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

by BL Mute

  Carter cuts me off. “What does Dad have to do with this?”

  I hold up my hand, silencing him. “Pleasers. Does that mean anything to you?”

  He exchanges a look with the girl next to him. “It’s where he spent a lot of his time. Why?” The edge to his voice lets me know he knows exactly what it is.

  “He’s been going there for years. Before he ever even sent me away.”

  He nods. “I know.”

  I take in a deep breath. It’s sad that he even knows this. No, not sad. It’s fucked-up. Our childhoods were already shit when Mom died, and now the few good memories he had are probably tainted knowing what Dad was doing and knowing it probably contributed to our mom’s demise.

  “Well, he wasn’t just some partygoer there. He was an investor. Bernard owned part of that club because he invested in it too. When Dad died and the cops started looking into his life, they found out a good chunk of his money went directly to Pleasers every month. It even continued after he died until they froze his assets.”

  Carmen finally speaks again. “I don’t see what B has to do with this.”

  I scoff at the nickname she’s given him. “B was pissed when the money stopped. What he probably didn’t tell you is how he was going bankrupt. Because my father’s money was a steady flow, he thought it would be okay to invest in more companies with money he didn’t have. He was riding my dear ol’ Dad’s pockets for years. Needless to say, when that stopped, he realized he bit off more than he could chew with the companies he invested in.”

  “And?” Carter chimes in.

  “And he thought forging some documents saying your finances would go to him if you were to die, then hiring someone to kill you”—I point to Carter—“he could get out of the rut he was in.”

  Carter laughs. “This sounds like bullshit. Why would any of my money go to him if I was to die?”

  “He had a paper trail showing how close he and Dad were. An almost legit paper trail. No lawyer, cop, or judge would question it—it was that good. And no one would question the remaining money of Malcolm’s son going to a close family friend.”

  He stares at me a moment like he’s thinking. “And where do you come into this?”

  “Yeah. I’d like to know that too,” Carmen adds.

  “First, go look in the inside pocket of that briefcase. You’ll see I’m not lying. I refuse to be labeled the same way our dad was.”

  “I wasn’t saying that, Cyrus. This whole thing is just fucking bizarre,” Carter tries.

  “Go look.”

  He looks to the blonde, then stands and walks to the front door, where the briefcase was left abandoned.

  “What’s your name?” I ask her, trying to fill the silence with something.

  “None of your fucking business,” Carmen answers for her.

  The blonde shoots her a look over her shoulder, then turns back to me. “Lydia.”

  I tip my head and study her face. “Lydia Walton?” She nods. “Damn. You’ve grown up. And now you’re dating the boy who used to make fun of you and chase you?”

  She smiles with a shrug. “He grew on me.”

  She seems genuine in her love for my brother, and that makes me happy. In all the years I’ve been gone, that’s all I’ve hoped for. That he could find peace, escape our dad, and find someone to help carry the burden I know he most definitely has from our shit childhood since I couldn’t be here to help.

  Carter walks back into the room, flipping through the papers. “Okay. I believe you. Now tell me where you come into this.”

  He hands the papers to Carmen once he gets back in front of me.

  “Go ahead. Look,” I urge her.

  If they can at least see I’m not lying, maybe it will make the impact of everything else I’m about to say a little less harsh.

  She glances down and starts flipping through the same way Carter did. In that stack of papers, there is a forged will stating all remaining money in Carter’s accounts should go to him, bullshit accounts he and my dad shared, a shelf corporation they both purchased, and so much more. But they’re all fake. Good fakes, but fakes, nonetheless.

  “Keep talking. You don’t need my undivided attention. You clearly never gave me yours,” Carmen bites, keeping her eyes on the paper.

  I swallow down my smile. Is she mad I killed this dude or mad I didn’t call her again? Because at this point, I can’t tell, but I don’t ask. “He hired me to kill you and make it look like an accident,” I say, pushing everything else to the back of my mind.

