Amelia Autin - Rescued By The Billionaire Ceo

She hadn’t had an opportunity to make a run for it, though, because almost immediately rough hands had grabbed her, and she’d been gagged so she couldn’t scream for help, tied up so she couldn’t escape, and blindfolded. She wondered about the blindfold. All three men had been masked, so it wasn’t to conceal their identities. Could there be something here they didn’t want seen? Or just that they didn’t want her to know where she was?

But speculating about motives was fruitless at this stage, and a waste of time. Just as there was absolutely no point in second-guessing her decision to travel halfway around the world to Hong Kong for a job her parents had advised against taking...although she couldn’t quite help it.

“Richardsons don’t have to work for a living, darling.” How many times had her mother said that to her? She’d said it again last month as Alana was packing, adding, “But if you insist on working, what was wrong with your job at your father’s company? At least you had a title there. It’s ridiculous for you to work at such a menial job...for an actor, of all people. I don’t care if he is a good friend of Juliana’s.”

And her father had chimed in. “Yes, yes, I know your cousin Juliana vouches for him. But remember, she was an actress...just like her mother.” The supercilious way he’d said just like her mother had rubbed Alana the wrong way. Her aunt had been a renowned Shakespearean actress, and she hated her father talking about Juliana’s mother that way. Implying she hadn’t been good enough to marry into the Richardson family.

Then he’d added, “At least your cousin had the good sense to quit acting when she married the King of Zakhar.” As if Juliana hadn’t risen to the top of her profession by dedication, talent and incredibly hard work. As if she’d just been waiting for her Prince Charming to come along and take her away from all of that. As if Juliana’s marriage to one of the world’s wealthiest and most powerful men was the only thing she’d managed to accomplish that was worth anything in her father’s eyes—completely ignoring all the professional accolades Juliana had won, including two Academy Awards and a handful of Golden Globes.

“And why Hong Kong of all places?” her mother had thrown in. “With all those people.”

Alana had struggled with herself, then said as levelly as she could, “If you mean the Chinese, Mom, it’s their country.”

“Well I didn’t mean that,” her mother had huffed...but Alana had known she really had. Both her parents, in fact.

She wondered about that now, her mind veering off on a tangent. Her parents had tried to inculcate their values, their beliefs, in her. But she wasn’t—couldn’t be—like them. Maybe her uncle Julian had something to do with it, since she’d spent so much time with him after he retired. Maybe his influence had made the difference in shaping the woman she was. Juliana’s father was a Richardson, too, had been raised to believe Richardsons were a cut above, just like Alana’s own father. But maybe serving as a foreign ambassador for all those years had taught her uncle things about the world and its people her father had never learned.

Or maybe she should stop making excuses for why her parents were insular, narrow-minded and...and prejudiced. Maybe she should just accept it. Just as she had to accept she could fight the rope cutting cruelly into her wrists until they were bruised and bloody...but she wasn’t going to escape.

* * *

Jason Moore double-checked the harness strapped around him, making sure it was securely fastened. He lightly buckled the second one around his waist to keep his hands free and glanced at the two men opposite. Like him, they were dressed in black from head to toe, including paper-thin black latex gloves and soft leather boots. Their faces were smeared with camouflage face paint, just as his was, so as not to stand out in the dark night. And, of course, to disguise their identities. Right Makes Might didn’t want any witnesses able to describe them, even when they weren’t breaking the law.

He tapped his earpiece. “Yat, yee, saam,” he said, speaking Cantonese, and getting affirmation he could be clearly heard through their earpieces by the thumbs-up signal from his men on the roof. Then he switched to English. “Testing, one, two, three.”

“Roger that,” said a voice in his ear from one of the men on the ground.

Jason flashed a smile at the men standing guard over the equipment the three of them had just set up. Slid into place his prohibitively expensive night-vision goggles that had started life as equipment for a US Navy SEAL team. Nodded once. Then stepped backward off the roof of this high-rise apartment building in a seedy neighborhood.

The passive arrestor system on the zip line kicked in immediately. So instead of plummeting to his death, Jason slid slowly down the side of the building. He mentally suppressed the totally-to-be-expected unreasoning fear of falling that sent a dart of adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream. Then he used his feet to lever himself away from the building so he didn’t scrape against the concrete, counting floors as he went. Right before he reached his destination, he depressed a button on the radio signal control mechanism strapped to his wrist, and he came to a complete halt.

“Three feet to the left,” Jason said quietly. Within seconds, the zip line moved until he could grasp the metal railing around the tiny balcony that was his destination, and lightly vault over it. His feet made no sound as they landed, because his soft-soled boots had been designed for that purpose. And besides, he’d trained for this until he could practically do it in his sleep.

Jason smiled grimly as he grasped the handle on the poorly fitted sliding glass door, and with a sharp jerk popped it right out of its tracks. He and his men had already discussed how lucky they were their victim was imprisoned in this older apartment building, which had been constructed back in the sixties. Newer high-rises had been built to stricter construction codes, but not older buildings like this one. They were a lot easier to break in to.

He silently lifted the door to one side. “Slack,” he uttered in a monotone, and after a few seconds the tension sagged on the wire to which he was connected. He could have unbuckled the harness before entering the room, but then he would waste precious seconds getting back into it. Seconds he might not have on the back end.

The room was shrouded in darkness, but with his night-vision goggles he could clearly see the slight form huddled on a cot in the corner, a few feet away. He headed straight for it.

* * *

Alana hadn’t thought she could possibly sleep, but she must have. Because she woke to a gloved hand over her gagged mouth and a deep male voice with an upper-class British accent whispering in her ear. “Shh. Not a sound, Miss Richardson. I’ll get you out of here, but you must do exactly what I say without question. Nod your head if you can do that.”

Alana nodded. She didn’t know who this was, but she immediately knew he was here to rescue her. His deep voice held even more reassurance than the words themselves, so whatever he told her to do, she would do. Without question.

He moved slightly, and there was an odd sound she couldn’t place—like metal rubbing against leather. Then the gag melted away. The blindfold followed, and now she could see the flash of a knife in the darkness before the binding around her wrists was carefully cut loose. She bit her lip to hold back the moan that wanted to escape when her arms were finally free and she tried to move them. Tears sprang to her eyes as agonizing pain shot through her muscles, but she was proud she managed not to make a sound.