Tipping The Billionaire: His Runaway Lover

The bass from the club's speakers vibrated through the soles of Alida's shoes, rattling her teeth.

She pushed through the sweaty, grinding bodies on the dance floor. The flashing neon lights sliced through the darkness, making her nausea worse.

She reached the sticky surface of the bar and slammed her hand down.

"Tequila. Neat," she ordered.

The bartender slid a shot glass toward her. Alida picked it up and threw the burning liquid down her throat. It felt like swallowing broken glass, but the heat spreading in her stomach was a welcome distraction from the ice in her chest.

She rested her forehead against the cool edge of the bar. A sob finally tore its way up her throat.

"Well, well. If it isn't my perfect little stepsister."

Alida stiffened. She turned her head. Belva slid onto the stool next to her, a sickly sweet smile plastered on her heavily contoured face. Belva pushed a napkin toward her.

"Rough night?" Belva asked.

"Go away, Belva," Alida rasped, shoving the napkin back.

Belva didn't move. "Just trying to be family. Have another drink. It helps."

Alida turned her head toward the dance floor, ignoring her.

In that split second, Belva's hand hovered over Alida's glass. A tiny white pill dropped into the remaining drops of tequila, dissolving instantly. "It's a custom chemical mix," Belva thought to herself, a cruel, triumphant glint in her eyes. "In just a few minutes, she won't just be compliant; she'll be a desperate, burning mess, begging for anyone to touch her."

"Come on," Belva urged, signaling the bartender for a refill. She pushed the freshly topped glass into Alida's hand. "To moving on."

Alida was too exhausted to fight. She wanted the pain to stop. She brought the glass to her lips and drained it.

Less than two minutes later, the club began to spin.

The neon lights smeared into long, blinding streaks of color. A sudden, unnatural heat flared in the pit of Alida's stomach, radiating outward and making her skin flush. Her heart raced, pumping a dizzying, euphoric fog into her brain. Alida's legs turned to jelly. The air grew thick, suffocating her.

She swayed, her grip on the bar slipping.

Belva's arm wrapped tightly around her waist, catching her before she hit the floor. "I've got you," Belva whispered, her voice dripping with malice.

Belva half-dragged, half-carried Alida away from the crowded bar, pushing through a heavy black door that led to the back alley hallway.

The music became a muffled thud. The hallway was dimly lit and smelled of stale urine.

A massive man with a thick neck and a cigar clamped between his teeth stood by the exit door. Mortimer.

Belva shoved Alida's limp body toward him. "Here. Now we're even on the loan."

Mortimer tossed a thick manila envelope at Belva's chest. He reached out, his rough, calloused hand grabbing Alida's jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek.

The repulsive touch sent a violent shockwave through Alida's nervous system. The sheer terror sliced through the chemical fog in her brain. The drug hadn't fully paralyzed her muscles yet; instead, it had sent her nervous system into a hypersensitive overdrive.

She was being sold.

Alida bit down hard on her own tongue. The sharp, metallic taste of copper flooded her mouth. The intense pain acted like a defibrillator to her brain.

As Mortimer bent down to throw her over his shoulder, Alida lifted her right leg. She drove the stiletto heel of her shoe down with all her remaining strength, crushing it directly into Mortimer's instep.

Bones crunched.

Mortimer let out a guttural roar, dropping his cigar and stumbling backward, clutching his foot.

Alida didn't look back. She shoved the heavy fire door open and stumbled back into the club, veering wildly into the VIP corridor.

"Grab her!" Belva shrieked from behind.

Footsteps pounded against the concrete.

The drug was fully taking over now. Alida's blood felt like boiling lava. Her vision was completely black at the edges. She was running on pure, blind instinct.

She rounded a corner.

A wall of men in black suits was walking toward her. In the center walked Jax Vaughn.

Alida couldn't stop. She crashed headfirst into a chest that felt like a slab of solid granite.

The impact knocked the breath out of her. She started to fall, but two massive hands clamped onto her waist like iron vices, holding her upright.

Jax looked down. His jaw ticked in annoyance. He hated being touched.

Alida buried her face into the crisp fabric of his suit. The scent of expensive cologne and clean male skin filled her lungs. It grounded her.

She grabbed his lapels, her knuckles turning white. She tilted her head up. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, swimming with tears.

"Help me," she breathed, her voice a broken whisper.

Belva and Mortimer skidded around the corner.

Instantly, Jax's bodyguards drew their weapons, the metallic clicks echoing in the hallway. Mortimer froze, his face draining of color at the sight of the guns.

Jax didn't look at the pursuers. He stared down at the woman trembling against his chest. Her skin was flushed a deep, unnatural red.

A dark, dangerous spark ignited in Jax's black eyes. He didn't push her away.