Ambition: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Driven Book 1) Read online

  I didn't give him a chance to answer before continuing. "Here’s the deal, Gerald. You're going to resign as head pastor of your church. Go to Florida, go to Arizona, Texas, hell, go to Fiji for all I fucking care. But you’re leaving this city. As for your charity request, that's already been in the works, has been for over a month. Tonight's news is going to include the announcement by MJT Consolidated Holdings that MJT is partnering with the owners of the Spartans (the local professional football team), Nike, and Google to build a series of four community centers in the city, each of them to have exactly what I just described. The Spartans, Nike and Google will fund the actual running of the centers, while MJT is donating the buildings themselves and the renovations. I expect I'll probably have to do some publicity shots of me in coveralls and a t-shirt hammering wood or laying carpet, but since you've spent most of the time we've been in the same room staring at my tits, I'm sure you won't mind if I make it a tight shirt. You think I'd look good in Spartan colors?"

  Traylor recovered from my attack well, or at least tried to. I doubted many people were willing to really stand up to him, not in years at least. After all, he could command the ear and soul of thousands at a whim, who would want to piss him off? Well, that is except a very committed redheaded woman who didn't care if she pissed him off. He leaned back in his chair, and folded his hands in his lap, only the pulse of a vein in his temple exposing how angry he was.

  "And if I turn my people against you? It’ll be mighty hard to have a good community center when you have street gangs patrolling outside the doors. Let's drop the facade, Miss Williams. I know who goes to my church. One call and you have the Gangster Disciples tossing bombs through your windows."

  "You have powerful friends at the street level, Gerald. On the other hand, I also happen to have friends at the Justice Department and the IRS. Tell me Bishop, are you certain you paid the proper taxes for all that you got last year? Because I'm quite certain the IRS would say differently. Just how is it that a Bishop is able to pay for not only your lifestyle, but that of a wife and two mistresses on just the donations of your parishioners? Oh, by the way, how are Carrie, Pauline and Baby Love doing right now? I know Carrie knows about them, but I don't think Pauline knows about Baby Love."

  Traylor swallowed, but recovered well enough. I had dirt on him, and while he could try and go against me, I had a grip on more than a few sensitive areas of his. "I see. Well then, good day Miss Williams. I doubt we’ll speak again."

  He got up to leave, buttoning his coat and heading for the door. Reaching for the handle, he stopped when I called his name. "Gerald?"

  "Yes, Miss Williams?"

  He turned to look at me, and I fixed him with my most menacing look. I'd honed it in the mirror for weeks, Mark coaching me the entire time. It was useful, and I could go from seductive to menacing in about two seconds flat if I wanted. "Don't even think of fucking with me on this. I'm letting you off easy. Take the money you've doubtlessly squirreled away and your wife, if she'll stay with your cheating ass, and get the fuck out of the city. If I see or hear that you're back in town, let's just say bad shit might just happen to you."

  "What do you mean?" Traylor said, his lower lip quivering. "Do you think I'm worried about what you might tell the IRS?"

  I let my mouth spread into a smile, but not a friendly one. "No. I just have friends too, Gerald. Very efficient friends."

  Silently, so as to avoid letting Vanessa hear (she was totally in the dark on the other side of MJT), I formed the word that struck fear in the hearts of the city's evil and corrupt. “The Snowman."

  Traylor's eyes grew wide, and he almost ripped the door open getting away from me. I watched from my desk as he hightailed it out of the MJT office, Vanessa still sitting at her desk watching him go. When he was finally gone, she came into my office, her face still professionally impassive. "Shall I pencil in the Padre for another appointment later, Miss Williams?"

  "No, I don't think that will be necessary. And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Tabby?"

  "I don't think so, Miss Williams. By the way, Mrs. Bylur called while you were in your meeting. She says she has returned from her doctor's appointment, and will still be able to have her work completed by the time you get home."

  Vanessa left my office, and I went around to my desk chair, unbuttoning my suit jacket before plopping down. The meeting with Traylor had fired me up, and I was in the swing of things now. If Sophie's message was that she was fine, I could hear the details when I got home that night. I still had some adrenalin to work off, and I figured I could use it to make up for the hour of zoning out I'd done.

  Chapter 2

  Mark

  Tabby nearly sent the door to Mount Zion off its hinges when she came in the door that evening, causing Sophie and I to hide our smiles. We knew that when we called and had only gotten to talk to Vanessa, she’d be itching for an update. She's a great front for our company, a great friend, and smart in her own right, but she's a total softie when it comes to Sophie.

  "So?" she asked, barely taking the time to toss her briefcase to the side, where it clattered to the floor. I was grateful she didn't carry a computer in her briefcase, as we had her computer at MJT networked with ours at home. While Tabby is hardly as messy as she claims, I do have to admit I spent about twenty minutes a day picking up after her. Tabby is difficult as hell to get out of bed in the morning, so between waking up and leaving for work, she somewhat resembles the Tasmanian Devil. Thankfully, my new lifestyle allowed me the time, as long as I got into the stock markets on time. That meant that most mornings, while Sophie did the back rooms or got started on her work with the computer, I spent the time cleaning up, getting done just in time for the opening bell on the market.

