Felix_A Cryptocurrency Billionaire Romance Read online

  “Funny what you said about Jack wanting to imprison you. I had a recurring nightmare about my sisters wanting to end me too. I was Dad’s clear favorite—the only one who thought logically and the only one who wanted to follow in his footsteps. That’s enough to do it when you’re children, fighting for parental attention. My next eldest sister, Laila, needed a gang to lead and she found it in my two youngest sisters. I never stood a chance.”

  “Three against one? I guess that honed your survival skills.”

  “Sure did.” I say with a sigh. “I love them dearly of course. But now we’re happy to see each other in small doses.”

  “Small doses?” he prods.

  “Yeah. Laila has her own life at school. I don’t want to interrupt. Tessa and Alanna stay with my aunt. They’re fourteen, still at school.”

  “Are there occasions, holidays perhaps, that bind you together?” he asks.

  I shrug. “Not really. Last Christmas, the first since Dad died, I escaped from it all and went to Hawaii.”

  I feel so hollow admitting this to him but he takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I get that. I really do. When my dad died, I didn’t talk to Jack for seven months.”

  In the distance, we see the ferry bringing a new group of tourists from Cannes.

  “Let’s get that ferry back,” I say. “And can we do it the plebian way, like, buying a ticket for a few Euros, just like everyone else? I don’t think I can handle the embarrassment of pushing people aside a second time.”

  He laughs. “The arrogant life of the one-percenters too much for you?”

  I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But it’s a jarring reminder of who he is and what I’m here to do. We’re both quiet as we retrace our journey back to the mainland. I guess he’s got his demons and I’ve got mine. Stealing glances at his windswept hair, his face bathed in sunshine, I sorely wish he wasn’t who he was and that I didn’t have to do what I have to do.

  10

  FELIX

  AS WE’RE DRIVING BACK to the hotel, I’m daydreaming about fucking but I’m aware enough to see that Cara’s looking in the side mirror quite a bit.

  “What?” I ask.

  “See that Porsche. The yellow one?”

  I glance in the rear-view mirror. “What about it?”

  “Would you say it’s following us?”

  “Everyone’s following us.” I glance in the side mirrors. “We’re in a traffic jam”

  “It came out of the parking lot same time as us.”

  “Is that illegal?” But then I make out the features of the driver behind the wheel of the yellow Porsche. “Oh shit.”

  “What?” She cranes her neck to peer into the rear-view and slumps back in her seat.

  “Belkov,” we say simultaneously.

  “What the hell?” she asks.

  I thump the steering wheel. “Not again. Asshole is a bad loser. He likes to get revenge any time I beat him. It’s a game he’s been playing since about seven years ago when I beat him in Sydney in a final. He’s getting worse. Last time he lost against me, he planted coke on me and got me thrown out of a club. He calls it “joking” and says I should have a better sense of humor. Who knows what his revenge will be this time.”

  “You’re kidding,” Cara says.

  “Afraid not. I thought he’d have the courtesy of waiting until after our tournament here though.”

  Belkov slides in behind us. His shades make him a mean looking motherfucker. He’s got three other goons in there with him. The sticker in his windshield says “Gas, grass, or ass, nobody rides for free.” Whoa. Classy. I hate him even more. I guess he imported this car as well.

  Then I’m thrown forward against the seatbelt.

  “What the—” I yell. “He’s bumped us.”

  “Is he crazy?” Cara’s voice is not as panicked as many other passengers’ would be, but it still makes my protective instincts flare. In the mirror Belkov and pals are waving their arms out the windows, making lewd signals, and jeering. They veer perilously close to our car again. There’s no escape because there’s a car just ahead of us. I feel another jolt as he jumps us again.

  “Jesus Christ. Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to pull over, let you out, and drive on, okay?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Cara!”

  “I said no. I’m in this as much as you are.”

