Double Down (Bad Boy Security Book 3)

by R. Cayden

  Raiden pushed through the crowd on the dance floor, then hurried over to Cash. “I can’t find him anywhere,” he shouted above the music.

  His heart beating fast, Cash nodded. “We’ll do another loop,” he said. “Check the bathrooms again. The street around the club. It’s a big place, and he’s just—”

  “Cash, we’ve done three fucking loops,” Raiden spat out. “What do you think, he’s hiding? He’s gone, and something is very wrong.”

  Cash buried his face in his hands. “Fuck.” He hated this. He hated this so goddamn bad it hurt the inside of him. He’d actually found a way to feel normal, or at least his version of normal, as fucked up as his story was. And now? Now everything was at risk.

  And in his gut, Cash knew it was his fault.

  Raiden grabbed him by the bicep. “Let’s go.” They headed out onto the street, the thumping club quiet as the door swung shut. “We’ll just have to work together. You can hack his phone and trace him, and I can start running sweeps of the area. People don’t usually travel far, you know?” His voice was tense but still low, like he was dragging it through the dirt. “Right, Cash? Come on, you hit the computers. I’ll hit the street. We can’t waste anymore fucking time.”

  Cash caught the look in Raiden’s eye, a fiery mixture of pain, fear, and anger. It made him feel like absolute shit. “Just give me one second,” Cash managed to say. “Just one second, okay, Raiden?”

  He took out his phone, then headed off walking down the street with long strides. His heart racing, he pulled up Reed’s number.

  “Cash,” the man answered right away. “That was quick. We just made our move five minutes ago.”

  Cash stopped in his tracks. “You took him? You fucking took him?”

  “It’s not even your fault, Cash. Sure, I was going to fire you. But things started moving well above my pay grade. The client I represent insisted we make a move tonight, and I knew you were too busy chasing ass to do it for me.”

  Cash almost tossed his dinner in the gutter. “Where is he, Reed? Tell me where the fuck you took him, now.”

  “Or what?” Reed laughed. “You’re fired now, Cash. Don’t come knocking again, and maybe learn a lesson from this. Your fairy ass is no better than anyone else.”

  Before Cash could say another word, the line went dead. Everything spun, and he had to slam his hands on his knees and lean forward to stay upright. This was why he was never supposed to get close to anyone. He couldn’t keep people safe, and no matter how much he tried, the bad guys were always going to be more powerful. He was cursed, and the people he cared about payed the ultimate price.

  “Hey,” Raiden called, jogging down the street. “You okay?”

  Cash looked up to him.

  Fuck. This was going to really, really suck.

  He stood up, still wobbly. “Raiden, I’ve got something to tell you.”

  Raiden stopped in his tracks. He cocked an eyebrow and gave Cash a hesitant stare. “What? Is Lawrence in danger? Did you figure something out?”

  “I know who took him, Raiden. It’s a man named Reed. He’s trying to get at Lawrence’s father.” Saying the words made them true, and Cash felt his heart tighten like a fist.

  “Who’s Reed?” Raiden asked. “How do you know this?”

  Cash let out a slow breath. “Reed hired me to gather intel on Lawrence. That’s why I showed up in the first place. I was working for him.”

  Raiden thrust his fists forward so fast and hard, the blow almost knocked the breath out of Cash. He stumbled backward, sprawling on the pavement as hot pain shot across his arm. Without the brace on, he likely would have dislocated his shoulder right there. Raiden towered above him, stomping the pavement. “What the fuck did you just say?”

  Cash scrambled to his feet. “Reed hired me. I never intended to hurt Lawrence. Obviously. Raiden, you know I never intended to hurt Lawrence.”

  Raiden roared, then kicked a metal trashcan, sending it clattering into the street. “Fuck what you intended. Then where is he, Cash? Where did you take him?”

  Still stumbling backward, Cash held his hands in the air. “I didn’t take him anywhere, Raiden. Reed did. I was cutting Reed off and feeding him false info, I swear.”

  “Then where is he, smart guy? Where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” Cash gasped. “I don’t know what they’re going to do with him, Raiden. I really don’t.”

