Page 53 of Blood Money

My heart sinks to the soles of my feet with just the thought of losing him. Right now, that isn’t even a possibility for me. For once in my miserable fucking life, I’ve found someone that brings me more than just good dick. I thought I was content with only giving men my body, but somehow Cyrus changed that. I realized he and I are more alike than we’d like to admit. We’re fucked-up, broken humans, but together, we’re perfectly right, and that’s not something I’m willing to lose when I just found it.

He makes me feel wanted and listens to my problems and why I don’t think I’m any good, all while telling me I’m still perfect. I don’t want to acknowledge the big, purple elephant in the room that just appeared, but I’d be stupid if I didn’t.

“There has to be something we can do for him to call the manhunt off.”

“Unlikely, Spitfire,” he replies, defeated.

As he moves to plug the blocker back in, something one of us should have done so we could have continued to live in ignorant bliss—even just for another second—another thought crosses my mind. “If your fate is already set, then why does he want to meet?”

He shrugs. “He says he has information I would want—a sort of parting gift—but I think it’s just a setup. He told me to bring you.”

“Me? How does he even know me?”

“The cameras at the hotel. I never went back to clear them, and as soon as word of Bernard spread, he made sure to hack into their systems. Not only did he see me, he saw you too.”

“What does that even matter if you’re…” I can’t even bring myself to say the words.

“Dead?” I nod. “His business rides on me and everyone else being careful. If clients think we’re sloppy, they won’t hire us. So, if the cops started looking into me instead of thinking it was a suicide, they would eventually find ties back to Ghost. It would take them months, maybe even years, but they would. I made sure to put some insurance in place in case something like this ever happened.”

“Then use it!” I shout. The answer to this whole problem is so fucking obvious—why isn’t he seeing it?

“It isn’t that simple. If I out Ghost, then even more people would be after me. My insurance measure is pitiful compared to the ones he has in place, I’m sure. And on top of that, there is no way to go forward with what I know without incriminating myself.”

“You don’t know that. We could find you a good lawyer. Hell, maybe a judge would offer you a bomb-ass plea deal.”

“I’ve killed hundreds of people. No judge in their right mind would let me off.”

“You don’t know that,” I start, but my lip wobbles, and tears sting the back of my eyes before I can continue my argument because suddenly, I don’t think I know either.

“I do.”

“There’s got to be something else, then. Something you’re not thinking about.”

He shakes his head again. “I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, my sadness morphs into anger. “You’re sorry? That’s it?”

He stares at me, another apology shining in his eyes, but I don’t give him a chance to voice it.

“Sorry for making me care about you, knowing you would be ripped away? Or sorry because you’re a coward and want to give up now?”

“Carmen—”

I cut him off and continue with my rant. “This whole time, all you’ve been doing is trying to find a solution, and just like, that you give up? Your entire life, you’ve fought to survive—why is this any different? If you want to be sorry, be sorry to yourself. But this involves me now, and I won’t be giving up.” I storm into the room and slam the door before he can reply.

Right now, I don’t want to hear any more excuses.

I push my back against the door, letting it support me as I glide to the floor. This can’t be fucking real.

Without warning, the smoke detector starts to chirp an ear-piercing tone, and Tiny barks. The abandoned food that’s most definitely burnt now, judging by the smokey smell and annoying beeping, makes me remember everything from just a few moments ago. Watching Cyrus as he moved around the kitchen, and I watched—blissfully unaware of what the future would hold. It makes my heart pang with pain.

Within seconds, the god-awful beeping stops, and I realize I’m crying. No, I’m fucking sobbing. Big, fat, ugly tears stain my cheeks before running down and hitting my bare legs folded in front of me. I grip my chest, trying to lessen some of the pain as half screams spill from my lips, but it doesn’t help. Everything fucking hurts.

“Carmen?” He’s on the other side of the door, talking softly, but I can’t bring myself to let him in.

“Go away.”

I can hear him move to the floor. “You’re crying.”

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