  Carter raises a brow at me as Carmen lifts her head to stare at me too. Lydia seems to be the most unfazed by what I’m saying, so I just focus on her. “I knew why he needed me, but I didn’t know his target. I watched him for a few weeks to make sure it wasn’t some sort of setup and gathered info on him. He’s smart because a lot of it was buried, but I found enough to where I was comfortable going through with everything. Today was the meetup to exchange payment and give me his target’s name. When he said Carter’s name, I lost it.”

  Lydia nods like she understands as Carter sits back down next to her on the coffee table. He stares into space, not mumbling a word, and Carmen gets back to pacing.

  “This is fucked-up,” she whispers.

  “Carmen, stay calm,” Lydia says, wrapping her arm around Carter’s shoulder.

  “Calm? We know I can’t do calm when it comes to death. No.” She waves her hand around and shakes her head. “Not death. Murder. Murder, Lydia. First, I’m an accessory after the fact with Mac because I haven’t said shit, and now I’m a straight up witness. Hell, maybe even an accomplice because I took the money. Oh my fucking God. Lydia, this isn’t good.”

  “Carmen.” She stands, leaving Carter in his own daze, then rounds the table. She grabs Carmen by the shoulders to stop her from pacing. “Stop. Stop right now.”

  As she rubs up and down Carmen’s arms to try and calm her, she looks to me. “How’d you cover it up?”

  I furrow my brows. “What?”

  “I didn’t fucking stutter. How did you cover it up? Is Carmen going to get caught up in this shit?”

  I shake my head. “I’m good at my job, so no. But she is a liability to me now.”

  “Her but not us?” She laughs.

  I’m thrown off by her response. I would assume most people would be freaking out at this point. Kind of how Carmen and Carter are, but Lydia is calm yet stern.

  “Yes.”

  “And why is that, Cyrus? Why only her?” She sizes me up, looking me up and down, waiting on my response.

  “Carter would never let me get caught up in something like this, and since you love him, I’m sure you wouldn’t either.”

  She nods slowly. “That may have been the case when you were kids, but you left him. Left him to deal with your dad alone. You know what happened?” She changes the subject quickly, then waits for my answer. When it doesn’t come, she continues. “He killed him, and I covered it up. Because you couldn’t be bothered to come back for your brother, he had to take matters into his own hands.”

  “Lydia! You don’t tell a fucking enemy your secrets!” Carmen yells, but Lydia waves her off.

  Now it’s my turn to be shocked. “What? The reports said it was an accident. Gas line leak inside the house.”

  She tips her head at me. “Don’t look so surprised. You know the type of man your father was, and you’re the one who left your brother to deal with it alone.”

  Ouch.

  I want to combat what she’s saying, but I can’t because she’s right. I left him.

  I shake my head and step toward Carter. “Carter,” I start with all my intentions to comfort him.

  Lydia steps between us and pushes me away. “He doesn’t deal well with killing, murder, or anything like that. Give him a minute. I’ve been patient and I’ve listened to you, so now I’m asking you to do the same. Let him process the bomb you just dropped of someone hiring you to kill him.”

  I nod, admiring
her bravery to face me when my brother can’t, and again, it makes me happy for him. I’m glad he has a woman like Lydia to be strong for him when he can’t. When he shouldn’t have to.

  “Your job? What is your job?” Carter speaks.

  It takes me a minute to realize he’s talking to me. The few words Lydia and I have exchanged made me completely forget I mentioned my job. “I—um. I’m hired to eliminate problems.”

  “Eliminate problems? Ever think to come home and eliminate the biggest one?” He moves his face to mine.

  His eyes are hard and brimming with unshed tears. It makes my heart ache because I knew what was happening, and he’s right. I should have come back. But the thought of someone coming after him—this exact fucking thing—made me think Dad was the lesser of two evils. I can’t believe how wrong I was.

  “Carter, if I would have come back without orders, it would have put a target on your back. I don’t work with good people. I work with criminals. If they thought hurting you would get to me, they wouldn’t think twice about doing it. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  “But you did. He hurt me, Cyrus! You could have stopped it, and you didn’t. You could have saved me, and you didn’t!” he screams.