  Raiden lunged forward and grabbed Cash by the shirt, then flung him against a large red van. Cash grunted from the blow, and his body reverberated with a dull, throbbing pain, but he didn’t care. He’d fucked up, and he deserved whatever Raiden wanted to give him.

  “You lied to me,” Raiden growled. “And you lied to Lawrence. After everything, you’re telling me you’ve been double-crossing us the whole time?” His voice tightened, and Cash flinched away, unable to look at the pain in his eyes. “How the fuck am I supposed to ever trust you again, Cash? Huh?”

  Cash didn’t say anything. He just hung limply in Raiden’s grip, not even pretending to fight back. “Beat the shit out of me,” he whispered. “Just go on and do it already, Raiden.” A second passed, and all he could hear was the sound of Raiden’s ragged breath and the throb of his own heart. He suddenly craved the blinding pain, anything to distract him for what a total fucking failure he was. “Do it!” he yelled as loud as he could. “Do it, Raiden, you asshole! Just do it!”

  Raiden tossed him against the van again, then stepped back. He stared at Cash like he was staring at a piece of shit. Shaking his head back and forth, he finally sighed. “What a mistake,” he growled, then stomped away.

  Cash caught his breath. He wanted to run after Raiden, but he was too ashamed to even call his name.

  Raiden was right to leave him like that, sniffling on the street. Cash had no business asking for his trust.

  Because right then, alone like he was always meant to be, Cash didn’t even trust himself.

  Lawrence

  “Should we tell Reed he isn’t waking up?”

  Lawrence came to in darkness. A blindfold was wrapped tight over his eyes, and dull pressure throbbed behind his skull. The air smelled dirty and stale, and for a second, he thought he heard water somewhere in the distance. Then Lawrence noticed what felt like plastic ties, digging into his wrists and ankles, and he wiggled uncomfortably against a hard chair.

  “I think he just moved.”

  “About time.”

  “Should I get him now?”

  “What, you want to keep staring at this kid like he’s your prom date? Get the fucking boss already.”

  The voices sounded like young men with New York accents, but Lawrence couldn’t place them beyond that. He struggled a little more against the chair, anxiety settling on him like a swarm of bees. The last thing he remembered was being out dancing, but now…

  He tried to kick his legs out. “What’s happening?” he said, forcing himself to make his voice loud and clear. “Who’s there?”

  The voice laughed. “Who’s there?” he repeated mockingly. “Shut the hell up.”

  Lawrence started panicking. “Where am I?” he repeated, louder. “Hey! Hey!” He felt tears in his eyes, burning against the blindfold. “You don’t know who I am. There are people looking for me.” His breath caught, and he threw out his most desperate card. “You don’t know who my father is!”

  He heard a door open and then close. “Why do you have him still tied like that?” a third, older voice asked. “What, are you two scared of this scrawny little shit?”

  “You said to make sure—”

  “Don’t tell me what I said.” Lawrence heard heavy footsteps. Then a hand grabbed the blindfold, yanking it off. He blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light, and as he did, something snipped off one of the wrist cuffs.

  “A little comfort makes it easier to talk,” the man standing in front of him sneered. He rose to full height and cast a long shadow across the room. His shoulders were hunched, a
nd bags hung under his eyes. He was a big man, probably in his fifties, and he stared down at Lawrence with disdain.

  “Who the hell are you?” Lawrence asked. He looked to the other men, guys in their twenties with heavy beards, plain black sweatshirts, and guns at their hips. The room they were in was pretty much empty, with just a few chairs, white walls, and no window. “What’s going on?”

  The older man grabbed one of the chairs, and it scraped loudly across the floor as he pulled it close, then sat directly across from Lawrence. “As far as you’re concerned,” he said, then extended his hand, “I’m the goddamn king of the world. Got it?”

  Lawrence felt sick. He stared at the meaty hand, but when the goddamn king of the world growled under his breath, he reluctantly took the clammy grip with his free hand and let the man shake it.

