. But she proved worth it, every single time. I hadn’t been disappointed by any of her employees yet.

  “Keller,” my manager Lars Gustav barked out from behind me, and I nearly jumped. Nearly. “Here late again, I see.”