Page 1 of Blood Money

PROLOGUE

CARMEN

Ican hear the ringing of my phone, but I ignore it. I turn to my other side and pull the blanket up over my face, hoping it will block out the sound enough for me to fall back asleep. When it stops, I smile and push further into my pillow, but the blissful thought of sleep doesn’t last long. Within seconds, it’s ringing again, and this time it vibrates through my eardrums and heats my face with rage.

I roll back, throw my blanket off me, and pick up the device. First, I notice Lydia’s name and face dance across the screen, then note the time in the top left corner. 1:00 a.m.

Why the fuck is she blowing my shit up so late?

I slide the answer bar and immediately shield my eyes when bright white light illuminates the screen. “What the fuck, Lydia?”

Muffled shuffling sounds out before her face pops up, shielding me from the intense streetlight. “I need you. Now.”

I raise a brow and narrow my eyes. “What could you possibly need at 1:00 a.m.?”

Her eyes bounce around behind the camera before zeroing back in on me. “I’m leaving the police station.” I don’t detect any sarcasm or playfulness in her voice, but this is Lydia. Good, sweet, never hurt a fly Lydia. She has to be joking.

“Yeah? Who’d you kill?” I laugh, knowing this has got to be a joke.

“Carmen.” Her voice is short and clipped with venom. “911 now. Meet me at the Annalee. I’ll be in room four thirty-one.”

The mention of my dad’s hotel has me shooting up in bed. “Why are you at the Annalee?”

“Carmen, stop asking fucking questions. Just meet me, okay?” I’m taken aback by her snappiness but still manage a low “okay” before she ends the call.

I stay glued to my spot and try to make sure I’m really awake and this isn’t some fucked-up dream. Lydia is never so coarse, and she would never stay at the Annalee.

When we made it to high school, I made her promise never to step foot in there. Since my dad owns it, all the employees would report back to him on what my friends and I were doing, and the more I can keep him out of my personal life, the better.

You see, my dad is only a ten percent parent. Out of the one hundred percent he has to give, I only get ten. His hotels get sixty, and whatever woman he’s fucking for the week gets the other thirty. I’ve never been a priority for him, so I make sure to give him the same courtesy. I’m the lowest notch on his totem pole, and although that used to hurt, it doesn’t now. I have William.

William is our butler, who’s been with us since I was two. After dad ran through every nanny worth a shit with his dick and broke their heart, he got smart and decided maybe a man would be better suited for the job of caring for me and our estate.

I’d like to think if my mom were around, Dad wouldn’t be the kind of man he is today, but I try and keep those thoughts away. I never even knew her. She died bringing me into the world, and my father isn’t one to reminisce on the past. All I know is I have her eye shape, long legs, and feisty attitude. At least that’s what he says. He boxed up all the pictures of her before I could even form a sentence, claiming it was too painful to see her around the house, when really, I think he only did it so the women he brought around wouldn’t ask questions.

I shake the thoughts of him away and drag my tired body to my feet. Snagging my T-shirt and sweats from the floor, I pull them on and slip on my flip-flops. I grab my keys from my dresser, then step out of my door, letting it close behind me with a thud.

Although it’s late, I don’t have to worry about being quiet because we have three stories. The first floor houses the kitchen, a formal dining room, living room, garage, and William’s living quarters. He has a large efficiency apartment connected to the back, so he never has to leave, along with access to the entire house.

The second floor is mine. It has my bedroom with an en suite bathroom, an entire theater room that can seat ten, a game room, and a guest room. The third level is my dad’s. It has his office, bedroom, and other shit I don’t even care about. I don’t even venture further than my floor.

But since everything is so big and open, I could probably scream, and no one would hear me. We have an intercom system installed throughout the house though, along with security cameras, so safety isn’t a worry.

I hurry down the steps, only pausing for a split second when I make it to the bottom to make a sharp right and head to the garage. I pass through the kitchen, walking all the way to the back, until I hit the garage door. When I step inside, bright fluorescent lights flutter to life and bounce off all the shiny metal of the cars.

A Rosso Corsa Ferrari, or basic red as I like to call it, sits front and center with a white McLaren to its right and a yellow Koenigsegg Regera to its left. The only car missing is his Mercedes. I roll my eyes as I look at them. Coming from the man who tells me I need to be smart with my money, he sure seems to make a lot of stupid purchases. It’s one of the reasons I don’t even ask him for money anymore. I find ways to make my own because I’ll be damned if he’s going to bash me for something. Like seriously, who buys cars they only drive once in a blue moon? My father, apparently.

Fucking hypocrite.

I walk in between the Ferrari and McLaren, fighting the urge to ram my house key into their perfectly polished metal. Shaking my head, I grip the fob to my Bentley in my palm, dropping my house key and letting it dangle on the key chain. I hit the Unlock button once I make it to the driver’s door and slide inside.

With the simple push of a button, the SUV purrs to life. I rub my eyes, making sure all signs of sleep are gone, then hit the garage opener on my visor and put the car in reverse. When I make it to the road, I turn right and head straight for the hotel.

My body goes through the motions of driving without my mind really connecting. The Annalee is a place I spent a lot of my childhood at. Named after my mother, I thought the more I went there, the closer I could be to her. Looking back at it now, I realize that was a pathetic excuse. I didn’t even know my mom, so trying to get close to her in a way didn’t really make sense. Maybe at one point I did go there to try and connect with her someway, but in reality—since it was my dad’s first hotel where he spent most of his time—I thought going there would make him care. It would make him face me and love me and want me.

Obviously, I was a stupid kid.

I told myself I’d stay away when I learned nothing could melt my father’s cold heart, but as I pull up to the valet stand, I realize that was just a lie. Regardless of how much I despise this place or try to stay away because I don’t want him in my business, something will always pull me back to it. And right now, that something is Lydia, my best friend, and she needs me.

---