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

by BL Mute

  “I’ll visit though, and you can even come see me,” he says, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “I am not driving two and half hours to fuck you on your parents’ ranch.” I push him away and turn, doing my best to hide the pain I’m feeling.

  “Come on, Carmen.” He comes up behind me and grabs my hips. “Remember how much fun we had at my graduation party?”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine. Maybe I will come see you, but for now, I’m going inside, tending to my fucked-up nipples and knees, then crashing. You should do the same.”

  He turns me around and lifts my shirt. Red scratches cover my chest, and I’m sure my knees don’t look any better. A wooden table that isn’t sanded isn’t really ideal for activities.

  He kisses one softly. “Always so blunt when you kick me out after a quick fuck. If that ever changes, I better be your first call.”

  I roll my eyes again. “You know it’ll never change.”

  Another thing I’ll miss. He knows I don’t want anything serious. Just his body, his comfort. That’s it.

  He winks, then pulls my shirt back down. “A man can hope.” With that, he exits the greenhouse and disappears into the night.

  With him out of sight, the weight of his words finally hits me. Really hits me. He’s leaving.

  For the past couple of years, I always thought it would be me to end things. I would be the one to hurt him, but it’s him hurting me instead. I know we weren’t together in that way.

  He doesn’t need to know why I like the shit I do or why I need it. He just gives it to me. It’s my own fucked-up coping mechanism. Something I’m not even sure I can share with someone else.

  I just wish I would have savored tonight a bit more.

  I push the thoughts away and leave the greenhouse.

  CHAPTER TWO

  CARMEN

  Waking up this morning, I realized last night wasn’t just a dream. It was real, and Bradley is gone. For a minute, I thought I was sad losing him, and maybe I am, but I’m sadder at the fact I don’t have that distraction, because in reality, that’s all he ever was for me.

  I don’t see men as anything more than someone who will leave. My dad taught me that at a young age, and it’s something that hasn’t left me. And now Bradley has proved me right too.

  I walk into the kitchen and slide onto the barstool, willing the fucked-up thoughts to go away as William cooks with his back to me. I made sure to stay locked away because I knew my dad would be leaving, and after Bradley saying goodbye in his own way last night, I wasn’t sure I could handle yet another goodbye.

  It hurts knowing I’m not good enough for someone to stay.

  “Hungry?” William asks over his shoulder.

  I shrug. “Depends. Whatcha cooking?”

  “Just some pork chops and gravy.”

  “Sure. I’ll eat,” I answer as my phone vibrates in my pocket.

  Maybe it was out of desperation, but last night I downloaded a dating app. Not to actually date though. I just want sex. Because if someone can’t be bothered to actually care enough to stay, they at least care enough to fuck me.

  I’ve always had a thing for guys old enough to be my dad. Maybe it’s my deep-rooted daddy issues, or maybe I just can’t stand stupid, little douchebags. I don’t care about what car Mommy and Daddy bought them or the fancy school Grandpa was an alumnus in. All I want is good dick with minimal talk. Something older men are great at delivering. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve fooled around with guys my age, like Bradley, but it’s always the same. They want someone to cheer them on at their football games or hop house parties with them, and they’re too jealous. I’d rather not, if I’m being honest.

  Feelings are too complicated. I’d rather put that shit on the back burner because in the end, if you acknowledge them, someone will get hurt. And I refuse to be that person.

  I start scrolling through all the messages, only reading the small preview without opening the threads, ignoring all the ones asking how big my tits are or what hotel I want to fuck at. They won’t be worth a shit. When the last message shows a mean-looking dog with a man’s hand on its head, I stop. I’m not sure if it’s the jet-black, angry dog with cropped ears or the veiny, strong-looking hand on top of its head, but I open the message without reading the preview.

  Stallion – No strings?

  I chuckle and look up, making sure William is still occupied cooking, then start to type. I reply, ignoring his question. It’s stated in my little bio I want no strings.

