Cash: A Dark Romance (Saint and Sinners Book 2)

by Ruby Vincent

  “Something I can’t get myself? Look around. There’s nothing I can not acquire through means or money alone.”

  “Is that true? Every con you’ve run has succeeded? All your marks delivered as promised?”

  A tell flickered across La Roche’s face—gone as quickly as it came. I saw it. I knew Killian had too.

  “There’s nothing you want?” Killian pressed.

  La Roche turned to me. “You’ve been quiet, Miss Redgrave. Nothing to add? I thought your purpose was to close?”

  I smiled. “That’s only for clients who can’t see they’re getting a good deal. You know you are despite all this blustering.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Come on.” I crossed my legs, flicking my hair over my shoulder. “You’re not afraid of the Kings or Lorenzo Bianchi. Why should you be? He needs you, not the other way around. That’s why the first thing he did when he took over his shaky empire was go running to you. The Kings expanded their reach on the millions you made them, and if you take it away, it all comes crumbling down.

  “I mean, seriously. What is Enzo going to do? Kill you?” I asked. “Your business dies with you and then what does he have?”

  La Roche stroked his silvery beard, listening.

  “You set the terms, Mr. La Roche, and if you go with the side giving you a better offer, that’s your right. Sounds like the upstart could use a lesson in humility either way.” I motioned to Killian. “Make the deal... with a few provisions. The Merchants rise to your challenge and deliver the second thing the great Richard La Roche can’t acquire on his own. If they do, you end your contract with the Kings and provide that seed money to the Merchants.

  “In two months’ time, if the ledger isn’t in your hands, cut off the tap. Go back to the Kings, or open bidding to the gangs and crime families of Cinco. They all want what you have to offer. They’ll pay for it.”

  “So, your upsell is that I win either way,” he said.

  “Do you disagree?”

  La Roche held my gaze steady. My smile held. As did my eye contact. He wouldn’t find a crack on my end.

  Without looking away, La Roche asked Killian, “Why do they want this deal? The truth.”

  “Harlow.” Killian dropped in the seat. “The Merchants can’t move in on that borough, and the opportunities it provides, unless the Kings are moved out.”

  He nodded, taking that in. “And they can get their hands on anything?”

  “I wouldn’t hold out hope on borrowing that book from the Vatican secret archives,” Killian said. “But yeah. Their retrieval rate is a hundred percent so far.”

  “I’ve visited the secret archives. You could practically take school groups through there for its security. No, what I want takes a lot more skill.”

  “Name it,” I said.

  “Name him,” La Roche corrected. “Sebastian Vega.”

  “Vega. The philanthropist?”

  He nodded. “Sebastian inherited his family’s import-export business. He took those billions and funneled them into charities, causes, and committees for some sad case or another. His single vice is ancient, beautiful things. Who can blame him?”

  “What ancient beautiful thing does he have that you want?”

  “Several. I was a tad roguish in my younger days,” he said. “I had brief affairs with his wife and his sister. At the same time.”

  A tad roguish?

  “Since the dissolution of his marriage, Sebastian has seen fit to take what I love most. He has outbid me in nearly every legitimate auction for the last decade. Paintings, antiques, Persian rugs. He’s gone so far as to bribe auction houses to reveal my silent bids with the promise whatever I pay, he will double. His pockets are as bottomless as his grudge.”

  I guess when you’ve got nothing but time and money, why not make a cocky bastard eat it?

  “All the pieces he took from me are displayed proudly in his East Leighbridge home.” There was a hard twist to his mouth. “That’s what your Merchants will get me. One of the most expensive pieces in his collection. The nine-hundred-year-old Biyu vase dating to the Northern Song Dynasty. The Medici necklace. Agnes of France’s tiara.”

  “Why haven’t you been able to get your hands on them?” I asked.

  La Roche turned away. “Obviously, there is no disguise or alias I could use that would fool him. I’ve tried the straightforward approach—offers to mend fences or bribing his household staff. Neither worked. Associates of mine have taken up the challenge as well.