  “Very good, Lawrence. And don’t you worry. We won’t need you for long. Just a few quick photographs and video calls, and we’ll be all finished.”

  “What are you talking about?” Lawrence asked again. “My father—”

  “Yes,” the man replied, cutting him off. He was wearing a tacky green suit, and he folded his hands over his belly as they talked. “You mentioned your father earlier. Would you like to say hello to him?”

  Lawrence chilled. “My father is here?”

  Barking his laugh, the man shook his head. “Of course not. But we do want to make sure he knows you’re here.” He rose his hand, signaling to the men behind him. One of them pulled out a phone, then pointed it right at Lawrence. As Lawrence sat there, still bound to the chair, the older man stood, then stepped to the side and out of the view of the phone.

  “The thing is, Lawrence, your father hasn’t been very well behaved lately, and he’s pissed off a very powerful person. My friend has tried to reason with him, but I’m sure you know your father is a stubborn man, and he only thinks of his own interests.”

  “Wait,” Lawrence said quickly. “You’re trying to stop my father? That’s what this is about? I can help you. He has some big meeting coming up in Panama, and the corporation is planning something major.” He felt frantic, almost delirious, and the fear that had gripped him exploded into desperation. “I don’t know the details, but I can help you stop it. I swear I can!”

  The man laughed again, hard and loud this time. “You almost sound smart, you know that?”

  A clicking noise brought Lawrence’s attention to the phone, and he realized the guard was taking his photograph. “Why are you doing that?”

  “To show him that you’re alive,” the older man answered. “For now.” He shook his head and stuck his lip out in a frown. “It’s a shame, really. If your father would have just stepped aside when we asked him to, none of this mess would have been necessary.” He stuck his hand out, grabbed Lawrence by the chin, and then roughly jerked his face toward the camera. “Look at the damn camera,” he snarled, then stepped back again.

  Lawrence sat there, staring at the phone while his heart pounded and tears leaked down his cheeks.

  “It’s a good deal,” the man continued. He took the phone from the guard, glanced at it, and then handed it back with a nod. “Run it up the ladder,” he said, then returned his eyes to Lawrence. “We’re giving him a simple choice. He just has to take an early retirement from Horizon and hand off his projects. We even found him a nice, soft landing at a hedge fund.” His bored frown turned sharply into a sneer. “Otherwise, his drunk slut of a son ends up dead in a dumpster, his family name is dragged all over town, and the rest of his life is hell. His choice.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” Lawrence whispered, jerking his arm against the plastic again. “He’ll call the police and the FBI. He’ll have you arrested immediately.”

  “You think your father wants the FBI looking at him? Not with the kind of shit he’s been up to.”

  Lawrence winced, then turned his eyes to the bare wall. He knew the man was right.

  His heart in his throat, Lawrence wished desperately that Raiden and Cash could find him. He tried to summon them, to reach out toward them with everything he had. His phone was gone, but maybe they could still track him somehow. He didn’t have any other choice, except to believe it was possible they could hear the part of him that was crying out.

  The man sighed. “Your father’s a piece of work. I haven’t seen a power grab like his in years. Damn thing would have worked, too,” he said, then poked Lawrence in the chest. “Except no one plays dirtier than me. Not even war mongers like your dad.”

  Lawrence shook his head and gritted his teeth, pained all over again by the suggestion his father was manufacturing a war. “No,” he said. “He wouldn’t do that. You’re lying.”

  “I’m lying?” The man was slowly getting more animated, and Lawrence realized he was taking pleasure in the whole thing. “I’ve never lied to you, Lawrence. That’s Cash’s job.”

  Lawrence bit his lip, startled. He was scared to acknowledge Cash’s name, like he’d be putting him in danger somehow, but he knew the truth was in his eyes.

  “You know, when I hired Cash to start following you, I never thought he’d fall in love. I just figured, a couple of fairies, he’d do a better job poking around in those shitty bars. Didn’t want to punish one of my men with the job. But I never thought he’d actually fuck you!” The remaining guard snickered behind him. “We all had a good laugh about that.”

  “I don’t know why you’re trying to screw with my head,” Lawrence said, “but I’m not listening to you.”

