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

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Blood Money: A Captive Romance (The Dirty Money Duet Book 2) Page 14

by BL Mute


  Right now, I don’t want to hear any more excuses.

  I push my back against the door, letting it support me as I glide to the floor. This can’t be fucking real.

  Without warning, the smoke detector starts to chirp an ear-piercing tone, and Tiny barks. The abandoned food that’s most definitely burnt now, judging by the smokey smell and annoying beeping, makes me remember everything from just a few moments ago. Watching Cyrus as he moved around the kitchen, and I watched—blissfully unaware of what the future would hold. It makes my heart pang with pain.

  Within seconds, the god-awful beeping stops, and I realize I’m crying. No, I’m fucking sobbing. Big, fat, ugly tears stain my cheeks before running down and hitting my bare legs folded in front of me. I grip my chest, trying to lessen some of the pain as half screams spill from my lips, but it doesn’t help. Everything fucking hurts.

  “Carmen?” He’s on the other side of the door, talking softly, but I can’t bring myself to let him in.

  “Go away.”

  I can hear him move to the floor. “You’re crying.”

  I huff with a sarcastic chuckle. “No shit, Sherlock.”

  “Let me in.”

  “No.” The word is shaky as it comes out, and I’m worried it’s revealing my wavering strength.

  I can’t let him in. I can’t face him as he implies his life is so expendable because it’s not. Not to me.

  “Let me in, or I’ll tear this fucking door down.” His voice is still collected, but I can hear the anger rising, threatening to pour out.

  “Why? So you can be pissy about what I said? Because I’m not sorry, and I never will be. You can be angry all you want, but at this point, it seems I’m the only one who even values your life.”

  “It isn’t that, Carmen.”

  “Then what is it? You don’t need me to open the door to speak.”

  “You’re crying.”

  “And?”

  “And I don’t like it. Open. The. Fucking. Door.”

  “No.” I cross my arms over my chest and plant my heels on the floor, bringing my knees to my chest. “And if you break down this door, you’ll be hurting me because I’m not moving.”

  I’m waiting for his snarky reply, something full of douchiness to combat my statement, but it never comes. After a few beats, I hear the front door open, then slam. Instantly, I regret everything I said. Yeah, he pissed me off, but I didn’t want him to leave.

  I jump to my feet and crack open the door. I see Tiny lying on the couch, but just as I suspected, there is no sign of Cyrus. I’m ready to go look for him, maybe try and reason with him again if it’ll make him come back, but the window next to his dresser shatters before I can.

  Instinctively, I raise my arm to shield my eyes, so I never see him coming.

  His arms wrap around me, then throw me onto the bed. “I told you to open the door.”

  Once I see it’s Cyrus, the bubbling fear inside of me simmers down. “And I said no.”

  He laughs. Deep, belly-shaking, manic fucking laughter pours from him, and it puts me on edge. He tosses me a pair of tennis shoes and shorts he’s holding in one hand, then speaks again. “Run.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CARMEN

  Just like that, every ounce of anger and sadness is washed away with the thrilling thought of our game, but I can’t let him win that easily. “So what, going to try and shut me up by fucking me?” I ask, sitting up on the edge of the bed, then pushing my feet into the shoes.

  He smiles down on me. “You want to get me worked up, then you’re going to let me work out my frustrations too. I’m going to show you just how pathetic I am, and once I catch you, I’m going to shove my cock so far down your throat you won’t be able to even speak.”

  My heartbeat picks up speed again, but it’s bumping to a different tune now. One of excitement and anticipation. I should tell him to fuck right off or make him open up more and help me figure out a plan, but my pussy—that traitorous bitch—wants him too badly.

  As my knees squeeze together, my walls start to clench at the mere thought of him filling me up again, and the soreness reminds me of last night. How he fucked me and made me watch. It all plays in my mind on a loop, only making my want grow bigger. But suddenly, the looming fucking reality hits me again, and my aching pussy is pushed to the back burner.