  “Sebastian has avoided serious relationships since his divorce. He has custody of their daughter, and rather than bring dates home, they’re wined, dined, and bedded in hotel rooms. Hotels are also his designated location for parties and events. No chance to slip in amongst a crowd. I’ve sent in people disguised as delivery men, potential employees, city workers, etcetera. All have failed.”

  “The Merchants won’t,” Killian said.

  He held out his hand.

  “They bring you the most expensive item in his collection, and you sign on for an exclusive deal with the Merchants for the stated split. Yes?”

  “On a two-month probationary period,” La Roche amended. “At the end of which, I have the ledger in hand.”

  “Agreed.”

  La Roche shook. “Agreed.”

  Chapter Six

  “I wish you had been there, G. He twisted La Roche up expertly. One minute the guy thinks we’re not worth his time, and then the next he’s signing up believing he has us coming and going.”

  “Think it will get back to Kieran?”

  Gianna and I sat on a bench in Mercy Park, munching on stolen ice cream cones. She stole them, not me. Distracted the couple that snatched our parking spot, grabbed the cones from their hands, and took off running. My side still hurt from laughing so hard.

  Yes, we’ve evolved from petty crime. Didn’t make it less fun.

  “It will when we get that vase, and La Roche drops the Kings.”

  “Why the vase and not the tiara? I’d look good in a tiara,” she mused.

  “You would,” I agreed. “But I don’t get to pick. Cash, Sinjin, and the guys have been holed up in Cash’s office planning the heist for the last four days. It’s not that they don’t let me in, but I go in there and it’s all Barron safes, exit and entry points, and combinations. My extensive education did not include safecracking. Daddy’s method would’ve been to hold a gun to the guy’s head until he opened the damn thing.”

  “Not an option?”

  The park was paradise that morning. Sunlight filtered through the trees, dotting us with sunbeams. Owners chased their dogs across the grass. Children shrieked on the playground nearby. Gardenias and lilacs sprouted in the flower garden at our backs. They spread a sweet scent that tricked you into believing a cloudless sky, perfumed air, and ice cream cones with your best friend were the makings of a perfect day.

  “No,” I replied. “Sebastian Vega’s daughter is twelve years old. If Dad’s home, she’ll be home, and we can’t count on a well-timed sleepover. We’re not trying to traumatize the girl. Or Vega for that matter. I actually feel bad for him. La Roche destroyed his marriage, and it looks like Mom hasn’t been around since. Snaking a few antiques from La Roche’s grasp was the most harmless retribution.”

  “Need me on standby?” she asked.

  “Can’t hurt.”

  “Look.” Gianna handed me her phone. “Pics of the apartments I’m looking at. These are close to the hotel and you.”

  “Is Raul moving with you?”

  She flashed me a knowing look. “He is my boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, but how much do we like him?”

  She laughed. “Both our feelings combined? Doesn’t look good for him. Just me? He’s wicked good in bed. Plus, he’s super sweet when no one’s looking.”

  “That a yes?”

  Gianna swatted me, nearly knocking my cone. We spent the rest of the time poring over apartment photos, and planning the
décor. She offered to do my room up in blues and silvers for when the Merchants discovered my plans for citywide domination and kicked me out. That earned her the swat.

  “Hey.” She held up her watch. “Almost nine. Get going.”

  “Right.”

  I picked up the backpack at my feet.

  The morning was perfect. Pups zipped past me as I crossed the lawn. Mothers pushed their strollers at my side, the group of us heading toward Mercy Tunnel where they broke off down one path and I continued on.

  I came out of the dim for a less populated part of the park. This tunnel led to two miles of curving running and biking trails. The trees closed in, providing cool and privacy for the joggers.

  And blackmailers.

  I put the bag in a trash can by the second water fountain as instructed. Then, I retreated into the trees to wait.

  Five.

  Ten.

  Fifteen minutes.

  A jogger came down the path from the opposite way. I recognized Duncan instantly. The green running outfit and matching cap pulled low over her eyes didn’t fool me.