  "Well, the doctor's got some new magazines in his waiting room," I said, stirring dinner. It was a unique setup of our supposed work. On paper, Sophie (excuse me, Joanna, but we used our real names around the house) was supposed to be the housekeeper, and she did do a good amount of housework. On the other hand, as beautiful and talented as my wife is, she's not as good a cook as I am, so I would often do outside yard work or other things befitting my "job" and then come in to make dinner. Neither woman had ever complained, even when I experimented with new recipes. "I got to read a very interesting article in the latest Popular Mechanics."

  Tabby replied by making a face, sticking her tongue out and blowing a very loud raspberry. "I'd fire you if you weren't my boss," she mock-complained before coming over and seeing what I was cooking. "Smells good."

  "Thanks. Doctor Atkinson said that Sophie needs a bit more Vitamin K in her diet, so we're having sautéed kale as a side dish. Sorry, no pizzas or stuff for a while."

  Tabby stood on her tiptoes and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "You're too much, Mathew Mark Bylur," she said in reply. She would call me that at least once a day, as practice to make sure she didn't screw up and call me Marcus Smiley or Mark Snow in public some time. "I swear I'm going to find a company that can just clone you for me. Just need to give him naturally black hair."

  "Don't forget being more adventurous in the bedroom," I joked back. "I doubt I could keep up with you."

  "From what Sophie's told me, I doubt that. So where is our mom-to-be?" Tabby said. It was a strange but by now comfortable adaptation to our relationship. She and I would often talk to each other about subjects that I would never speak about with a woman I wasn't in a relationship with before, yet we were both comfortable with it, more like best friends than anything else. Tabby was just cool with the relationship Sophie and I had, and how she fit in. She even was cool with occasionally keeping herself to her portion of the Mount Zion estate to give the two of us some intimate privacy.

  "She's in the back, fussing with the laundry. Doc Atkinson's was busy, so sorry about the delay in how long it took us to get you news," I replied as I chopped up some chanterelle mushrooms to go in with the kale.

  "Which, by the way, you still haven't told m
e," she replied. "I'm guessing that is on purpose?"

  I stirred the pot, and added another splash of olive oil before a pinch of herbs and salt. "Of course. Now go and hang out. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes."

  Tabby nodded and stepped back, taking off her high heels as she did to walk comfortably through the rest of the house. As she did, I watched her go, and pondered how lucky I was. Seriously, how many men got to live with two amazing women, both of whom love him in their own way?

  I just wondered how Tabby would take the news that Doctor Atkinson thought that we had a little girl on the way?

  * * *

  That night, after dinner was finished and the ladies were changed into their evening wear, matching silk pajama sets from Victoria's Secret that were very tempting for me to just stay home, I went into Sophie and my bedroom to change as well. Taking off the jeans and t-shirt that I favored for housework, I pulled out my night time wear.

  Stripping down to my underwear, I was surprised when I heard a knock at the door. I turned and saw Sophie leaning against the door frame, the royal purple of her pajamas molding to the swell of her hips and breasts in a way that left my stomach and cock stirring. "You really have to go out tonight?" she purred. "I was hoping we could celebrate the good news."

  "You know I want to," I said, coming over and giving her a kiss. Sophie pushed into my arms, and I was left breathless as her lush body pressed against me, supple silk covering enticing curves. When we finally parted, I was unabashedly standing with my cock tenting the briefs that I prefer when I'm going to do something athletic.

  "I can tell," she said, reaching out and rubbing my cock through my briefs. She looked at me with desire, but also with a well-humored resignation. "But, you're going to tell me it's been six days since you had a night patrol, and that with what we've learned about the street gang activity, you need to get out there and do some pacification. I know, I know."

  "And yet," I said, trying to suppress the groan and the desire to just fall to my knees and make love to my wife right there, "you keep rubbing my cock."

  "That's because you look so delicious standing there like that, it's hard, and I mean very hard, to stop," she replied. Finally, when I was just at the point of delaying my patrol, she pulled her hand back, grinning at me. "Use that as motivation to make damn sure you come home in one piece and no fluids leaking out."

  The big shuddering breath that I had to take to regain control told Sophie everything she needed to know, and she kissed me again on the cheek. "By the way, Tabby says thanks for the night out."

  "Oh?" I said, trying to distract my mind. It was funny, in the traditionally classic sense Tabby is definitely a knockout, but talking about her never tempted my libido. I could acknowledge that she was beautiful, but never have I had the desire to sleep with her. That's what Sophie does to me. "What do you two have planned?"

  "A silly romantic comedy, then she's going to get some sleep. She's got the press conference tomorrow with the General Manager of the Spartans for the new community centers, remember?"

  "Gotcha," I said, stepping back and turning towards my patrol wear. First thing I pulled on were the compression undershorts I like to wear, although it was a bit painful tugging the tight fabric over my erection. "You want to watch on TV?"

  "I might," Sophie replied. "I just wish I could have watched her castrate Bishop Traylor today instead."