  “Cara, listen, this is not—”

  “No, you listen, mister. How long did you spend in jail because of the coke thing? You don’t have to answer that, I already know, okay? Because I investigated you. It was because you had no witnesses. You think I’m gonna let you drive off and deal with him on your own? He’s got three other guys in there. They’re going to tail you ‘til you run out of gas. Or corner you at an abandoned warehouse. And then you’re in trouble.”

  “Why does it always have to be an abandoned warehouse,” I joke.

  “Felix.” She grips my upper arm. “You’re in danger.”

  “All the more reason to let you out now. Cara, if I let anything happen to you, I couldn’t live with myself, okay?”

  She’s quiet. I glance over. She’s wide-eyed. I suppose I sounded a bit fierce, but she has to get it into her head that I will not let that happen.

  “Which is exactly why I should come with you.”

  “You’re not going to let up, are you?” I growl.

  “Nope,” she growls back.

  I put my foot on the gas and overtake a car in front. If she’s elected to stay in the car, I want to get out of this situation as quickly as possible.

  “Calm down,” she says, pressing buttons on the GPS. “Here’s what we do. We drive to the next police precinct. It’s at the end of Boulevard Carnot. Belkov’s not going to follow us in there.”

  I wouldn’t have thought of doing that myself, but it makes sense. “Okay I’ve to get over into that left lane in that case. Let’s see if he follows.

  He does. Of course he fucking does.

  “Ah, look,” I say triumphantly. “It’s gonna turn red. If I can just get ahead of it, we’ll be rid of the bastard.”

  I floor the accelerator. We sail through the lights as they’re still yellow and I immediately ease off the gas. Next thing I see is a group of girls slowly crossing the street ahead of us, laughing at each other, licking ice-lollies and totally ignoring the traffic. I step on the brake. But in the mirror Belkov’s Porsche is crashing through the red light and he’s barely slowed down.

  “He’s going too fast! He’s going to hit the girls.”

  “What girls?” Cara shrieks.

  Time and action lapse into slow motion. Between the seconds, I sift through competing thoughts about the acceleration of moving objects and the forces of impact. With a strange sense of calm, I choose a course of action that maximizes the probability of saving lives while keeping Cara safe. My heartbeat is the only sound, pumping ever so slowly, as my hands and feet react to conflicting data from my brain. There’s no fear, no emotion. The consequences will come later. But I’ll have made the right decision.

  I swerve onto Belkov’s lane using my lambo as a missile. It’s the only way to stop him crashing into those girls. There’s a sickening crunch on my side and my head is thrust forward violently. The seatbelt digs into my chest and I’m a crash test dummy in the clutches of a terrible g-forces that remind me of diving into water from a great height and a roller coaster ride all at once.

  When the car comes to a standstill I take a moment to recover, wheezing for breath. I look over at Cara. She’s seems unharmed but her face is deathly pale. If anything had happened to her—

  Relief drowns me when she twists to look at me. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Finally, I manage to get my vocal cords to work again. “A-are you okay?”

  “Alive anyway,” she says.

  I stumble out and stagger around the hood to help her out. I pull her shivering body into a bear hug. I need her closeness and I think she needs m
e too. It’s hard to let go. “I’m so sorry,” I say, nuzzling her hair. “I can explain.”

  “It’s okay.” She tugs herself from my grasp. “I kind of get it. Come on. Let’s assess the damage here.”

  I disengage from her and step back from the lambo, ignoring Belkov and his car for the moment. The whole driver side is crushed. The lights don’t work. It’s a fucking mess. But at least we’re not stopping all of the lanes.

  “Egan’s going to kill me, “I moan.

  Belkov comes charging over, three of his mean-looking buddies in tow, all un-injured.

  “Palmer, you fucking maniac!” His fist is raised, but if there’s one thing I know about Belkov, it’s that he’ll never get into arm to arm combat with me, like a real man.

  “You’re the maniac,” I shout back. “You would have killed those girls.”

  “What girls?” he sneers. “There were no girls.”

  I point to the empty space on the road where they were. Wherever they are now. Crap.

