CHAPTER 77: CHAPTER 77

Jason’s finger rested on the trigger, his eyes narrowing as he studied Avril’s trembling form, her wrists chafed raw by the cuffs, her face pale under the smudged remnants of her stage makeup. "A hundred million’s no pocket change," He said, his voice low and laced with skepticism. "You sure your ’friend’ can cough up that kind of cash?"

Avril’s head dipped, her cheeks flushing with a mix of shame and desperation. "Well... we’re not exactly friends," She mumbled, her voice barely audible, her eyes avoiding his.

Jason’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, catching the hint of scandal in her tone. "Oh, so it’s like that, huh? A fuck-buddy, then. Spill it—who’s the lucky bastard?"

Avril’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if saying the name might summon the devil himself. "Tony Stark."

Jason’s body jolted, his eyes lighting up like he’d just hit the fucking jackpot. "You mean the Tony Stark? Stark Industries’ big shot, the playboy tearing through Hollywood’s panties like a kid in a candy store?"

Avril nodded, her expression grim but resolute. "That’s him."

Jason’s pulse quickened, a surge of adrenaline coursing through him. After twenty-plus years of hustling in the shadows, he was finally crossing paths with a Marvel heavyweight. A hundred million was chump change for a guy like Stark, but would he shell it out for a fling? "A hundred million-dollar fuck’s a bit steep, even for Tony," Jason said, his tone teasing but sharp. "You sure he’ll pay to save your ass?"

Avril lifted her head, her eyes burning with a fierce determination that belied her fear. "I’ll make him see if it’s worth it. I’ll do whatever it fucking takes."

Jason lowered the gun, his smirk widening as he tossed her the encrypted phone, its sleek surface glinting in the dim factory light. "Alright, princess. You’ve got one shot. Don’t fuck it up."

Avril caught the phone, her fingers trembling but moving with practiced ease as she dialed Tony’s private number, no hesitation in her muscle memory. Stark Industries was a titan, raking in billions annually from arms deals, and Tony’s personal fortune never dipped below the global top ten. With his genius, his cash, and that roguish charm, he was the wet dream of every starlet in Hollywood, all chasing the fantasy of locking him down, escaping their label’s chains, and soaring into the elite. But Tony was a notorious womanizer, a wolf in the sheets who’d fucked his way through models, actresses, and nobodies, leaving a trail of broken hearts without ever committing to one.

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Meanwhile, in a sprawling oceanfront villa in Malibu, California, Tony Stark stirred from his king-sized bed, the silk sheets tangled around his naked body. Two stunning women—one a fiery redhead, the other a sultry brunette—lay asleep beside him, their curves bathed in the soft morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. Just hours ago, he’d lived out every man’s fantasy, bedding every Maxim cover girl from January to December. March’s model had a scheduling conflict, but December’s twins more than made up for it, their synchronized moans still echoing in his mind. He stretched, a smug grin spreading across his face, his body humming with satisfaction. ’One fuck to solve a thousand problems,’ He thought, ’And a double shot’s even better.’

Breakfast hadn’t arrived yet, so Tony, still buzzing from the night’s conquests, decided to tinker in his lab. He padded barefoot across the polished marble floor, the ocean’s salty breeze drifting through the open windows. "Morning, Jarvis," He said, his voice rough with sleep.

"Good morning, sir," Replied Jarvis, the AI’s smooth British accent filling the room. Tony had modeled the system after his late father’s butler, who’d raised him through a lonely childhood while Howard Stark buried himself in work. The AI’s voice, an exact replica of the real Jarvis’s warm timbre, was a comfort Tony rarely admitted to needing.

He was elbow-deep in his car’s engine, tweaking the horsepower with a wrench, when Jarvis interrupted. "Sir, incoming call from an unknown number."

Tony frowned, wiping grease on his jeans. "Who the hell’s calling this early?" He tapped the accept button, leaning against the workbench. "Yeah?"