  Spitfire – Mean looking dog.

  Almost immediately, the green online bubble pops up, and dots dance across the bottom of the screen, indicating he’s typing.

  Stallion – He came straight from hell on the devil’s back.

  Spitfire – Is that supposed to scare me? Because it doesn’t. I have a love for bad things, including devil dogs.

  The dots dance, then stop, then dance again for what feels like forever.

  Stallion – So, no strings? Or is that just something girls your age put in a bio to lure boys in?

  Way to change the subject and get straight to the point, I think to myself, but I roll with it.

  Spitfire – Girls my age? What is that supposed to mean? How old are you?

  Stallion – 26.

  I need a no string’s situation.

  And someone who can meet when I call.

  I give William another glance. I don’t think hooking up with random strangers is the smartest idea I’ve ever had, but what could it hurt? The mysterious intrigue has already pulled me in and makes me want to ask more. And even better, it’s keeping my mind occupied with shit that doesn’t involve my real life. Online, I can be whoever I want.

  It would be nice if he was older, but twenty-six is a decent age. Maybe he’s matured and knows what he wants. And hopefully, those wants reflect mine.

  Sex, not love.

  Spitfire – Let me see what you look like.

  An image attachment pops up, and for a split second, I debate on clicking on it, but the thought is fleeting. I click it, and the picture that takes up my screen has my knees squeezing together and my mouth wanting to fall open.

  He’s shirtless. Perfectly chiseled abs stare at me, glistening with sweat and the tiniest bit of hair peppering over them. One hand holds the phone, blocking his face, as the other dangles to his side. Thick veins run down them, stopping and disappearing above his knuckles. His skin is sun-kissed and tan, giving his muscles even more definition. His dark, dirty-blond hair is clipped short on the sides, with the top growing out a bit longer but still neat. I want to run my fingers through it. Pull it while he feasts between my thighs.

  I push the dirty thoughts away because if I let them take over, I’d sign my life over to this man just to see how he fucks. And on top of that, with William this close, it’s just… awkward. I try to type out a reply that doesn’t make me sound too thirsty, but he replies before I can.

  Stallion – I’ll pay you.

  For a moment, I’m offended. Does he think I’m a whore? That I fuck for money?

  Spitfire – I’m not some fucking prostitute.

  I should throw my phone down and ignore anything else he says, but I can’t. For some reason I want him to correct it. To make it better and say it was a joke or something.

  Stallion – Never said you were. I just… like things a little differently.

  Now. Now, Carmen, I tell myself. This is the time to back out. He’s probably some sort of serial killer or into hard-core anal.

  I know I should listen to the voice inside of my head because I’ve always been careful, but my fingers start to fly across the screen on their own. Fuck being careful. Fuck caring.

  Spitfire – Maybe I like things differently too. Let me see yours, and I’ll show you mine.

  I don’t know if I’m serious or not as I hit Send, but when he replies with an address, I realize I’m as serious as a heart attack. If this random man is willing to give me what Bradley did, then I�
��m down.

  I need this. The recklessness, the escape.

  “Dinner will have to wait, William. Lydia needs me,” I say, sliding off the barstool.

  He turns around, spatula in hand and a wounded look on his face. “Oh. Tell her I said hello.” I can tell he’s trying to hide his hurt.

  I smile. “I will. And tomorrow, I promise we’ll do something just us.”

  That earns me a smile of his own. “Perfect.”

  I give him a nod before exiting the kitchen and heading toward the door.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CARMEN

  When I pull up to the motel, I’m a little skeptical. I understand not every place will be lush and extravagant, but this place is a literal shithole. The parking lot is riddled with potholes and trash, the paint is chipping off every surface of the building, and the lights flicker and buzz like they’re about to go out. Even more reason to turn the fuck around and forget about Stallion and his devil dog, but I can’t. I don’t want to. Something about his short replies and the almost promise of danger has me stepping out of my car.

  I need this, and even more, I want it. A distraction and thrill—it’s too perfect to turn away.