  I put my arm around Cara’s shoulders. She’s shivering. “Don’t say anything,” I say in a low voice.

  Belkov’s wrecked Porsche is right up against the sidewalk. Several cars slow down to gawk but then drive on. I hear sirens in the background. Belkov turns away again to obsess over the damage with his buddies.

  “What did you see?” Cara asks in a whisper.

  “There were girls. At the crossing. He’d have smashed into them at that speed.”

  “I don’t see anyone now.”

  “They’ve mingled with the crowd.” I point to where a crowd of pedestrians is gathering on the sidewalk to enjoy the spectacle of two crashed cars. What do they think this is? A movie stunt?

  At the police station, we have to fill out reports and answer questions. After telling them my details—and as usual, professional poker player raises some eyebrows—I tell my version of the incident.

  Inspector Desmarets turns to Cara, adopting a much friendlier demeanor and politer tone. “Can you confirm the story, Ms. Cole?”.

  “Yes.” Cara says in a steady voice.

  My heart gives a thump. I didn’t expect her to lie for me. She only took my word for it that there were girls crossing the street. She didn’t actually see them.

  “We are still looking for witnesses, Mr. Palmer.”

  “What? You’ve found none? Nobody’s talked?” I ask.

  “Not yet, Mr. Palmer,” he says grimly.

  A subordinate officer offers to drive us back to our hotels. I’m hoping it’s just going to be one hotel but I need a signal from her and she may just want to be alone after all this trauma. What started out as the perfect day has turned into a nightmare. Judging by the way she’s sitting stiffly and her jaw is set tight, I have to wonder if she even believes that there were girls. Maybe she thinks I was just trying to wreck Belkov’s ride.

  According to the GPS, we’re near her hotel. It’s some cheapo no-name place. I inhale, bracing myself for her cool goodbye. This is such an anti-climax.

  “Felix?” she says suddenly, and my hopes light up.

  “Yes?”

  “Who’s Egan?”

  I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. “Egan?” I say dumbly.

  “Yes, when you looked at the car damage, the first thing you said was that Egan was going to be mad.”

  “I…did?”

  She sighs. “You did.”

  “He’s… my guardian angel,” I blurt.

  “Yeah. Okay.” She opens the door and, with a practiced swing of her legs, she steps out. She’s definitely not inviting me to come with her.

  I could kill myself. Fuck, what did I just do? She knows I’m lying now. But I don’t want to lie to her. But I promised to keep my mouth shut. How do I explain about Egan without explaining everything?

  She must think I’m a delusional, lying, irresponsible waste-of-space idiot. Maybe I can still prove her wrong?

  Or maybe I’ve given her exactly what she came here for and she doesn’t need me anymore.

  She slams the door shut and walks off without looking back.

  Fuck.

  11

  CARA

  WELL, THAT WAS INTERESTING. It’s a risk, leaving Felix to his own devices for the night but it’s one I’m prepared to take because I can’t handle him right now. I can’t handle anything. I’m overwhelmed with memories of us in the cell together and then the nightmare of the crash. This girl needs to retreat from life.

  If he wants to do a massive sell off on the Bitcoin exchange tonight then I will just have to bear the guilt of that.

  My jetlag is really kicking in too. If I lie down on that bed like I so desperately want to, I’ll fall asleep immediately. I call Goodman to give him my latest report.

  “He let a name slip, Egan something or other. He’s not working alone. Sounds like this Egan guy is his boss because Felix mentioned Egan would kill him for wrecking his lambo. I’ll get working on seeing if there are any Egans on the darknet. Maybe I’ll find some leads.”

  “Good work, Cara. Where is he now?”

  “Got my eye on him,” I lie.

  “Good. Well the price is looking healthy. Just one more day. Cara, one more day.”

  ***

  When I wake, it’s the 16th. I spring forward in bed and reach for my phone to check the Bitcoin price.

  $14,778.

