Page 1 of Saved By the Billionaire

Saved by the Billionaire

ROMAN & KATE

Prologue

Twenty years ago

“Hush, Gracie, it’s okay.”

The trailer shook as their father threw another punch. Not aimed at their mother, Roman could tell, because the walls had vibrated with the force of his old man’s knuckles slamming into the cheap, degrading material.

“It’s so loud,” eight-year-old Grace whispered, her dark brown eyes huge, her features strained.

“You know they wear out. Sing for me,” he suggested, crouching in front of his sister and holding her gaze. It was something they’d done for as long as he could remember. It didn’t matter which shit-hole city his parents had dragged their crumbling van to, and set up on the promise of a ‘fresh start’, there’d always been this. Drugs, alcohol, shouting matches and violence, and then, silence as they slept it off.

And in the back of it all, Grace’s music. As a girl, she’d hum to block it out. Then, as she grew up, she’d sing whatever she could think of, fudging the words she didn’t know, eyes developing an eerily absent look, as though she were almost burrowing into the songs to escape this reality.

He couldn’t blame her. How many times had he sworn he’d get away from this hellhole life just as soon as he could? At fourteen, and already six feet tall, he knew he could hit the road now and make something of his life. He was strong, smart, knew how to get by if he had to. But there was Grace to think about, and her best friend Tia. Two skinny young kids who deserved more than this.

Who needed a protector.

Who needed him.

“We’re gonna be okay, Gracie. You’ll see. One day, I’m going to take us away from all this. I’m going to take us far away, and give you everything in life you deserve. I’m gonna save you, just you wait.”

Chapter One

MOST PEOPLE GAVE THE streets around here a wide berth after midnight, but Roman Hayes had been walking them for years. Partly because insomnia felt like less of a curse when you were walking, and partly because he was intent on punishing himself for his failure to protect her. To save his sister, like he’d always promised he would.

He kept his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans as he strode through these dark, deserted streets—the streets that had claimed her, despite his efforts. The streets that were now a torture to him, a living testament to having let her down.

He came out here to be alone with his thoughts, so the sound of people nearby was not something he relished. He grimaced, his square jaw setting in a harsh line as he instinctively turned down an alley that would take him further from the other humans occupying his space. Only something stilled him, his long strides arresting automatically.

“Don’t! Please, don’t!”

A woman’s voice, panic evident in the shrill tones. His chest tightened with a familiar burden, a weight pressing down on him to do something. Then, a scream. A visceral, terrified scream. His long legs began to move, faster now. His hands came from his pockets, moving rhythmically at his sides as he broke into a jog, heading not to solitude but instead towards the cry for help.

Turning the corner, he saw legs first, then two shapes hunched close to the ground. A handbag had been emptied, its contents tipped unceremoniously over the concrete floor. As he approached, one of the figures stood, oblivious to Roman’s presence, and began to unfasten his jeans. “Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he ground out, pulling back one leg and kicking her in the stomach. “This’ll be over before you know it.”

Roman swore under his breath and ran faster. The alley was deserted and dark. Only a sliver of moonlight illuminated the attack that was in progress.

“I like hearing her scream,” the other dickhead retorted, and they both laughed then, a sound that sparked fury inside Roman, bringing back an avalanche of his deadbeat, drunk dad laughing as he pounded on his mother, then turned on Roman.

As he got nearer, he slowed, eyes sweeping over the woman, who had her hands held up in a classic gesture of both defiance and a plea.

“I’d think long and hard about what you’re about to do,” he said, words calm. Calm because he’d had a lifetime of dealing with this sort of thing; calm because he knew he could take them with his hands tied behind his back. They didn’t look much older than twenty, and both had a scrawny build.

“Fuck off,” creep number one said, hand down his pants.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Roman ground out. “Step away from her.”

The woman whimpered. His eyes flicked down to her. She was bleeding from her temple, blonde hair matted with oozing red liquid. Her shirt had been torn to reveal the top of her breast. He tightened his jaw at the same moment creep number two stood and evidently decided to pick a fight with Roman. Of all people.

Roman who stood six and a half feet tall, and had the breadth of a professional athlete. The strength of one too. Roman who’d learned never to let his strength go, never to forget how to defend himself, even though it had been a long time since anyone had been stupid enough to attack him. Until now.

The creep’s fist cracked ineffectively against Roman’s cheekbone. He might have a bruise the next day, but that was about it. He reached out as though he were swatting at a fly and caught the man’s wrist easily, his reflexes swift, his strength unquestionably superior.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I told you to step away.”