Page 112 of Dirty Mechanic
The blood drains from my face.
“You’re lying.”
“Private investigator found a property transfer,” he says with a shrug. “Shell company. Quiet little land deal we almost missed. Made a bet with my brother to see who’d find our sister first. Rick’s following the paper trail. I came for the bait—you. Figured it’d be quicker this way.”
Ice spreads through my chest. Misty.
They’re closing in.
Air knocks from my lungs like a piston strike to the ribs.I try to move, instinct kicking in before sense catches up, but my arms don’t budge. My wrists are bound tightly, the rope biting deep. When I pull, pain jolts up both arms.
Another groan cuts through the air—and it’s not mine. I whip my head around and nearly gag.
Blake.
Unconscious, his head lolling, a purpling bruise spreading across his temple like spilled ink.
A wave of nausea rolls up my throat.
No. No, no, no.
“Oh, don’t worry about the kid,” Mike says. “He’s just napping. You, on the other hand…” His fingers trail under my chin, forcing my face up. “…we’ve got unfinished business, sweetheart.”
Panic slams through me, cold and fast. My lungs seize, dragging in shaky breaths. My pulse races so hard it rattles my ribs.
“What do you want from me?” I rasp, tasting copper on my tongue. “Why now?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “What I’ve always wanted. If I can’t be married to you, you little cunt, then I want what I’m owed.”
He pulls my journal from the inside of his coat. My heart clenches so hard, it feels like it might tear itself in two.
“I need Skylar Bishop. I need the money she got from selling my father’s land so I can fucking buy myself a new green card.”
I go still.
Misty.
He still doesn’t know it’s Misty. He doesn’t know she’s Skylar Bishop—Huntz’s secret daughter, the one he hid from everyone.
And I can’t let him find out.
“You didn’t even know, did you?” he murmurs, flipping through the worn pages with idle amusement.
My throat locks. “Know…what?”
His grin sharpens, teeth yellow and jagged. “That you were living in Huntz’s pocket the whole time. San Francisco? That sweet little apartment you thought you found all on your own? Guess who kept the rent low. Guess who kept you on the hook, nice and close.”
My stomach twists. Hard. I shake my head, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the river’s roar. “No.”
“Oh yes, sweetheart. Huntz funded you. Helped his bastard son cozy up to the pretty little nurse who’d end up right where we wanted her. You were family business before you even stepped onto the board.”
Lease papers I never questioned. Utility bills that magically stayed manageable thanks to Eric quietly footing the difference, without knowing he was helping Mike maintain control. The whispered warnings I brushed off. It hits me all at once—Mike manipulated everything, using my brother’s generosity to hide his own twisted plans, and I was the prize.
But I shove it down. Survival mode, now. No time for heartbreak.
“I have nothing for you,” I whisper. “You’ve taken everything already, you pussy.”
He crouches, breath sour with whiskey and rot. “You’re a terrible liar, Belle. Always were. But if you keep that mouth dirty, I might consider keeping you alive a little longer.”
