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

by BL Mute

  She shrugs as she hits the fob to her car. “Learned a thing or two dealing with them when all the shit with Mac went down.”

  “That seems like so long ago,” I admit, sliding into the car.

  She positions herself behind the wheel and starts it. “A lot has happened.”

  “Understatement of the year,” I laugh sarcastically.

  When she doesn’t say anything else, I look over and see her staring through the windshield while gripping the steering wheel. “When did life get so fucking complicated?” It’s almost like she’s speaking to herself rather than me.

  “When we grew up and realized monsters are real.”

  She turns her head toward me. “And they don’t lurk under our beds.” She puts her car in drive and starts to pull away from the hospital.

  “Isn’t that the fucking truth,” I breathe, leaning my head against the window.

  Less than twenty minutes after walking into Lydia’s house to change, we’re walking right back out to go meet with the lawyer. “Hopefully this guy is good because I don’t think the cops believe me,” I remark, reaching for the handle of her car.

  “Don’t worry. We’re going to get this figured out one way or another,” she says over the roof of the car.

  I nod, but something catches my eye when she slides inside. Parked across the street is a black Civic with none other than Tony behind the wheel.

  I quickly lower myself inside and close the door. Once we’re out of the driveway and heading down the road, I look in the side mirror and see him following behind us. “Remember my company from the hospital?”

  She glances at me before turning her eyes back to the road. “Huh?”

  “Tony, the cop.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s following us.”

  Her eyes move to the rearview mirror, then back to the road. “Lovely.”

  “They think I’m lying.” I start to panic.

  Before—with Lydia’s secret—it was easy. I wasn’t directly involved and never asked any questions. It was only a matter of keeping my mouth shut and never telling anyone, but this is different. I took the blame for what Cyrus did, and now I have to face whatever consequences come from it.

  “It’s probably because you are.”

  “Lydia!” I shriek. “Maybe be a little more helpful or supportive.”

  “Look, you don’t need to worry until there is something to worry about, okay? We’ll meet with this guy and see what he says and go from there.”

  “I was covered in blood with a gun in my hand when the cops showed up, I’m pretty sure that warrants some worry.”

  “Yeah? But they don’t have a statement from you.”

  “I confessed. Isn’t that enough?”

  She shrugs. “If it was, they would have arrested you by now. Just chill.”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head but stay silent. Maybe she’s right. Maybe they don’t have enough to arrest me even though I did confess.

  A few more minutes of silent driving pass before she’s finally pulling off the road and into a parking lot. It’s a basic brick building with planter boxes along the sides and big white letters attached to the front that read Law Office of Dave Whitlock.

  As soon as she parks and turns off the car, I step out. “Here we fucking go,” I mumble to myself.

  Lydia rounds the hood and stops beside me. “Ready?”

  “I guess.”

  We walk to the door and pull it open. The inside is smaller than I would have thought, with only two leather chairs, a glass table with some magazines, a narrow hallway, and an empty reception desk. We both look around for any sign of someone, but the place is dead.

  “Hello?” Lydia calls out.

  We wait for a moment, exchanging looks of worry, before a petite woman finally comes out of the door behind the desk. “Miss Shultz?” I nod. “So sorry about that! I was on my lunch break, but Dave can see you now. Just follow the hall to the last door on the left.”

  “Great. Thank you.” I dip my head and follow her instructions.

  When we make it to the end of the hall, his door is open. He’s older than I would have imagined—maybe in his late forties—dressed in a plum-colored button-up, with slicked-back dark hair, sitting behind a desk that takes up almost the entire room, looking at a folder in front of him.

  “Dave?” Lydia announces, grabbing his attention.

  He looks up, giving us an inviting smile. “Ladies. Please come in and have a seat.”

  “Thanks for meeting with me,” I say, taking one of the chairs in front of his desk as Lydia takes the other.

  “It’s my pleasure. When Lydia called, I recognized your name—well, last name, rather. I helped your father get things in order after your mother’s death.”

  Immediately, my blood runs cold. Does this mean he knew who Alexander was and what he was doing?

  “I’m sorry to hear about his passing. My condolences.”

  I give him a tight smile because saying anything other than thank you is probably not the best idea. I’m not sorry he’s dead though. I’m sorry William is dead, and Cyrus is gone. That’s it.

  “First things first, I need to know what happened.”

  I give him the same rundown I gave the cops, hoping like hell it sounds believable, but it’s doubtful. Lydia is right. I’ve always been a shit liar. But then again, I don’t feel I gave anyone enough to incriminate myself.

  Once I finish, Lydia grabs my hand and squeezes it, trying to give me some silent reassurance as he scribbles on the notepad in front of him.

  “Okay…” he starts, trailing off as he looks over whatever it is he wrote down. “If we’re going to figure out a good plea, I need to know the truth.”

  I look to Lydia, then back to him. “Th—that is the truth.”

  He leans back in his chair and brings his hand to his chin. “Listen, Carmen. I’ve been doing this a long time, and I know when someone is lying. I can’t help you if you don’t help me.”