  She stopped at the water fountain. Stretched. Rolled her neck. Bent to take a sip. While she drank, Duncan reached into the trash and pulled out the bag.

  She made to run off, then skidded to a stop. She ripped the bag open.

  “Oops.”

  Duncan snapped her head up.

  “Did I forget something?”

  From where I was standing, I saw her flush neon red.

  “Where is the—?!” She cut herself off, glancing around. “Where is it?”

  “It’s all there,” I replied, closing the distance. “All you’re going to get from me. Hope you like the backpack. I thought pink would suit you.”

  Duncan threw the empty pack on the ground. “I’m not bluffing,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’ll hand that recording to the police and wave as they march you and Granddaddy Felon off in cuffs.”

  “All because I gave you the pink backpack? Ugh. Fine,” I moaned. “I’ll get you the blue.”

  “What is wrong with you?” She got in my face. “Are you capable of comprehending that you’ll never get that recording back if I don’t—”

  “No, Duncan, it’s you who doesn’t understand. I don’t want the recording back. I want you to keep it. In fact, I insist on it.”

  She stepped back. “But—”

  “You see, I’m crazy busy right now. Planning a heist, fooling a con man, taking over the city. All the while, lying to my men about my true motives. This takes up a lot of time which leaves me none to spare on killing you, getting rid of your body, and fabricating a fake story where you fuck off to Peru and get lost in the jungle.”

  “You can’t—”

  “Oh, but I can,” I sang, “and I will, two seconds after that recording hits cyberspace or ends up in the hands of the police. The knowledge you have that phone hidden away somewhere has stayed me. Once it’s out, you don’t really matter anymore, do you?

  “It’s your leverage. The single thing keeping you alive and my attention elsewhere. Ask yourself if you want that to change?” I leaned in till our noses bonked. “Do you want my full attention?” I whispered.

  “I want my money.” Her voice shook.

  “I’m not giving you any money, sweetie. So run on home,” I said. “I’m certain you feel motivated now to put that phone under lock and key. Guard it like your life depends on it because, of course, it does.”

  I sidestepped her, jogging off. “Ta!”

  Gianna waited for me on the bench. “Scared the bitch good?”

  “She was standing in a puddle, babe.” I reclined on the bench, basking in what had turned out to be a perfect day. “It hasn’t rained.”

  BRUTAL TURNED MY WRIST out. He folded my fingers down one by one in a tight fist.

  It was interesting being taught to box by a teacher that didn’t speak to you. His method of correction was to catch a flying punch, and fix me to do it right.

  “I know how to fight,” I put out there. “I took down Felix in Corbin’s club.”

  Brutal squared my hips.

  “Bashed Bryan Acker over the head. Don’t forget the bullies and potential muggers I’ve defeated over the years. Maybe you should be taking lessons from me.”

  His laugh banished the last traces of Tara Duncan from my mind. Who could think of that sad, manipulative woman when Baris Alexander stood shirtless before them?

  It had been three days since I left her standing in the park. Not a peep from her in that time. I assumed she got the message, but like I said, I wasn’t thinking of her then.

  “When do you hit Vega’s place?” I asked. “Did Cash decide on the night?”

  Brutal moved to his calendar. He pointed to the coming Friday, then moved down one. Then two.

  “Three weeks? Why so long?”

  He tilted his head. Cash will explain.

  My interpretations of his gestures were all guesses. Despite that, when I asked if I got it right, he nodded yes. I understood him. He understood me.

  “Is this right?” I dropped the tease for more touching, and struck the dummy in the solar plexus. A hit like that would’ve left him doubled over and wheezing for air. It got me picked up and set on Baris’s bed. “Are you going to have your way with me now?”

  He tugged my shirt off. Yes.

  I wiggled his shorts over his bare ass, giggling into the kiss.

  “Gorgeous.” Mercer knocked. “Your phone’s been going off for the last twenty minutes. Someone desperately wants to speak to you.”

