Blood Money: A Captive Romance (The Dirty Money Duet Book 2)

by BL Mute

  I salute him and hurry back up the stairs. “Will do!”

  “And Carmen!” he calls behind me. I turn on my heel. “Be careful.”

  I nod again, then turn back around. Does everyone know something I don’t? Or is it just genuine concern? Because hearing “be careful” multiple times in one day is making me feel some sort of way. When I enter my room, I snag a cute little cocktail dress from my closet, then go into the bathroom.

  I undress before stepping into the shower. I scrub, exfoliate, and wash every inch of my body, then slip the dress on. I run my fingers through my dark hair, opting to let it air dry. When I look at myself in the mirror, I feel I look pretty good, but the handprint on my throat throws it all off. It isn’t terrible, but it’s noticeable.

  I grab the concealer from the drawer under the sink and dab it all over the slightly red and purple hues. I tap it in with my fingers and hope like hell it will stay in place. With my everyday clothes, a T-shirt collar covers most of it, and my hair can cover the rest, but in this dress, with such a low dip in the front, there is nothing to conceal it other than my hair.

  I shake my hair, letting it fall to the front of my shoulders. Since it’s so dark, the marks almost look like a shadow or wayward hairs, which is better than the truth. Satisfied with my throat, I swipe on some lipstick and mascara, then leave the bathroom.

  I grab a small clutch and stuff my phone inside before pushing my feet into my favorite Valentino heels. I walk to my door and crack it open, making sure I can’t hear William moving downstairs before I walk out.

  I make sure every step I take is slow and quiet. I don’t want my heels slapping against the floor to give me away. William trusts me, so I knew he wouldn’t question me staying with Lydia, but if he saw me dressed up, he would definitely know something is up. When I make it to the safety of outside, I let out a deep breath and sprint—as fast as I can in my heels anyway—to my car. I push the start button, throw it in drive, and haul ass away from my house.

  My mind wanders aimlessly as my body moves on autopilot. Left turn, right turn, another right, stop sign. I try not to focus on what I’m doing because I know no one would approve. Hell, I’m not even sure I approve of my actions, but here I am, driving to the fucking Annalee to meet yet another stranger. At least this time I’ll know my surroundings.

  When the bright lights from the building come into view, reality sinks in. With Stallion, I was angry. Angry with my dad, angry about holding a secret that isn’t mine, angry that Bradley left me, but this time… I have no excuse, but nothing in me tells me to turn around or stop, so I continue.

  It’s almost as if my morals packed up and left along with common sense.

  I pull into the parking lot, making sure my Bentley is all the way in the back, hidden behind other luxury cars and SUVs. I stuff my keys inside my clutch, then check my phone. Another message from RetributionRebel, but nothing from Stallion. My heart sinks the slightest bit as I click the message.

  RetributionRebel – Meet me at the bar.

  Fuck. I never told him my age. I can’t drink, not legally anyway, but luckily, the Annalee isn’t the best about checking IDs. They want all their guests to enjoy their time here free of complications, and as long as Rebel looks old enough, they won’t question shit.

  My shoes glide over the concrete, letting small claps sound out with every step I take when I exit my car and head for the door. I turn away from the valet boy as I walk inside, then keep my head low.

  Gold flecks run through the manmade cracks of the marble floors, a crystal chandelier shimmers above, and sleek, white couches are scattered across the lobby. I pass by it all until I hit the burgundy carpet that separates the bar from the lobby.

  The bottom of my shoes sinks into the carpet, giving the impression I’m walking on clouds and taking some of the strain off my ankles. Even though I love my Valentinos, I’d be lying if I said they aren’t hell to walk in. I continue forward until I find an empty table.

  The top is round and almost even with my chest. They’re almost classic bar tables, but my dad being who he is, made sure to add a wealthy touch to them. The same white marble with gold cracks from the lobby floor covers the top, and the tall chairs have cushioned backs with small jewels in each tuft of fabric.

  I slide into the chair. Within seconds, a waiter comes over and places a small, black napkin in front of me. “Can I get you a drink, ma’am?”