  At first, I was offended this random stranger offered me money to sleep with him, but thinking about it on the drive here made me realize this is just another way to spite my dad. I don’t need him, or his company, or his money.

  My stomach turns with anticipation and excitement as I start up the steps to the second floor. I run my hand along the metal banister, chipping off more of the cheap black paint as I go. The buzzing of the neon sign above gets louder the higher I get, and every nerve in my body flips to high alert.

  When I make it to the room he said he would be in, I raise my hand to knock. I let my fist hang in the air, giving myself one last split second to turn around, to really weigh the options in front of me.

  Fuck it.

  My fist connects with the wood three times, then falls back to my side. Seconds turn into minutes, and minutes seem to pass by like hours before the door finally opens. It’s dark inside with only a dim, yellow glow coming from the cracked bathroom door behind him, but I can still see him.

  I can’t make out his face and features too well, but his body matches the picture, along with the sandy hair on top of his head. Taut muscles beg me to touch them, or at least I think so, so I do. I reach a shaky hand out and run my fingertips over the stranger’s stomach.

  The light brushing of hair tickles and sends a chill down my spine.

  “Come in.” His voice is low, demanding, and deep.

  He steps back, severing the connection of my hand on him, then moves to the side. I grip the purse around my shoulder in my palm just to have something to touch, then walk inside the dark room as he closes the door. I try to survey my surroundings, but it’s a moot point. Everything is cloaked in darkness.

  He moves behind me and flips on a lamp. It does almost nothing to illuminate the room, but it’s enough for me to get a decent look at his face. Square jaw, amber eyes, dimples.

  Oh, fuck. Dimples.

  He moves to the small table across the room and sits, then motions for me to do the same. “Let’s talk.”

  I groan internally. Talking is not what I want to do. “I thought we did enough talking already,” I remark, sitting in the chair. The split vinyl scrapes the bare skin on the back of my thighs, forcing me to readjust constantly.

  He shakes his head and settles further into his seat. “We did minimal talking. You don’t even know what I’m asking from you.”

  I cross my hands over my chest. “A quick fuck, right? No strings.”

  “No. There is more to it than that.” He grins, and I swear it makes the panties under my shorts melt.

  I try to hide my surprise and growing excitement. What kind of fuck buddy requires a conversation beforehand? “Okay. Elaborate, then,” I say, waving my hand in his direction.

  “I like… games. To chase my prey.”

  I raise a brow with the shake of my head before standing. “Yeah…” I deadpan. “It’s a no from me.”

  I make it back to the door before his voice rings out again. “You didn’t even let me explain.”

  I suck in a deep breath, then turn back to face him. “No explanation is needed. I don’t want to be chased through some run-down motel by some stranger.”

  He smiles again, letting his dimples distract me, then stands. Slowly, he stalks toward me, sizing me up, examining me. I can feel him penetrating the shield I put in place to protect myself—to be careful. I’m not sure why, but I don’t move. I can’t. His stare paralyzes me and turns my feet into cement blocks. I’m frozen, and I’m not sure if it’s from fear or excitement.

  As he stops in front of me, the air changes. I feel constricted by his presence, but I still can’t bring myself to move. “You came here for a reason. You’re searching for something, yet you don’t even know what it is, do you?” His head tips as he looks into my eyes.

  A sea of amber consumes my every thought as I stare right back at him. “You don’t know that.”

  “I do. What are you running from, little spitfire?”

  I snap myself from his hypnosis. “Clearly not you,” I spit back, lacing every word with sarcasm.

  I don’t like how I’ve known this man for all of three seconds and he already thinks he has me figured out.

  “Let me chase you. Let me show you what it’s like to be wanted,” he whispers, moving his face even closer.

  I close my eyes and inhale. I can smell the liquor on his tongue, mingling with the stale carpet and lingering tobacco smoke from another room on the same floor. His bodywash wafting from his skin gives it a fresh hint, intoxicating me.