  Before I can even reply, he storms out of the room, and Lydia is hot on his heels.

  I want to go after him too and try and explain things better, but Carmen finally opens her mouth again, stopping me in my tracks. “Just so you know, my loyalty is to them. Not you. I’ll hold their secrets but not yours.”

  I scrub my hand down my face. Right now, I’d much rather catch up with my brother and apologize until my face is blue, not deal with Carmen. But I’m sure word has traveled to Ghost now, and I can’t risk the liability of her. “Seems we have a problem, then, don’t we?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CARMEN

  “Problem? It’s bigger than that,” I throw at him. Murder is definitely more than a problem and something I’m not sure how I’ve found myself in twice now.

  “You know,” he starts, sitting back on the couch, “if you were to turn me in, you’d be considered an accessory. After all, you did find the body and didn’t bother to call the cops. Instead, you took his money and ran.”

  I shake my head. “Maybe, but my dad is one of the wealthiest men in Bexley Falls. Everything has a price, including innocence, and I bet he’ll pay it.”

  He smirks and nods slowly. “Yeah? Is that why you’ve been sleeping with men for money?”

  My eyebrows knit together as I cross my arms over my chest, gun still tightly tucked in my hand. “Man. I slept with you, and it wasn’t for the money. You’re the one who offered it.”

  “And you took it. I bet you were doing the same thing with Bernard. Is that why you didn’t call the cops? Because one way or another you’d go down?”

  He’s taunting me, trying to get a reaction out of me, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. “Fuck off, Cyrus. Just leave and let me go back to my life.”

  He scoffs, crossing his ankle over his knee. “You and I both know I can’t do that. I won’t be leaving until Carter asks me to.”

  I bite my lip and try to think. I can’t go ask Carter to kick him out right now. Hell, he’s working through the fact his brother has purposely stayed away, and now someone hired said brother to kill him. That seems a lot bigger than my issues with Cyrus. Sure, the whole murder thing is bad, but he’s right. At this very moment, I’m just as guilty as him, and considering how much disdain my father has for me, I doubt he would even try to help. He’d probably be happy to send my ass away. One less thing for him to worry about.

  “Fine.” I pull the abandoned chair in front of me, then sit down facing him. “If you won’t leave, I’ll at least sit here to make sure you don’t try and kill us.”

  He rolls his eyes, then settles further into the couch.

  This is going to be a long-ass night.

  I guess at some point, the events of today caught up to me and all my adrenaline ran out. I’m shaken awake by my body bouncing around a hard surface.

  It takes me a while to focus on what the fuck is happening. Everything seems like a blur. My tongue feels like sandpaper, my throat aches with dryness, and my wrists and ankles ache where they’re bound. With my hands behind my back and all my weight on them, my shoulders feel like they’re ready to snap too.

  At first, everything is dark, but as the bouncing continues, streetlights pass by through the windows. I try to sit up to see where I’m at, but I can’t seem to balance my weight with the moving. I know I should scream or maybe try and kick out the back window, but I have nothing. The gun is gone, and the back seat is completely empty. Even my shoes are gone. Right now, all I seem to have is the element of surprise.

  So, I turn to my side, trying to eliminate some of the pain in my shoulders, and wait.

  Luckily, it isn’t much longer before we come to a halt. I can hear his door open and close, and within seconds, mine is opening. I keep my eyes squeezed shut and my body limp. The longer he thinks I’m still out, the better.

  “Really didn’t want to do this. I hope you can listen when you’re awake,” he mumbles to himself before slicing the rope around my feet.

  I take that moment and kick him as hard as I can. When he stumbles back, I force myself up, then bolt out of his SUV. I don’t know where I am or where I’m going, but it doesn’t matter. I run, my bare feet hitting the hard earth painfully. I stomp over broken twigs and soft grass, doing my best to keep my balance since my hands are still unusable.