  I open my clutch and pull my phone out so I have a reason to keep my eyes pointed down. “Just a glass of Prosecco, please.” I say it with more confidence than I actually have so he doesn’t ask questions, and it works. He nods and leaves my table.

  As I scroll through my phone while I wait, I click the message icon and go to the message I sent Stallion. Still no reply. I want to be angry, but I can’t, can I? It’s not like he confessed his love for me or told me I was his. No. He didn’t say much, actually.

  Crazy to think days ago I couldn’t give a fuck less about a man, and now here I am, pining over one when I don’t even know his name. Pining may be the wrong word because I don’t love him. I just lust for him. I need the chase. I need the adrenaline from being choked. I want everything he can give to make me forget about life.

  A soft hand touches my exposed back, and I jump. Turning around, I see a man who has got to be in his late forties. He has salt-and-pepper hair, bushy brows, and is dressed in a crisp tux. “Spitfire?”

  For a moment, I thought he was someone who worked here and he somehow recognized me because of who my dad is. I figured he was going to make me leave the bar and tell my dad, but when I hear the name slip from his lips, all my nerves relax a little.

  “RetributionRebel?” I answer.

  A smile pulls the corners of his lips as he bows slightly and grabs my hand. “I assumed it was you because someone as pretty as you would only be sitting alone in a bar for one reason: waiting on someone.” He kisses the top of my hand gently before setting it down and moving to the other side of the table.

  “Ah, coming in hot with the flattery, are we?” I reply, batting my eyelashes.

  He shrugs as he gestures a waiter over. “Just the truth.”

  My cheeks heat because I don’t know the last time someone called me pretty without adding something in about my tits or how good they think I could fuck. But then it slams into me. Stallion did. But right now, this isn’t about him. He didn’t even reply to my message.

  I swallow the thoughts. I’ve been with him once—once—and now I’m already comparing him to other men? Pathetic.

  I focus my attention back to the man in front of me and erase all thoughts of Stallion. Mister Rebel isn’t too bad to look at either. His age is evident by the lines around his eyes and the weathering in his hands, but all in all, he’s quite handsome. And the tux he’s wearing along with the Rolex on his wrist tells me he has money.

  “So,” I start as the waiter walks away with his drink order. “Do you have a name, or would you just prefer Rebel?”

  He chuckles, and it’s a magical sound. “Bernard. You can call me B if you’d like.”

  The waiter breaks my stare from B as he sets our drinks down. I wrap my hand around the frosted wineglass, then bring it to my lips for a sip before replying. “Okay. B it is. What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m an investor of sorts. I put my money in businesses I know will do well and wait.” He takes a sip of his own drink.

  “Oh yeah? Anywhere in Bexley?” At this point, I’m only trying to make conversation. I’m not really interested in what he does, but I figured it would be rude to demand my compensation up front or ask what he’s looking for.

  “A few places. Most that aren’t even up and running yet.”

  I nod. “Interesting.”

  He smiles with a laugh. “Come on, Spitfire. You and I both know that isn’t interesting. Why don’t you ask me something you really want to know?”

  I raise my brows and lean forward, propping my elbows onto th
e table, then placing my chin on top of my hands. “I can appreciate a man that’s straight to the point.”

  He shrugs. “I try to be.”

  “Well, why did you reach out to me? What is it you’re looking for?” I study his face as he goes silent for a beat.

  “Honestly? I lost my wife a few years ago, and I’ve been lonely. Not in the, um, sex department, but in the companionship department. I just want someone to talk to. Someone to connect with.”

  Huh. With a name like RetributionRebel, I was expecting something more… exciting, but I can’t complain. “And that’s something you’re willing to pay for?”

  He nods. “I have money, so why not use it to sit with a beautiful woman and have a few drinks?”

  I shrug with a grin. “I guess it’s your money, so you can spend it how you’d like. I was just…” I trail off, trying to think of a way to explain my thoughts.

  “Expecting more? Expecting an old man like me to want to fuck you?”