  Once the shoes are laced to my feet, I stand. “What if I don’t want to be caught this time?” I ask, and it’s genuine.

  Here he is, ready to hand over his life and end it because he doesn’t see a way out of the problem he created. Staying here, letting him chase me, letting my feelings grow will only make this hurt worse. It would be best to end everything now—it really would—but I’m not sure I want to, despite the inevitable.

  “Then tell me now,” he says, dropping his smirk. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll drive you back to Bexley Falls and try to forget you ever existed.” His eyes shine with hurt, and I haven’t even given him an answer.

  “I want you more than you even want yourself, Cyrus,” I admit.

  “Then run.” The dark edge to his voice is back.

  I nod, willing myself to push down the tears as I make my feet walk out of the room. Stopping a few feet away, I give him one last look before turning back around and running.

  I barrel out the front door and leap over the steps, not even letting my feet hit them because I’m scared it will slow me down. Instead of going right like I did before, I turn left. Dirt kicks up with every step I take, giving me away, but I don’t care. I want him to catch me now more than ever.

  I realize that this whole thing—our little game—is probably the same thing to him as it is to me. A distraction from reality. When we’re together, a heavenly bubble surrounds us, blocking out every terrible thought or worry from the real world. It’s just me and him. Unaware. Uncaring. Happy.

  I glance over my shoulder, but all I can see is a cloud of dirt drifting up in my wake. Without him in sight, I pick up my pace. My feet dig into the earth, my lungs start to scream, and my heart threatens to beat out of my chest. It fuels my excitement because I know when he actually catches me, it’ll be ten times better. The adrenaline will slowly die down and be replaced with pleasure.

  I stare straight ahead, my mind made up to hit the thick of trees in front of me. I’ll be able to rest with cover as I gain some of my strength back that’s dwindling. I’m maybe fifteen feet away before I see a man emerge. A man that isn’t Cyrus.

  I come to a halt, only thinking for maybe three seconds before turning around. Despite my legs begging me to stop and my lungs being on fire, I keep going. A dark aura surrounds him, but not one like Cyrus. There is no good. I can feel it.

  “Cyrus!” I scream, but it comes out weak. “Cyrus!” I try again but get the same results.

  My legs are beginning to give up, and all I can think is if this man gets me, it won’t be good. I’m hoping my adrenaline, now fueled by fear, will carry me the rest of the way, get me back to Cyrus, but I’m not so lucky.

  Thick arms wrap around me. I swing my arms and kick my feet as hard as I can, hoping to connect enough to hurt whoever the fuck this is. “Shhh,” the man tries, and even though he tries to sound gentle, it makes my skin crawl.

  “Let me go!” I shriek.

  I kick my foot behind me one last time. I connect with his knee and hear a pop before he finally drops me. I don’t give myself time to even process what’s happening. It’s fight or flight right now, and my fighting isn’t up to par. As soon as his arms slide off me, he falls to the ground with a groan, and I bolt.

  I only make it a few feet before his fat, clammy fingers are wrapped around my ankle. He tugs with all his might, and I faceplant into the dirt. I scream again and start kicking, doing anything and everything I can think of to get away.

  Grabbing a handful of dirt, I turn as much as I can and throw it in his face. It gives me the distraction I need to finally kick fre
e again and start to crawl away. As I look up, trying to pull myself to my feet, I finally see him. “Cyrus!”

  His face matches mine. Wide eyes with his mouth agape as he runs toward me.

  I manage to stand on wobbly knees with the intention of closing the gap between us quicker, but just as my hope blooms, it crashes down. Cyrus stops in his tracks as something presses against the back of my head.

  “Don’t move if you want to live,” he growls.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them again, trying to tell myself this is merely a dream, but the pressure on the back of my skull never goes away.

  Cyrus’s face doesn’t hide the confliction he’s feeling. If he moves, I’m dead. There is no loophole or solution. Not right now anyway. “Don’t stop chasing me!” I yell, the only words of encouragement I can give him.

  “I’ll catch you. I’ll always catch you!” he screams back.