"Hey, Tony, it’s Avril," Came the voice, laced with a familiar edge of wildness that sent a jolt through him. His mind flashed to that night—her smoky eyeliner, her lithe body moving against his, the way she’d kept him up till dawn in a haze of sweat and desire.

He set down the wrench, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "Well, damn, morning, wild girl. What’s up?"

Avril didn’t waste time, her voice tight with urgency. "Tony, I’m sorry to bother you this early, but I’m in deep shit. I need your help with something serious."

"Name it," Tony said, his tone cool but curious. As a billionaire, philanthropist, and notorious playboy, he was used to people begging for favors—money, connections, a quick fuck. It was all routine.

"I need to borrow some cash, like, right now," Avril said, her words rushed. "A lot of it."

"No problem," Tony said, leaning back, unfazed. "How much?"

"A hundred million dollars."

Tony’s eyebrows shot up, his grin faltering. "Holy shit, that’s not pocket change, even for me."

"I know it’s huge," Avril said, her voice trembling but laced with a seductive edge. "But I’m desperate, Tony. I’ll pay you back, I swear. Or... if you want another kind of repayment, I’m game."

Tony’s smile vanished, his gut tightening. Avril was a firecracker, wild and unapologetic, not the type to beg or offer herself up like a cheap hooker. Something was seriously fucked. Before he could respond, Jarvis cut the mic, his voice crisp. "Sir, according to LAPD reports, Miss Lavigne and Miss Vineyard were kidnapped last night by unknown assailants."

The lab’s TV screen flicked on, showing the LAPD chief at a press conference, his face grim as he confirmed the double kidnapping. Tony’s jaw clenched. "Christine?" He muttered, disbelief creeping in.

"Yes, sir," Jarvis said, a hint of mockery in his tone. "The very same Christine who left you waiting on a rooftop all night, catching a cold in the process."

Tony snorted, old irritation flaring at the memory of that humiliating night. "Jarvis. Start tracing the signal."

"Already underway, sir."

Tony reengaged the mic, his voice smooth as he stalled. "So, what’s this hundred million for, Avril? Spill."

"I can’t," She said, her voice tight with fear. "It’s personal. But I swear I’ll pay you back."

"Alright," Tony said, feigning nonchalance. "Wire it to your account?"

"No, I’ve got a Swiss bank account, untraceable. Send it there, and please, Tony, do it today—fast as you can."

Seconds later, Jarvis chimed in. "Signal traced, sir. The call originates from an abandoned factory in South LA."

Tony’s lips curled into a cold, predatory smile. "Send me the account details, Avril. I’ll get the money moving."

"Tony, you’re a lifesaver," She said, her voice thick with relief.

"Don’t mention it," He said, his tone deceptively light. He hung up, turning to Jarvis. "Forward the location to the LAPD?"

"Negative, sir," Said Jarvis.

Tony said, his grin sharpening. "Let’s give this one to Rhodey. He could use the win."

"Connecting you to Major James Rhodes now."

The line clicked, and Rhodes’ tired voice came through. "Tony, what’s up?"

"You sound like shit, Rhodey," Tony teased. "Rough night?"

"Thanks to those fucking kidnappers," Rhodes growled. "Hollywood’s two biggest stars are snatched, and the higher-ups are breathing down my neck. I’m in LA with a task force, working overtime."

"Well, buckle up, because I’ve got a gift," Tony said. "The kidnapper just called me."

Rhodes’ voice lit up. "No shit? You got a location?"

"Of course," Tony said, his tone dripping with smugness. "This dumbass thought his encrypted phone was untraceable. Kid’s play for me. I’m sending you the coordinates now. Oh, and Rhodey—Christine’s there too. Make sure she knows who saved her ass."

"Got it," Rhodes said, a grin audible in his voice. "I owe you one, Tony."

"You bet your ass you do," Tony laughed, the sound rich and triumphant as he leaned back.

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