  I almost choke on the sip of my drink I’m taking. “I mean, yeah. My profile says that’s all I’m looking for.”

  He lets out a laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to fuck you and touch every inch of your tight little body, but for me, I need more of a connection for sex.”

  I smile and look down, trying to hide the new blush creeping up my neck. “I guess I can understand that.” Lie. I don’t get it one bit, but I’ll tell him all the things he wants to hear.

  “Perfect. Tell me about yourself, then.”

  I start off with my age. I feel that’s kind of important. He needs to know I’m an adult, but maybe not as adult as he was thinking. Then I go into how I grew up here in Bexley and graduated, all the small-talk bullshit you tell everyone when you have nothing else to talk about.

  After I spill everything I can, he starts by telling me all about him. How he got into investments, where he went to college, his hobbies. And before I know it, hours have passed, and I think I’m actually enjoying myself. This man is giving me the one thing Stallion wouldn’t—his story, which distracts from my own.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CARMEN

  I look down at my phone and see it’s creeping up on 1:00 a.m. before I slide it back into my purse. For hours I’ve done nothing but sit and talk to Bernard about life, but the multiple glasses of Prosecco are going to my head, and I’m getting sleepy.

  As a beat of silence surrounds us, I take it as the perfect opportunity to end the night. “Well, B, I’ve had a lovely time, but it’s late and I need to get home.”

  He nods and stands from the table as I do the same. I wobble slightly but quickly correct myself. He rounds it to my side, then places his hand on my waist and pulls me into him. “I enjoyed getting to know you, but I never got your name,” he whispers into my ear.

  I debate on if I should give him a fake name, but he already knows my life story—at least the basic shit—so I feel it would be pointless. “Carmen.”

  He presses a soft kiss into my hair as he slides some cash into my hand. “Good night, Carmen. Drive safe.”

  I melt in his touch for a moment and nod. “Until next time.” He returns my nod as I pull away.

  I’m slightly disappointed my time with him didn’t result in anything other than talking, because I hate fucking talking, but it’s easy money. Money I have no intentions of turning down.

  I turn and leave the same way I came, only this time, fewer bodies linger around the lobby. It makes me feel better because with the amount of alcohol in my system, I don’t think I could be as careful as before. I exit, pass the valet stand, then cross the parking lot.

  When I make it to my car, I pull my keys out to unlock the door. When I retrieve them, I see my phone light up, but I ignore it until I slide inside. When I’m behind the wheel, I start it, then tug my phone out. As soon as it unlocks, I see it’s a message from Stallion. My stomach immediately flutters.

  Stallion – Tell me you’re available.

  I bite my tongue and debate on an answer. I want to say yes, because, well, good dick. But he waited so damn long to even reply, and I don’t even get a hello, how’s it going, or anything else. It’s frustrating. So, I type out a bitchy reply. I’m pretty sure it’s only because of the Prosecco that I feel the need to do it, but fuck it. If he wants to be a douchebag, I can be a bitch.

  Sorry. Busy.

  I grin to myself like a child. Short. Simple. Straight to the point. Take that, Stallion.

  But my grin quickly falls when my phone starts to ring, and I see his name on the screen. But it isn’t just a phone call, it’s FaceTime. I almost ignore it, but thinking about how long he made me wait, I want him to squirm the way he made me.

  I reach into my dress and pull up my boobs, making sure the low dip is showing my cleavage perfectly, then throw my hair around my neck. I hit Answer. “Can I help you?” It comes out a bit breathy, and I hate how that makes me sound. But his pretty, amber eyes and the peeks I’m getting of his bare chest are so fucking distracting.

  He narrows his eyes. “Are you drunk?”

  “No.”

  He shakes his head like he’s… angry. “Where are you?” He moves around wherever he’s at and starts to put a shirt on.

  “You sure ask a lot of questions, Stallion.”

  “Yeah? Well, you’re clearly drunk and in a car. Forgive me for not wanting to see you dead on the road somewhere.”