  I want to say no. I should say no. But I don’t.

  “What happens when you catch me?”

  He’ll murder you, duh, my inner self chimes, but I push it away.

  “You’ll have to wait and see.” A more sinister smile pulls on his lips.

  “And if you don’t catch me?” I challenge.

  “I always catch my prey.”

  That simple sentence does something to my insides. My stomach erupts with butterflies, heat skates across every inch of my flesh, and my heartbeat quickens. I can’t grasp the why because I know this is stupid and dangerous, but I can’t bring myself to leave. And I know he sees it too.

  “Run, little spitfire.” That’s the only warning I get.

  I give him one last look and a smile of my own, then turn the knob and back out of the room. Once there is a good three feet between us, I spin around, and I run. My feet beat against every other step as I take them two at a time. I don’t look back again, because I’m scared if I do, I’ll stop.

  When I make it to the bottom, I hang a left and hit the alley running between the motel and the abandoned building next to it. Cracked concrete sticks up from the ground with weeds, but I jump over it, never slowing my pace. I think I can hear him, but I’m not sure, so I keep going.

  When I reach the end of the alley, it opens into a field. A very vast, overgrown field, where God only knows what lies under the surface. I pause for a moment. It would be the perfect covering, but even horny me knows stepping in there can’t be smart. Instead, I go right, staying close to the abandoned building.

  My shoulder scrapes against the brick as I run beside it, doing my best to keep my feet on the small path that’s been made by other people walking the exact same way. I can see a chain-link fence in the distance, and I’m ready to jump and climb over it, but before I can, Stallion appears from the field and grabs me.

  Adrenaline shoots through my veins as soon as his hands touch me, and goose bumps break out all over my skin. “Caught you,” he whispers, dragging me into the field.

  I try to fight. It’s purely instinct and nothing else, but he’s stronger. A lot stronger.

  Once we’re hidden by the overgrown grass, he places me on the ground. I try to crawl backward, but he catches
my ankle and flips me onto my stomach. His weight bears down onto my back. “I caught you once, and I’ll catch you again.”

  Every ounce of fight leaves me. His breath is like fire on my skin, leaving a trail of ashy desire in its wake. Touch me more, I beg in my mind, too scared to say the words out loud and ruin the moment. Maybe he can feel my want or even smell it on my flesh, but he gives in to my silent plea and drags his hands down my sides.

  Closing my eyes, I let him move my body where he wants it. He turns me around, then cups my cheeks in his big hands. “Look at me.”

  When I open my eyes, his dark amber ones are staring back at me. They’re a cold contrast to his warm skin. His tongue juts out and runs over his lips and makes me tear my gaze from his. He moves slow, calculated, like a perfect predator knowing what the motion is doing to me. It’s far more erotic than it should be, or maybe I’m just really horny.

  “You’re beautiful,” he breathes over me.

  More butterflies take flight in my stomach. Of course I know I’m pretty, but hearing it from someone as hot as him gives me a spark of newfound confidence. Hell, he didn’t even know what I looked like before offering me cash to sleep with him. The only photo I have online is one of a snake wrapped around my hand with perfectly sharp, pointed nails at the end of each finger. That alone should have made me feel pretty good, that of all people, a stranger found my hand attractive enough to pursue me, but everything is always better in person. And I’m learning that the more I stare up at him.

  I part my own lips and wait as he lowers his face. Anticipation builds in my limbs, causing them to twitch as his stare bounces between my eyes and my mouth. “Kiss me.” Like all he needed was my approval, he presses his lips to mine.

  He tastes like the liquor I smelled before and bad decisions—bad, bad decisions—but I can’t bring myself to stop. I push my tongue between his lips, then move my hands to his head. I place one at the base of his neck, letting the tips of my fingernails dig into his skin. With the other, I run my fingers through his soft hair. It’s damp, like he’s freshly showered, something I never noticed before, and it helps cool the heat on my skin.