  I want to hold him, tell him it’s going to be okay, offer him more than a few words, but the man drags me back, never moving the gun from my head.

  I was blindfolded and thrown into a car. Since I didn’t even know where I was to begin with, it’s hard to tell where I’m at now as I’m shoved into a cold metal chair. I stay quiet, trying to see if any sounds can give my location away, but I’m met with complete silence. It has my skin crawling with dread, tears threatening to fall, and my stomach in knots.

  “Hello, Carmen. It’s good to see you again,” a voice finally rings out. It’s deep and staticky, and I swear I can hear the hint of an accent, but I can’t make it out.

  I can’t figure out why until the blindfold slips from my eyes and I’m met with a laptop screen sitting on top of a metal table matching the chair I’m tied to. The man on the screen is older. His hair is thinning on the top and loose, wrinkly skin pulls his cheeks down, giving him a permanent frown. Dark wooden bookcases fill the space behind him, but that’s all I can see. Everything is blurry, and I’m not sure if that’s because of the signal or if it’s all fake. Something doesn’t seem right.

  “Who are you, and what do you want from me?” I ask, doing my best to sound brave, even though I feel anything but.

  He leans back into his chair and crosses his ankle over his knee. “I go by Ghost. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” He doesn’t even wait for me to answer before he’s answering my next question. “And isn’t it obvious?”

  “If it was, I wouldn’t be asking, would I?” I snap back and instantly regret it when the man who took me reaches out and strikes my cheek with the back of his hand. My head snaps to the side, sending a shooting pain through my neck, but I don’t cry out. I refuse.

  These men are killers. Killers who are undoubtedly worse than Cyrus, but I can’t show them I’m scared. Right now, I need to think of a solution, one that doesn’t end with matching caskets for Cyrus and me.

  “You’re feisty. I can see why Cyrus liked you.” He chuckles deeply, showing off his stained yellow teeth, and it makes me want to vomit.

  “Just tell me what you want,” I hiss, side-eyeing the man who hit me, trying to bide my time.

  “Money. Since you clearly conspired with Cyrus to kill one of my clients, I lost a lot. I’ll make a little back since he seems to be so fond of you. I give it a matter of days before he tracks down where I’m holding you and turns himself over to me, which means I won’t have to pay the bounty I put on him. His life for yours, but until then, I’m going to make your sweet daddy pay too.”

  I let out a laugh of my own. “You’re mistaken if you think he’ll pay anyone a dime. He couldn’t give a fuck less about me.”

  He tips his head. “Oh? You clearly don’t know him the way I do.”

  I narrow my eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Ah! I forgot you don’t know.” He smiles again, and the man to my side laughs.

  I try to use some context clues, but there is none.

  “Alexander Ortiz. That’s your father, correct?” The name rolls off his tongue with ease, and the accent from before peeks through even more.

  I nod, waiting for him to continue so I can be the one to laugh. He’s clearly got some shit mixed up.

  He clicks his tongue. “I’m a diabolical man. I don’t really give much thought to others’ feelings. It’s one of the reasons I’m so good at what I do, but this…” He trails off as he stares at me. Even through the screen, it’s intense and makes me wiggle in my spot. I want his eyes off me. “This is unfortunate, considering the circumstances.”

  “Honestly, I don’t care what it is you say about my father. Go ahead, tell him you have me and watch as he laughs in your face.” Then it hits me. Something I can use. “And as for Cyrus, he’s nothing to me.” The words hurt coming out because I know they aren’t true, but I need something to leverage. “I’m simply a call girl. Someone he paid to fuck, so again, you’re sadly mistaken if you think he’ll hand himself over for me.”

  “Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

  I shake my head. “Not at all. Go ahead and look into it. I met him on a dating app. The only other communication I have is a single phone call before he abducted me. Ask Burly Bob here.” I point to the man with my thumb. “When he found me, I was running from him.”

  He shoots his eyes at the guy standing next to me. “Is that true?”

