Page 27 of Kylo
“Nah,” he said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, looking disarmingly boyish for a second. “Definitely not in the mafia. But I have a friend who is… there’s not a nice way to say he’s disgustingly wealthy, is there?”
“Not really, no.”
“Well, he’s rich as fuck. He recently bought a property on Golden Beach.”
“Wait… isn’t Golden Beach that, like, island thing where…”
“Where the rich guys play? Yeah. One of the only private beaches on the island. And Teddy’s estate steps right up to the sand. Honestly, don’t know what he’s thinking. Seems like one strong storm might sink the place.”
“I guess when you’re that wealthy, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“That’s true. Anyway, he is at some charity event in New York. The place is sitting empty. He lent us it, his chauffeur, and the boat.”
“Why do we need a chauffeur?”
“Because he’s also… a boat guy. I dunno. Rich people staffing is weird. But he will have the boat and parasailing shit all set up for us.”
Should my red flags have been flying high right then? Yeah, probably.
Did bad guys pretend to be nice ones to lure unsuspecting women to their watery graves? Yeah, probably.
But Traeg took his location-watching seriously. I had strict instructions to be in touch with him before getting on the boat, then after I was back on solid land again. Then every forty minutes after that, assuming it went any longer. If I went more than an hour and a half, I suspected cops would be showing up at my last known location. Or, barring that, he and his friends (a surprisingly large group) would be there raising hell until someone got in touch with me.
I aspired to be the kind of friend Traeger was to everyone he cared about.
“So… are we getting back on the bike?” I asked, reaching for my phone to shoot off a rapid-fire text to Trager to explain the change of plans. If Kylo thought it was weird, he said nothing.
“No. We’re going to get picked up by the driver. I’m a little worried someone might call the cops on me if I showed up at Teddy’s estate on my old bike.”
“Gotcha,” I agreed.
Granted, I didn’t know much about Florida real estate, but I knew Miami in general was expensive. So a private beach area? That had to cater to the top point-five percent of the upper class.
“And here he is,” Kylo said, his hand going toward my lower back but not touching it as he waved with the other hand outward.
I followed his arm to see a sleek black town car pulling up. The back windows were blacked out, but I watched as a man in a full black suit (in the Miami heat) climbed out.
“Kylo,” he greeted. “Miss…”
“Rue. Just Rue,” I said.
“Rue,” he said, giving me a respectful nod as he opened the back door, his free hand tucked behind his back as if to assure me he had no intentions of touching me.
I slid in and over so Kylo could move in beside me.
I found myself way too thrilled at the tight space when his whole body pressed against mine as the driver slammed the door and then moved to the front. He automatically slid the privacy glass up before pulling away again.
It was a short drive.
I spent the last little chunk of it wide-mouthed, nearly pressed to the glass as we turned into the Golden Beach area.
“No way!” I said, looking over at Kylo when the car came to a stop in front of the largest house I’d ever seen in my life.
It was all white stucco with perfectly manicured lawns and tons of towering palm trees.
“I know, right?” Kylo agreed, shaking his head. “I looked it up after I was invited here the first time. Take a guess at how much it costs. Whatever you come up with, double it.”
“Ten million.”