  "Well, we can always try and set up a video feed if you want," I said, taking down the black cargo pants that I was wearing. Despite the comic book name, the Snowman didn't exactly go out looking like anything out of the ordinary. Pulling them up over my hips, I cinched the belt in tight, noting that after shifting to mostly healthy eating since Sophie's pregnancy, I'd lost some weight, and not in a good way either. I didn't sport a lot of body fat to begin with, and if I was losing weight, that meant I was losing much needed muscle and strength for my night patrols.

  "I think I'm going to add in some more fats to my diet," I noted. "These pants are hanging off of me."

  "I still think you look like a million bucks," Sophie replied. "Well, I'll let you finish getting dressed, just come give me a kiss before you leave for work, okay?"

  "Okay."

  Sophie left, and I finished pulling on my patrol uniform. Since the downfall of the Confederation, I didn't need to carry quite as much firepower as I did when I patrolled earlier. Still, I was headed into the area of the city known as The Playground, which despite the innocent sounding name, contained some of the darkest corners of the city. Illuysas Petrokias, the Confederation member that Sophie put a bullet into, used to own about half of the area, which was now more or less up for grabs. It was one of the most frequent areas I patrolled, as drugs, prostitution, and all forms of vice competed with each other.

  I pulled on the tactical vest (with integrated body armor) I preferred over top of the long sleeved hooded t-shirt that went with the pants, before finishing by lacing up the short boots that worked best for me. There's a time and place for full on tactical or combat boots, but not for most of my patrols. I did enough running and jumping that the extra shoe height wasn't helpful. Instead of preventing twisted ankles it just slowed me down.

  The last part of my outfit was in a electronic safe in the closet, my favored twin 9mm Glock, which went into holsters against my ribs. Pausing, I double-checked that the safety was on before I slid the first magazines in, but knew I wasn't going to chamber a round until I was in The Playground. No need to be stupidly risky.

  Coming out into the television room, I found Sophie and Tabby both seated on the large bean bags that made up the furniture of the room, two cups of herbal tea ready for them. "What, no desserts?"

  "With those suits I have to wear to work?" Tabby said with a smirk. "You're crazy if you think I can do that. Even working out four times a week with you two isn't going to overcome nightly ice cream and cheesecake."

  "I hear that,” I said, kneeling down and giving Sophie a kiss. "By the way, we're still on for tomorrow evening, right?"

  "Yeah, yeah, six o'clock, with Sophie here playing both training partner and taskmaster for us. Now go, have your fun playing around with the criminals of the city, and I'll make sure Sophie's not too tired to reward you when you get home."

  I rolled my eyes and kissed Sophie again. "Stay safe," she whispered, looking me in the eyes. Despite all the playfulness of our banter about my job, we both knew that what I did multiple times a week was deadly serious, and her eyes were filled with that knowledge now.

  "I will," I whispered back, laying my hand on her stomach.

  Riding my midnight black Energica Ego sportbike (it was more than just a case of being ecologically friendly. The electric motorcycle was lighter and went zero to sixty in three seconds if I wanted it to), I focused on the patrol at hand. Tonight wasn't so much about actual confrontation as intimidation, although there was one bit of nasty work that I wasn't looking forward to. With my mirrored visor on my helmet and silent motorcycle, I created quite the figure cruising the neon splattered, grungy streets. Once it became known that I was in the neighborhood, the streets cleared quickly, and within twenty minutes there was hardly a person in sight. That task completed, I found a dark alley where I could stash my bike then set off on foot. Despite the similarities to television superheroes, I kept my hood up and wore a Kato style mask over my eyes, held on with spirit gum. There were times to be fashion conscious, and times to cover my ass.

  Stalking down the alley, I made my way two blocks over to a door that was my other main target of the night. There was no sign, no advertisements, but if you were into very hardcore BDSM, Mistress Blood's was the place to go. While BDSM is nowhere near the sort of thing I was into, I have no personal vendetta with it. I understand that there are lots of different things that people do to have fun. Sophie and I have our own little quirks that fall outside the 'norm' that people talk about, and we don't feel guilty about them at all.

  What I do have problems with is
when some of the 'subs' available for the clients to enjoy were not there of their own volition. Considering what some of the clients did to them, I doubt few people in the world would ever volunteer. I knew of at least a dozen people who had been maimed permanently inside the walls of Mistress Blood's, and believed the rumors that at least two real snuff films had been made within the walls. I'd worked with one man who said he'd disposed of the bodies from Blood's, and that some of them were disfigured in ways that looked like something from a horror movie. I said my mission that night was intimidation, but that didn't mean Mistress Blood's didn't need to be shut down.

  I waited until the door opened from inside (there's no way I was taking down an inch thick steel core door, not without a lot of plastic explosives) to make my move. A client stepped out, a man whose face would make the evening news if I had a camera. Before the security could close the door, my Glock was in his face, backing both of them inside.

  "You, Mr. Bank Vice President, bounce," I hissed to the frightened man. It wasn't just for effect, either. As Marcus Smiley, I'd done a lot of news interviews, and needed to disguise my voice, although I never did get as ridiculous as Christian Bale did in the Nolan Batman films. "And if you value your career, never come back here again. Not unless you want Bill Franklin to know what you do late nights."