  Please agree, please agree, I chant to myself.

  When he nods, Ghost finally speaks again. “Look into it.” The man takes his order and leaves, leaving me in the room alone.

  I thank the universe silently that he didn’t manage to connect the dots of the few words Cyrus and I exchanged, but how could he? Things were so hectic, and he was focused on doing a job. Clearly nothing else stuck other than getting me.

  I can hear the lock click into place, so I know there is no escaping, but negotiation will be easier without a goon watching. Maybe it will make Ghost think of the bigger picture instead of trying to impress.

  “Now, if you would let me go, I will lure him back to you.”

  Vomit rises in the back of my throat. I know I mean nothing I say, but it still hurts. All I can imagine is Cyrus hearing me and how it would make him feel, but then his face pops into my mind and I’m reminded why I’m doing this. I’m going to save him and get him out of this mess.

  “You don’t even know what I know.” He smiles again.

  “Then tell me.” I push myself back in the chair, trying to act unbothered.

  “Alexander isn’t your father.”

  I huff. “You know, I expected you to be hard, calculated, and mean when you told me who you are. But jokester never crossed my mind.”

  He stares at me a moment. “No jokes, Carmen.”

  “Okay.” I roll my eyes. “If he isn’t my dad, then who is?”

  He tips his head then leans closer to the camera. “William.”

  All the air leaves my lungs. Almost my entire life, all I’ve wished is that William was my dad instead of Alexander, but hearing it from someone like Ghost… I can’t believe him. This is probably just some ploy to get me talking.

  “Sure, and the sky is purple.” I laugh.

  He hits something on his computer, and suddenly his voice echoes around me, coming from the laptop in front of me and speakers in the corners of the room. “Burly Bob.” He smiles at me with a wink. “Please come back and present Carmen with the evidence I sent you earlier.”

  I try to turn in my chair to look at the door, but it’s pointless. I’m secured tightly. There is no moving, but within seconds, the door is opened again, and the man is back. He opens a manilla folder and holds it in front of my face.

  First, it’s just a bunch of pictures. William with a beautiful woman, smiling, laughing, and embracing one another with small red numbers in each corner. They’re clearly dated, judging by how thick and brown William’s hair is.

  I wonder if this was his wife. The woman he had a child with that he never spoke to me about.

  She’s beautiful with long, flowing a
uburn hair, sparkling hazel eyes, and a thin frame with legs that seem to go on for miles.

  I’m not done admiring her beauty when he flips the page. I try to focus my eyes on the words, but it’s hard. It’s all bold, black font. One short sentence after another, almost bleeding together.

  Mrs. Shultz can be seen with the alleged suitor here. March 10th. See picture #1.

  Mrs. Shultz was seen leaving the residence with the alleged suitor. March 15th. See picture #5.

  Mrs. Shultz met with the alleged suitor at the ‘Annalee Hotel’. March 17th. See picture #10.

  Shultz? My mother.

  I try to let the words sink in. I’ve never met this woman, let alone seen her, and now I’m being presented with shit that is painting her as a cheater? I want to combat it and say it’s all fabricated, but then I’d only be lying to myself. I knew there had to be a reason my father kept her existence so quiet. Why he never talked about her or reminisced. I wanted to believe it was because it was painful and he really was heartbroken, but I never imagined it would be a pain like this.

  Now his dislike for me makes sense. I’m the child of his late wife, who had an affair. A constant reminder of what she did. That’s why I don’t have his name, and even more, why I never earned his love. I’m not his, and the dates from when the pictures were taken prove that.

  The list goes on and on, detailing my mom’s every move for weeks. It’s the perfect report of her obvious infidelity. He flips to the next page, where bank statements, receipts, and GPS coordinates are organized by date, only solidifying what I already know.

  “Where did you get this?” I ask, swallowing the lump in my throat. Now isn’t the time to cry or show weakness.

  “I’m good at what I do. Everything you’ve been told up until this point has been a lie, Carmen, but I can help you see the truth.” He shrugs.

 

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