  I splay my hand across my chest. “Do you care about me, Stallion? A crazy thought considering you almost killed me yourself.”

  Hoping to get some sort of reaction out of him, one that makes his cock hard and not one where he’s all snappy, I flip my hair behind my shoulders and tip my chin up, giving him the perfect view of what he did to me.

  His eyes stay locked on me, never wavering. “Where are you.”

  I suck in a deep breath and throw my head back into the headrest. “The Annalee.”

  “Don’t go anywhere, understand?” I roll my eyes and hang up.

  I thought I could get him worked up, make him want me as badly as I’m wanting him, but instead, I’ve seemed to piss him off. And considering I know his strength, that’s not something I want to stick around and see the other side of. The side that isn’t kinky and mind-blowing.

  I throw my phone into the passenger seat, then adjust in my seat and strap my seat belt around me. I’m about to put my Bentley in drive, but I don’t get the chance. My door flies open, and a strong hand pulls me on my bicep. He reaches around and unhooks my seat belt, then pulls me out of the car fully.

  I’m ready to start kicking and screaming, but when I turn and see those panty-melting amber eyes, the scream dies in my throat. I jerk away from him and steady myself against the car. “H—how did you get here so quickly?”

  “I was in the area.” His chest is heaving rapidly like he was running.

  I cross my arms. “In the area?”

  “Work, Spitfire. I was working.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “How did you even know my car?”

  “I saw it yesterday. Pretty obvious no one at that hotel was driving a Bentley.”

  “Ah. Well, as much as I appreciate your concern, I’m fine.” I uncross my arms and run them down my dress, trying to hide the fact that the mention of our time alone makes me shiver.

  I try to slide back into my car, but he grabs me by the waist and throws me over his shoulder. “Not tonight.”

  I just lie there like a dead fish as he walks across the parking lot because I don’t want to fight him. The view of his tight ass is too enjoyable, and the touch of his hands on me sends that same fire across my skin as before. But when I hear a door open, I start to freak out. I can’t let him carry me across the hotel like this. It’s too fucking risky. “No!” I start to wiggle in his hold. “I can’t go in there.”

  When he finally sets me on my feet, I see we’re in the stairwell and not the lobby. I quickly regain my composure and shimmy my dress down my legs. “Oh.” />
  “I have a room. You can stay until you sober up completely.”

  “Look, Stallion. I’m barely buzzed.” I touch my pointer to my nose, then raise a leg to show him I can stand without falling.

  “Buzzed or not, accidents still happen. Now, you can either walk up the next two flights of stairs alone, without fighting, or I can carry you while you scream. I don’t care either way.” He leans against the wall and plants the sole of his shoe on it like he has all night.

  “Depends…” I start. “Will touching me make your dick hard?” The words come out before I can think, and I’m embarrassed.

  Normally, I wouldn’t give three fucks about something I say to a man. A man I don’t even know, no less, but for some reason, I want to be dignified and poised around Stallion, hints why I’m not giving in to him so easily. I want him to see me for more than ass, even though that’s the only reason he and I both wanted to meet up in the first place. If I’m even just a fraction more, this whole thing will last longer.

  At least, I hope so.

  That sinister grin graces his lips, and fuck if it doesn’t make me wet. He pushes off the wall and walks toward me until my back is pressed against the brick. He cages me in with his arms and leans close to my face.

  Here, under the bright white fluorescent lights, I can see more of him than ever before. Light freckles paint his skin, and his eyes aren’t just brown; they have flecks of gold and splashes of black. “Is that what you want, Spitfire?”

  My eyes drift close, and I moan involuntarily as his chest brushes against mine.

  “Say it, and I’ll give it to you,” he whispers, running his lips along my jaw lightly. “Tell me how badly you want me, how you haven’t been able to stop thinking about me, then get on your knees and show me.”

  Am… Am I turned on by this? The quiver in my legs answers for me.

  “Mentioning your dick getting hard… Is that all it took?” I open my eyes and look at him as he moves his face in front of me.

  “All it took for what?”

  “For you to want me?”