  My lungs feel like they’re going to bleed, and my legs throb, but I can’t stop. I keep pushing one foot in front of the other. I run like my life depends on it because right now, I think it very well does. I don’t look back, and I don’t slow. Not until I hit a patch of sandspurs. I cry out as the thorny little balls sink deep into my skin. I make it another three steps before the pain is too much and I have to stop. I fall to the ground, then try to look around for a tree, a house, something to offer protection, but I’m not that lucky.

  I want to cry. How could I be so stupid? If I never met up with Stallion—Cyrus—whatever the fuck his name is, I would never be in this position. If my dad loved me, if Lydia didn’t ask me to keep her secret, if I had some fucking self-respect, I wouldn’t be sitting in the middle of nowhere having a mental breakdown.

  Death has never scared me, and I guess it’s because I thought I was untouchable. I’m young, pretty, rich, so it’s not something I’ve ever had to think about. Now though… now I know I’m going to die, and I’m realizing how many regrets I have.

  “No. This can’t be happening,” I say out loud, wiping my face on my shoulder, then forcing myself to stand again.

  I grind my teeth as soon as my weight is on my feet. Pain shoots through every inch of flesh, but I make myself keep going. I’m slower now, drastically so, but at least I’m trying. Only, it’s too late.

  His arms wrap around my waist and hoist me into the air. I want to hit him, but I can’t. Instead, I kick my feet, trying to connect with any piece of him. I only get a few kicks in before he flips me around and throws me over his shoulder, wrapping his arms around the backs of my thighs tightly. “I told you I would always catch you, Spitfire.”

  Right now isn’t the time for witty remarks, so I do the one thing I should have in the beginning. I scream. I let out the most bloodcurdling scream I can as I continue to thrash in his hold.

  “Scream all you want. No one will hear you here.”

  With that simple statement, all hope leaves me, and the next scream dies in my throat. That’s exactly what every killer tells their victims before they slice their throat or chop off their body parts.

  How could I be so fucking stupid?

  Since I’m out of options, all I can hope is he’ll keep me alive long enough for someone to notice I’m gone. So, I do my best to watch as he carries me to wherever the fuck we’re going. It’s hard since I’m upside down and my eyes are blurry
with tears, but I still watch. I count his steps, watch the terrain. Everything they do in the movies.

  It isn’t very long before I can see the tires of his SUV. I’m almost mad at myself because I could have sworn I ran further, but that could just be wishful thinking. A few more steps, then we are starting up a set of wooden stairs. There are only a few we take until everything levels out again. I swear I see something move in the corner, but it moves further into the darkness before I can make it out. Maybe it’s just my mind playing tricks on me.

  He stills for a moment, digging in his pocket, then pulls out a key and unlocks the door. Once we’re inside, he throws me down. All the breath leaves my lungs, and my eyes squeeze shut as I brace for the impact on the wood floor, but instead, I crash into soft cushions.

  As I sit there, trying to get my breathing under control, he flips on a small lamp in the corner. When the room is finally illuminated, I’m surprised to see how normal everything looks. The walls are a cool gray, the floors a dark wood, and all-black furniture is positioned strategically around so it doesn’t crowd the small space. It doesn’t peg me as a place he takes people to kill, but then again, who fucking knows.

  “Where are we?” I ask, using the last of the courage I have.

  He turns toward me as he flips on the bigger overhead light. “Pine Hills.”

  Pine Hills. Great. Now I at least have a location.

  “Are you going to kill me?” I’m not sure where the question comes from, but I don’t even try to take it back.

  He scoffs with a smirk before disappearing into the doorway that sits between the living room and what I’m assuming is the kitchen. All I can see from my position is a counter.

  I debate on trying to run again, but it would be pointless. He’ll find me and I know it, so I sit and wait instead, trying to do my best to remain as calm as possible. If I want to live, I need to remind him I’m a person. I have friends and a family. At least that’s what I think will help. The most interaction I’ve ever had with a killer is on Criminal Minds.