  He laughed again, his hands on his thighs. “Shit, kid, you really fell for him, didn’t you? That’s something else. I thought you would have figured out what that man was by now, but I guess you’re as naïve as you look. The truth is, he was only talking to you because I was paying him. And when you spilled your guts, he turned right around and sold me the play-by-play.”

  The last weeks all flashed before Lawrence’s eyes. He thought of Cash, emerging from his father’s office at the dinner party. He thought of the first time the three guys had gotten to Cash’s place, how it had seemed so unreal to Lawrence, like there were secrets scrawled on all the walls.

  And he thought of touching Cash and Raiden and tasting them each on his lips. How true it had all felt.

  Could that all have been a lie? Was Lawrence fooling himself the whole time, thinking he was worth more than just being his father’s spoiled son?

  “Raiden,” he said, barely able to whisper the word. “You’ll see. He’s going to beat the shit out of you.”

  “Your bodyguard? Yeah right. He’s washed up, just like that loser who runs his agency. He can’t find his way around his own asshole.”

  “Let him show up,” the guard laughed. “I’ll crack his head in.”

  Lawrence felt nauseous. He rubbed his hand over his face, trying desperately to process all that was happening. He was untethered from reality, everything he had come to believe unraveling right there.

  The door creaked open, and the other guard returned. He went straight to the older man, mumbled something in his ear, and then showed him the phone. The older man accepted it, but he stared in his disbelief. “Holy shit, kid,” he said with a laugh. “Your old man never disappoints, does he?”

  Lawrence looked up. He felt his heart still as the man smiled, an expression that was even more upsetting than his glare.

  “Looks like he cares more about being CEO than about being a father.”

  Lawrence blinked. “He said no?” he asked weakly.

  By way of answer, the man simply cracked his knuckles, then nodded to his guards. “Get him something to eat,” he told the guard. “We’re going to be here a while.”

  They turned, and the door swung shut with a bang behind them, leaving Lawrence alone in the white room. Finally, the tears came, hot down his cheeks.

  And one more time, his heart cried out, although he suddenly feared there was no one there to hear it.

  Cash

  Cash stepped out onto the
upper deck of the Staten Island Ferry, then scanned the rows of seats. At five in the morning, the boat was nearly empty as it sliced through the quiet gray, the lights of Manhattan and Newark shining in the distances.

  Nearly empty, but Cash immediately spotted the figure hunched over by the bow. He flicked open the button on his trench coat, then took a seat one down from Fox.

  “Would you like a coffee, Harvard?” Fox asked, offering him a paper cup.

  Cash took it. “Sure, I guess.” He hadn’t exactly wanted to turn to the guy, considering Fox always had about three ulterior motives at play. But it wasn’t like Cash had anyone he could trust left to turn to, and there was no way he would be able to track down Lawrence on his own. “How’s Staten Island these days?”

  “It’s like Manhattan,” Fox answered. “Not as nice as the ferry.”

  Cash chuckled as he glanced his occasional colleague from the corner of his eye. He had a black hoodie pulled up and an old backpack crumpled at his feet. If Cash hadn’t known better, he would think he was some overgrown delinquent teenager, instead of the polished and dangerous machine he’d trained himself to become.

  “Why’d you want to meet, anyway?” Fox asked.

  “Reed made a move on me.”

  “I heard he caught you with your pants down, so to speak.”

  Cash tensed. He adjusted his weight in the uncomfortable metal chair. “What have you heard, Fox?”

  “Just whispers,” Fox answered casually. He took a sip of his own coffee, then let out a contented sigh. “You know how these criminal underworld types love to gossip.”

  “Tell me what the whispers say,” Cash replied just as casually. The buzz could be anything, and he didn’t want to show his cards unless he had to. Developing feelings for Raiden and Lawrence had gotten him into this mess in the first place, and it was like Cash was always telling himself: the second you let your feelings get involved in his line of work, you were as good as dead anyway.

  What an amateur mistake he had made, letting himself believe some little fantasy, when he knew damn well he didn’t deserve it anyway.