  I slump back on the pillows in relief. Felix didn’t do anything. Or Egan, or whoever’s running this show. I can’t make mistakes today. My hands are clammy as I toss the vial of sleeping medication into my purse. I also add condoms. They may be an accessory to my cause.

  I bite my lip. This feels wrong. So wrong. I’m usually good at flirting, verbal gymnastics, skirting around the real thing. I’m great at laying on charm and then swiftly extracting myself from a situation with a well-rehearsed excuse. But when it comes to a guy I really like? Then I’m a disaster.

  Goodman calls, just as I’m wiping up the mess I made of my mascara with my jittery hands.

  “Been up all night checking open orders on Palmer’s favorite exchange. Nothing big happening there so far. So, if he’s going to dump Bitcoin, he’s probably going to do it live, not something he’s set up in advance.”

  “Yes,” I confirm. “His pattern is to always to do it on the day of settlement of the futures contracts. So sometime between now and 9 a.m. tomorrow.”

  “Good. I have a whole knitting circle of old dears calling me and asking how their investments are holding up. I don’t want to let them down. Please don’t let me down.”

  “Don’t intend to, Mr. Goodman.”

  “Okay, I need a nap for a few hours or until one of my price notifications goes off. I’ll call you.”

  “You do that,” I say to the old man. “I’m sure the price will be stable, so do get your sleep in.”

  The atmosphere in the casino when I arrive after breakfast is also tense. The tournament is down to four players. Both Felix and Belkov look worse for wear—dark circles under their eyes, agitated flicks of the head when they lose a round. Belkov is doing his blabbermouth spiel as usual. Felix is ignoring him as usual but I know he’s simmering on the inside. And now that I’ve got a taste of how bad Belkov really is, I can’t say I blame him.

  I take my place in the spectator box that overlooks the card table. I try to stay hidden behind a tall man in a cap but at one point, Felix notices me. His steady gaze pins me to my seat. I’m alternating between watching him and watching the Bitcoin price on my phone.

  Just twenty more hours.

  Just nineteen more hours.

  Periodically, his gaze returns to me, usually it’s whenever he wins a round. He’s careful though, as he must be, in case anybody would accuse him of cheating by getting signals from me.

  I’m too nervous to take a bathroom break. I mean it’s highly unlikely he’ll rush to his phone and do a huge Bitcoin transaction while playing poker, but he could well call someone to do the job for him. I can�
�t afford to let him out of my sight for a millisecond.

  I glance at the phone clock for the gazillionth time. Ten past three now. Just eighteen more hours. This is the slowest day of all history. But now I really need a bathroom break.

  I’m coming out of the bathrooms when a smooth, deep voice behind me stops me in my tracks. I swing around to find myself staring into Felix’s stormy blue eyes. Butterflies go berserk in my stomach as I remember the good parts of yesterday. He leads me into a quiet alcove away from the chattering masses.

  “We need to talk.” He drags a hand through his hair.

  “Yes, I say.”

  “Sorry about—” we say simultaneously.

  “You first,” he says.

  “Sorry for running off on you yesterday,” I say. “It was just too—too much.”

  “I’m sorry for putting you in danger.”

  I nod. I guess he’s not going to mention that he also let vital information slip, which proves he’s hiding stuff from me. We’re just not going there. We’re apparently conducting this relationship on two levels—the honest, physical level where we express our desires openly and the dishonest foundation underneath where we’re on opposite sides of a Bitcoin battle.

  “How about dinner?” he says. “I just need one more hour here.”

  “Sounds good,” I say. Anything to keep him beside me.

  “I’ve got to head down to the garage to check in on the lambo but after that I’m as free as a bird.

  “I’ll come with you,” I say quickly. Heading down to the garage sounds like exactly the kind of excuse he’d use to get rid of me while he goes online and does some trading.

  He throws me a skeptical look. “It’s not exactly a place for a gorgeous woman like you.”

  “Don’t be so sexist. I can hold my own in a testosterone-filled garage.” I say. “Besides, for your own sake, I think you need to be accompanied driving.”