  My flirty smile faded. “Baris, I’ll be right back.”

  Outside my room, the chime cut off as the call ended. I went in and it started back up.

  “Hello?”

  “Addy, it’s me, Mrs. Rowe,” she said. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “It’s your father. We had to call an ambulance. He was having trouble breathing, and collapsed when staff tried to help him up. His heart rate gave us cause for concern...”

  Mrs. Rowe grew small. The phone fell on the mattress, forgotten as I rushed to dress and grab my keys.

  “Addy? Addy, are you there?”

  I snatched up my cell. “What hospital?!”

  “Cinco General. I’m here now, Addy. I won’t leave until you arrive.”

  I hurried out and ran into Mercer. He set me on my feet. “Whatever it is, I’ll drive.”

  There wasn’t time to argue. We got into his convertible, and drove the twenty minutes to Cinco General Hospital.

  “Hello,” I said to the woman behind the desk. “I’m here for Oscar Redgrave. What room is he in?”

  “Addy.” Mrs. Rowe waved from the elevators. “This way.”

  “I’ll stay here,” said Mercer. “Call if you need me.”

  Mrs. Rowe repeated what she said on the phone on the way up. It was wah wah wah for all I understood.

  Dad collapsed. How could that happen? He was fine last I saw him. Happy. Joking.

  I pressed on the elevator doors, willing them open. They released me much too slowly.

  “Room 311, dear.”

  Running down the hall, a nurse called for me to slow down. I picked up the pace with Dad’s room in sight. Bursting in, I startled the doctor checking his pulse.

  “What’s going on? How is he?” I fell on Dad. He appeared almost peaceful lying on the bed. He didn’t wake as I cradled his head, though my shaking limbs should’ve jostled him from sleep.

  “Good afternoon.” He placed Dad’s hand on the blanket. “You must be his daughter.”

  “How is he?” I repeated.

  “Stable.”

  His doctor was a large man with hands that dwarfed mine, leading me to the side.

  “I’m Dr. Weber. I’ll be looking after your dad. Your father has suffered an overdose of beta blockers,” he explained. “I understand he took these for his heart condition.”

  I tossed my
head, fighting to keep up. “An overdose? Why? How? He’s been on these meds for years.”

  “Mr. Redgrave is in his sixties. It’s not uncommon for elderly patients to become confused. They forget they’ve already taken their daily dose, and they take it again. Then again, causing an overdose through no intention of their own—”

  “No,” I cried. “My dad doesn’t have dementia or any issues with his memory. He’s sharper than both of us put together! And he doesn’t dole his meds out himself. They give it to him—”

  I cut myself off, lancing the sentence right through the middle. A deep, abiding frost spread through my veins, pulling my being back from blind panic and forcing logic down its throat.

  “Yes?” Weber prompted.

  “The residents aren’t in charge of their meds.” The words sounded like they came from someone else. “The nurses arrange the doses... and caregivers give them out.”

  “I see. That’s a different matter.” Faint click of his pen, then light scratching as he wrote in my father’s chart. “We are doing everything we can. He’s on a solution of saline to combat the toxicity. We’re monitoring his heart as well. As for the circumstances that brought him here, if you suspect negligence, there are steps you can take. I’m more than willing to put you in contact with people who will explain your options.”

  He grasped my shoulders. “We have every reason to believe he’ll recover. Do not worry, Miss Redgrave. Your father is in good hands.”

  A part of me might have appreciated his warmth. His contact. Speaking to me like a grieving daughter instead of a line on a checklist before he got to his break. That part of me would’ve liked Dr. Weber.

  But Adeline Redgrave wasn’t here.

  It was hard for even me to explain the way I saw myself. Growing up, my father taught me to do things other little girls did not. I understood these things to be wrong by society’s standards, and right by his.

  Yes, I knew right from wrong. My world was more black and white than many would think. It was wrong to kill if not in self-defense or the defense of others. It was wrong to steal. Lie. Trick. Or cheat. It was wrong for mothers to abuse their daughters, and grown men to assault them.