Tipping The Billionaire: His Runaway Lover

Jax threw on a fresh shirt, not bothering to button it all the way, and stormed out of the hotel lobby. A fleet of black Maybachs was already idling at the curb.

His assistant ran alongside him, holding an iPad, sweat dripping down his face. "Sir, the blind spots in the service elevator... she slipped out. We tracked a yellow cab she got into ten minutes ago."

Jax snatched the iPad. He stared at the grainy footage of a slender woman running barefoot into a taxi. His eyes burned with a dark, obsessive fire.

"Give me the keys," Jax demanded, holding his hand out to his lead driver.

The driver hesitated, then dropped the keys into Jax's palm. Jax slid into the driver's seat of the lead Maybach. He slammed the door, the engine roaring to life like a caged beast.

Across the city, Alida was shaking as she unlocked the door to her tiny Brooklyn apartment.

She ran straight to the bathroom, turned the shower on scalding hot, and scrubbed her skin until it was raw and red. She needed to wash away the scent of his cologne, the memory of his hands.

Suddenly, a violent pounding echoed from the front door.

"Alida! Open this door you little bitch!" Belva's shrill voice pierced the thin walls. "Mortimer wants his money!"

Heavy thuds followed-the sound of men kicking the wood.

Alida wrapped a towel tightly around herself, her heart dropping into her stomach. She grabbed her phone with wet, trembling hands and dialed the only person she trusted.

"Aunt Martha," Alida choked out. "They're at my door."

"Fire escape. Now," Martha's voice was sharp and commanding. "I'm two blocks away. Meet me at the diner alley."

Alida dropped the phone. She threw on jeans and a sweater, grabbed her purse—the check Jax had contemptuously shoved back at her was still inside—and ran to the window.

The front door splintered with a loud crack.

Alida threw her leg over the windowsill and scrambled onto the rusted iron fire escape. She climbed down as fast as she could, her hands scraping against the rough metal.

She hit the alley floor just as Belva burst into the apartment above. Alida sprinted toward the diner.

A beat-up Ford sedan screeched to a halt. The passenger door flew open. Alida dove inside.

Martha slammed on the gas.

"Call your father," Martha ordered, keeping her eyes on the rearview mirror.

Alida dialed the hospital room. When Arthur answered, she forced a bright tone, swallowing the tears that threatened to choke her. "Dad? I got the exchange program. I'm leaving for London today. I'm so sorry I can't say goodbye in person."

"Oh, my brave girl," Arthur coughed. "I'm so proud of you. Go. Don't worry about me."

Alida hung up and buried her face in her hands, weeping silently.

Martha pulled up to a dimly lit industrial loading zone two miles from the main passenger terminals of JFK Airport. She shoved a thick envelope into Alida's lap. "I’ve kept this emergency kit ready since Mortimer first threatened you. I just had to call in a life-debt to activate the flight. Inside is a passport belonging to a girl who passed away three years ago-you look exactly like her photo. There's also a boarding pass for a commercial cargo flight leaving for Heathrow in twenty minutes. They won't ask questions. Go."

Alida hugged her aunt fiercely. She pulled the fifty-thousand-dollar check from her purse and shoved it into Martha's pocket. "Pay for his surgery. Please."

"Go!" Martha yelled.

Alida grabbed her bag and ran through the sliding glass doors, not looking back.

On the highway leading to the airport, Jax's Maybach was weaving through traffic at a hundred miles an hour.

His phone buzzed on the dashboard. "Sir," the assistant's voice came through the speaker. "She ditched the cab in Brooklyn and switched to an unmarked sedan. We just tracked it to the JFK cargo perimeter."

Jax's jaw locked. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He swerved hard to the right, cutting across three lanes to catch the airport exit ramp.

He was entirely focused on the road ahead, his mind consumed by the image of that humiliating note.

He didn't see the massive eighteen-wheeler in the oncoming lane until it was too late.

The truck's front left tire exploded with a sound like a bomb. The massive vehicle violently swerved, crashing through the concrete median barrier.

The truck cab loomed over Jax's windshield like a mountain of steel.

Jax's pupils dilated. He yanked the steering wheel violently to the right.

The Maybach avoided a head-on collision, but the truck's trailer whipped around, slamming into the rear quarter panel of the car.

The impact was catastrophic. The Maybach spun out of control, flipping end over end. Metal shrieked as it tore apart. The car slammed into the retaining wall, the airbags deploying in a cloud of white powder.

Jax's head struck the side window. Blood poured down his face, blinding him. The world spun, then faded into absolute, crushing darkness.

High above the burning wreckage on the highway, a Boeing 777 pierced the clouds, carrying Alida far away from the nightmare.