  I bite my lip as tears start to well in my eyes.

  “Are you saying all of this to protect someone?”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  He looks at his notepad again, then back to me. “Fine. We’ll stick with what you’ve told me, then. As of now, you haven’t been charged, which means they have no evidence. Since they didn’t get a written statement from you, it’s your word against theirs at this point, but we can try and plead shock or something else, but no judge will convict you on someone’s word without some type of evidence. Luckily, you didn’t say enough to get them questioning things.

  “For now, you need to stay away from whoever did this because you and I both know you’re covering for someone. And tomorrow, I’ll go down to the station with you to make an official statement. That statement will say you found both your father and William slain and nothing else. Understand?”

  “Do you think that could really work?” I ask, ignoring his question.

  “It will if the evidence backs it up. Did you fire the gun?” I shake my head. “Did you touch the loppers?” Another head shake. “Good. Without your prints on the loppers and no GSR on your hands, we have a good chance, but I won’t make promises.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t speak to anyone without me present.”

  I nod as I stand, and Lydia does the same. “Thank you.” I extend my hand to him.

  He gives me a firm shake. “Don’t thank me yet.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CYRUS

  “Hey.” He kicks my foot.

  I open my eyes, then rub them before standing. “Did you get through?” I yawn.

  He nods with a smile. How he’s still awake and functioning, I don’t even know. But maybe this is another thing that gets him off. Number crunching and firewalls or whatever the fuck all this is. “I did, and this shit is wild.”

  “What’d you find?” I follow him back to the monitor on t
he table.

  He takes a seat in front of it and begins opening different tabs. “There are contacts, more info on how he rerouted everything. He was even using this to host some impressive CGI technology.”

  “CGI? Would that explain making a person see someone who isn’t real?”

  He pauses and glances at me over his shoulder. “Elaborate.”

  “Carmen. She spoke to a man through video, but the backdrop he had matched one at her dad’s place. Could he have set it up here and run it at his house? Make the guy look and say what he wanted?”

  “For sure. All he would need is access to this server and a decent camera. It basically runs off the points of your face and distorts it in different ways to make it look like someone else when it isn’t. Same with voice, but that’s a lot simpler.”

  That would explain her thinking Ghost was a totally different man than Alexander.

  “What else? What do the contacts consist of?”

  “There is info on all the hotels her dad owns. Employee checks, maintenance logs, blueprints—pretty basic shit for a business owner. But the contacts–” He points to the screen as he hits another tab pulling them up. “They seem normal. Names, numbers, addresses, all that shit, but they have a code encrypted within them.” He clicks a few keys on his keyboard, and almost all the numbers or letters compiled to create the contact fall away, revealing a single letter and six numbers.

  “Do the codes have some sort of significance?”

  He stands from the chair with a nod and walks to the wall with all the black boxes—the external hard drives. “Each one corresponds with one of these.”

  He pulls the one off the top of the stack and points to the corner. Etched in the plastic cover is the same code from the computer. “What’s on it?”

  “I was only able to scratch the surface. To me it seems like blackmail. Photos, GPS coordinates, bank statements. Along with some other disturbing shit.”

  “Disturbing how?”

  He looks to the ground and shifts his weight before bringing his eyes back to mine. “Details on a murder made to look like an accident.”

  “No fucking way,” I whisper to myself. He really documented every job any of us took. Maybe an insurance policy in case something happened to him. “I need you to search for a Bernard in those contacts. Not sure on his last name, but he was a Bexley resident.”

  He peers at me silently for a beat. “Tell me what all of this is.”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

  He shakes his head lightly. “You know I’m not stupid, right? I can put two and two together.” He turns on his heel and moves back to the computer on the table.

  “Then use those wicked math skills and figure it out yourself. Just know, this shit is hard to escape.”

  He scoffs. “You don’t say? I’ve already been dragged into more shady shit than I would like, but don’t worry. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

  “Good. I’d hate for something to happen to you because of the knowledge you possess.”

  It’s a threat disguised as concern—concern he can see right through—but it needed to be said. The lengths I would go to protect myself and Carmen are nonexistent. Whatever needs to be done will be done. I just wish she understood that, but maybe that’s what makes us built for each other. We’re both stubborn and don’t give up easily. So, I’ll throw her a bone this one time and let her try and handle shit her way while I work shit from a different angle in the shadows.

  “I’m not scared of you, Cyrus,” he throws out, dragging me back to reality.

  I ignore his comment. “Can you see a Bernard or not? I want to see exactly what Ghost knew about this guy—about what he wanted.”

  He scrolls through the contacts fast until he hits the bottom. “Bernard of Bexley Falls. Second to last.”

  I zero in on his name, then look at the one under it.

  Cyrus McLane.

  If my name is here, that means this is more than client contacts.

  “Is that you? Why would you be here?”

  “Because these are more than contacts. They’re hits.”

  “Hits? Like someone is going to kill you?” He sounds less shocked than I would have imagined.

