Page 39 of Blood Money

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CARMEN

“Problem? It’s bigger than that,” I throw at him. Murder is definitely more than a problem and something I’m not sure how I’ve found myself in twice now.

“You know,” he starts, sitting back on the couch, “if you were to turn me in, you’d be considered an accessory. After all, you did find the body and didn’t bother to call the cops. Instead, you took his money and ran.”

I shake my head. “Maybe, but my dad is one of the wealthiest men in Bexley Falls. Everything has a price, including innocence, and I bet he’ll pay it.”

He smirks and nods slowly. “Yeah? Is that why you’ve been sleeping with men for money?”

My eyebrows knit together as I cross my arms over my chest, gun still tightly tucked in my hand. “Man. I slept with you, and it wasn’t for the money. You’re the one who offered it.”

“And you took it. I bet you were doing the same thing with Bernard. Is that why you didn’t call the cops? Because one way or another you’d go down?”

He’s taunting me, trying to get a reaction out of me, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. “Fuck off, Cyrus. Just leave and let me go back to my life.”

He scoffs, crossing his ankle over his knee. “You and I both know I can’t do that. I won’t be leaving until Carter asks me to.”

I bite my lip and try to think. I can’t go ask Carter to kick him out right now. Hell, he’s working through the fact his brother has purposely stayed away, and now someone hired said brother to kill him. That seems a lot bigger than my issues with Cyrus. Sure, the whole murder thing is bad, but he’s right. At this very moment, I’m just as guilty as him, and considering how much disdain my father has for me, I doubt he would even try to help. He’d probably be happy to send my ass away. One less thing for him to worry about.

“Fine.” I pull the abandoned chair in front of me, then sit down facing him. “If you won’t leave, I’ll at least sit here to make sure you don’t try and kill us.”

He rolls his eyes, then settles further into the couch.

This is going to be a long-ass night.

I guess at some point, the events of today caught up to me and all my adrenaline ran out. I’m shaken awake by my body bouncing around a hard surface.

It takes me a while to focus on what the fuck is happening. Everything seems like a blur. My tongue feels like sandpaper, my throat aches with dryness, and my wrists and ankles ache where they’re bound. With my hands behind my back and all my weight on them, my shoulders feel like they’re ready to snap too.

At first, everything is dark, but as the bouncing continues, streetlights pass by through the windows. I try to sit up to see where I’m at, but I can’t seem to balance my weight with the moving. I know I should scream or maybe try and kick out the back window, but I have nothing. The gun is gone, and the back seat is completely empty. Even my shoes are gone. Right now, all I seem to have is the element of surprise.

So, I turn to my side, trying to eliminate some of the pain in my shoulders, and wait.

Luckily, it isn’t much longer before we come to a halt. I can hear his door open and close, and within seconds, mine is opening. I keep my eyes squeezed shut and my body limp. The longer he thinks I’m still out, the better.

“Really didn’t want to do this. I hope you can listen when you’re awake,” he mumbles to himself before slicing the rope around my feet.

I take that moment and kick him as hard as I can. When he stumbles back, I force myself up, then bolt out of his SUV. I don’t know where I am or where I’m going, but it doesn’t matter. I run, my bare feet hitting the hard earth painfully. I stomp over broken twigs and soft grass, doing my best to keep my balance since my hands are still unusable.

My lungs feel like they’re going to bleed, and my legs throb, but I can’t stop. I keep pushing one foot in front of the other. I run like my life depends on it because right now, I think it very well does. I don’t look back, and I don’t slow. Not until I hit a patch of sandspurs. I cry out as the thorny little balls sink deep into my skin. I make it another three steps before the pain is too much and I have to stop. I fall to the ground, then try to look around for a tree, a house, something to offer protection, but I’m not that lucky.

I want to cry. How could I be so stupid? If I never met up with Stallion—Cyrus—whatever the fuck his name is, I would never be in this position. If my dad loved me, if Lydia didn’t ask me to keep her secret, if I had some fucking self-respect, I wouldn’t be sitting in the middle of nowhere having a mental breakdown.

Death has never scared me, and I guess it’s because I thought I was untouchable. I’m young, pretty, rich, so it’s not something I’ve ever had to think about. Now though… now I know I’m going to die, and I’m realizing how many regrets I have.

“No. This can’t be happening,” I say out loud, wiping my face on my shoulder, then forcing myself to stand again.

I grind my teeth as soon as my weight is on my feet. Pain shoots through every inch of flesh, but I make myself keep going. I’m slower now, drastically so, but at least I’m trying. Only, it’s too late.

His arms wrap around my waist and hoist me into the air. I want to hit him, but I can’t. Instead, I kick my feet, trying to connect with any piece of him. I only get a few kicks in before he flips me around and throws me over his shoulder, wrapping his arms around the backs of my thighs tightly. “I told you I would always catch you, Spitfire.”

Right now isn’t the time for witty remarks, so I do the one thing I should have in the beginning. I scream. I let out the most bloodcurdling scream I can as I continue to thrash in his hold.

“Scream all you want. No one will hear you here.”

With that simple statement, all hope leaves me, and the next scream dies in my throat. That’s exactly what every killer tells their victims before they slice their throat or chop off their body parts.

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