  “Was,” I emphasize. Ghost is gone now, so I shouldn’t have to worry. “But that’s exactly it. See if you can find Carmen’s name.” I point to the screen.

  He scrolls back through the list, this time slower. I try to watch, but even with him slowing his pace, it still makes my eyes hurt.

  “She’s here too.”

  I look to the stack of external hard drives. “What’s the code connected to her name?”

  After a few clicks on his keyboard, he calls it out. “D091562.”

  I scan the boxes and pull the one with the corresponding code he gave me. “Fuck the other ones. Look into this one and see what’s on it.” I hand it to him.

  He grabs it and looks at me with concern. “Is Carmen in trouble?”

  I want to tell him no, but I don’t even know if that’s true. I’d like to think she can handle this shit herself, but we need a backup plan just in case. If Ghost had a hit on her, it would be the perfect evidence. She could claim self-defense.

  “I can’t answer that yet,” I reply. “But I’m going to try my best to make sure she isn’t.”

  He nods. “I’ll work on this and let you know what I find.”

  “Okay. Have you come across some sort of list that includes numbers and emails? Everything going to those contacts would contain a color, location, and number.”

  “Oh yeah.” He moves to his laptop, hits a few keys, then pulls up a new tab. “It was with all the hotel information. Didn’t know what to think of it, so I was going to try and unpack it later, but here it is.” He turns the laptop and pushes it toward me.

  “Can you send something for me to this list?” I point to the screen.

  “Just tell me what.”

  “Black to red. Zero. Bexley Falls.”

  He cocks his head to the side but doesn’t question me. Pulling the laptop back to him, he types it out and hits send. “Done.”

  “Thanks.”

  He dips his head. “I would say anytime, but I’m really hoping this will be the last thing you need from me.”

  I start to reply, but the phone in my pocket starts to vibrate before I can. As I pull it out, Bradley turns back to the computer and gets to work.

  Answering it, I bring it to my ear. “Hatcher. Is everything okay?”

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbles almost to himself. “Yeah, I just landed, but I got an email and wanted to check in. I thought you were dead.” I can hear the worry in his voice.

  “That was me. I had it sent.”

  The line goes silent for a moment. “How?”

  “I found his fucking den, Hatch. Every name, job, everything—it’s here.” I glance around the small room. “We have the opportunity to take shit over. Literally everything is here.”

  “Cyrus… You and I both know why you can’t do that.” He’s right. Even if I wanted to continue, I can’t. I’m done in this business.

  Every time a job is assigned, they’re categorized by a color, which will normally tell you the difficulty of the job. Yellow is low-level. Junkies, deadbeat dads, and people no one will miss. Blue is a step above. Suburban moms, low-level bankers, and other people of the likes that could make a job a bit more difficult. Then there is green. These are high-ranking people. Lawyers, congressmen, or cops. The type of people you have to be really careful taking out.

  And each category of job comes with its own payout. Yellow is normally chump change. Anything from five grand up to ten grand. Blue, you can expect a minimum of twenty thousand or more. But green… those are the jackpot. Green jobs start out at seventy-five thousand and move up by the thousands depending on the person.

  But the one color that is almost nonexistent—the one we don’t see often—is black, and for good reason. These are the most difficult of t
asks because it’s the exact people you work with. No names are ever supposed to be mentioned, but mine was, which made the target on my back even bigger.

  Trying to kill a killer is hard but not impossible. Everyone has a price on their head, and how far you’re willing to go determines how much you could make.

  When each job is presented to Ghost, an email or text goes out specifying the color, the amount of money someone will pay, and the general location. After he gathers interest, he sends someone out, and once it’s completed, another email or text is sent out marking the job as red. Red means done.

  By having Bradley send the message he did, I basically let everyone in Ghost’s underground network know I was dead, and the payment was made. If I show my face again, I’d be a literal dead man. Assassins stop at nothing when money is on the table.

  “But you could,” I finally say.

  “Take over?” He laughs. “You know everyone would be gunning for me if I did. They’d want it for themselves.”

  “Yeah? But you would have something they don’t.”

  “Which is?”

  “Anonymity and all the information. I can have Bradley give you the basics on how to do the tech side of shit, and you can keep things going the exact way Ghost did.”

  “Did? Does this mean he’s gone?”

  “Yeah… he’s gone.”

  Silence falls again. The only sound filling the air is the keys on Bradley’s keyboard and my own heartbeat in my ears.

  Hatcher finally speaks again. “I’ll do it.”

  I sigh with relief. With Hatcher in charge, I won’t have to worry as much because I know he’d never send anyone after me. I could take Carmen and get the fuck away from everything.

  “Good. Meet me in Bexley” is the only reply I give him before hanging up. Moving back to Bradley’s side, I lay a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to need one more favor.”

  I can see the slight tic of his jaw before he tips his head, questioning me without words.

  “Can you teach someone the basics of sending to that master list?” I point to the tab where it’s still pulled up on his laptop as he works on the desktop.