Blood Money: A Captive Romance (The Dirty Money Duet Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgement

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the authors imagination or used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2021 BL Mute

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or by information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher or author.

  EDITOR: One Love Editing

  FORMATTING: TRC Designs

  COVER DESIGN: The Hatter’s Author Services

  DEDICATION

  To Brittney.

  Thank you for being in my corner since day one.

  I wouldn’t be where I am today without you.

  Carmen is for you.

  WARNING

  Reading Hu$h Money before isn’t necessary but it is beneficial. A lot of things in this book will give away key details to Carter, Malcolm, and Lydia’s story.

  This book also contains some themes and subjects that could be triggering. Continue at your own risk.

  PLAYLIST

  buy me diamonds – Bea Miller

  He Like That – Fifth Harmony

  S.L.U.T – Bea Miller

  Obsessed – Maggie Lindemann

  Daddy Issues – Demi Lovato

  I Did Something Bad – Taylor Swift

  She Belongs to The Game – Troy Ave

  Streets – Doja Cat

  Bad – Wale

  Bubblegum Bitch – MARINA

  Six Feet Under – The Weeknd

  Him & I – G Eazy & Halsey

  PROLOGUE

  CARMEN

  I can 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 f
rom 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.

  “Miss Shultz.” The valet boy beams. I just flash a tight smile and walk past him and inside.

  My last name is nothing more than a reminder of the mother I don’t have and a father that acts like he doesn’t even like me. Because her last hurrah—so to speak—was giving me life, my dad decided to give me her last name as a tribute. Or so he says. I just think it was another way to distance himself from me.

  So, I’m a Shultz and not an Ortiz like him.

  I don’t even bother stopping at the desk in the lobby. I don’t need to. Even though I haven’t been here in a while, I still know the place like the back of my hand. I move to the elevators and hit the Up arrow. When the gold metal doors slide open, I enter and punch the number four with my thumb.

  Luckily, it seems everyone is asleep because it doesn’t make any stops along the way. When the doors open again, I see the golden plaque on the wall indicating the floor number. I exit and turn left, starting down the hall and scanning all the odd numbers.

  Four twenty-seven.

  Four twenty-nine.

  “Four thirty-one,” I whisper to myself before raising my fist to knock.

  When the door glides open, Lydia stands in front of me. Her normally long blonde hair is chopped short, dangling above her shoulders. A cigarette is squeezed between her fingers, and her eyes are bloodshot and filled with unshed tears.

  “Lydia…” I start, trying to find the right words to ask what’s wrong.

  She shakes her head and pulls her lips into a line before throwing her arms around my neck and squeezing me close to her. “I need you to know I’m okay, and you have to promise not to freak out.”

  I pull away, keeping my hands placed on her waist. “What’s going on?” I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep.

  She leans forward slightly and glances down both sides of the hallway before pulling me in and closing the door. Silence envelops us as she paces the giant room.

  “Lydia.”

  She turns back to me and inhales a long drag of her cigarette. “Malcolm is dead.”

  “What?” I couldn’t hide the shock in my voice if I tried.

  “Dead. He’s dead.” She pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth, a sign I’ve learned means she’s thinking. Or maybe she’s waiting on me to freak out.

  “W—” I clear my throat, trying to maintain some sort of composure, but it’s a lost cause because my mind instantly starts to wonder about all the things that happened just a few days ago. “What about the laptop? Fuck. And Bradley. What if they connect him to that and think he did it? Fuck! What did you do, Lydia?” Now I’m the one pacing.

  “Carmen.” Her voice is soft, endearing almost. “If Bradley meant what he said, they won’t know a thing. You have to stay calm.”

  I turn on my heel and stomp toward her. “Calm? You killed someone and I’m supposed to stay calm?”

  “I didn’t kill anyone. And what happened to the Carmen who always said she would help me hide a body? We need her right now.”

  I let out a sarcastic laugh. “That bitch is gone. I’m logical Carmen freaking the fuck out because I never actually thought you’d be in a position like this. What the fuck happened?”

  Suddenly, her face falls, and a single tear slides down her cheek. She shakes her head vigorously before wiping it away and squaring her shoulders. “Just know he deserved it.”

  I want to argue with her and say he didn’t, but how would I know? Malcolm was nothing more than Carter’s dad to me up until a few days ago when Lydia told me she was fucking him.

  That thought alone sends my mind into a spiral.

  Malcolm fucked Lydia. Yes, she’s eighteen now, but she wasn’t the first time. She seduced him. She wanted him. But still. He. Fucked. A. Minor.

  But even then, does that justify death?

  I do my best to silence the thoughts. “What happened? No bullshit answers, Lydia. I want the truth.”

  She sucks in a deep breath before taking another drag from her cigarette. “The whole truth?”

  I nod.

  “He… He raped me, Carmen. I said no, but he didn’t stop.” Her face loses the little bit of bravado it had and twists into sorrow and pain. “I told Carter, and needless to say he was pissed. Malcolm came home, and everything just went downhill.”

  “What do you mean downhill?” I ask. There is no reason to ask for the other details if she doesn’t want to give them. Her confession is enough for me, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to relive it.

  “I didn’t do it, Carmen. Carter did, but we can’t let anyone know. This has to stay between us, understand?”

  I try to calm my haywire nerves and think of a logical response because I need to be logical, not rash. “Lydia.” I step forward and rub her arm. “The police will know. Maybe it’s better to come clean now.”

  She shakes her head and jerks away from my touch. “They won’t know. I burnt the house down with him inside.”

  My head spirals with her confession. “What?”

  “I didn’t know what to do. Carter was useless, just sitting there all quiet and in shock. I did what I thought was best.”

  I walk to the bed and plop down. “Lydia… This is fucked-up.”

  “You don’t think I know that? But what else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t let Carter get caught and sent away. He was only protecting me, Carmen. Me!” I look up and see her finger jabbed into her chest as more tears well in her eyes.

  I stand and pull her into my arms. I’m not sure what the right protocol is for a friend confessing a murder to you. Do I call the cops? No. I can’t do that to her or Carter. Do I try and get her out of town? Is there a fucking handbook to tell you what to do? How to feel? Because I have my morals, and I know what’s right and what’s wrong, but this is Lydia, my best friend since forever.

  I take in a deep breath as she sobs in my arms. “Okay.” I push her away from my chest and hold her at arm’s length. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

  She nods, wipes her tears with the back of her hand, then straightens her spine. “I just needed to let it out. I can’t really confide in Ca
rter with how he’s acting. I just needed my best friend.”

  I return her nod like I know exactly what she means, when really, I don’t. I’ve never killed anyone or helped cover it up, for that matter. I don’t know what the fuck to say or do. I need her to lead me. “What do we do from here?”

  “Nothing. We can’t do anything. We have to act as normal as possible.”

  I raise a brow and tip my head. “Seriously? What if they start asking questions?”

  “They won’t come to you with questions. If anything, they’ll want to talk to me, Carter, or my mom again. As of now, they’re investigating it as an accident, nothing else.”

  “What happens when they figure out it wasn’t an accident though? There has got to be evidence of it being murder.”

  Murder. I can’t believe I’m even saying that out loud like it’s just another day.

  “If anyone, you should know how this town is.” She levels her eyes with mine.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Your tutor. What happened to him?” She gives me a knowing look.

  Hugh Jackson. My old history tutor.

  I knew at the time what I was doing was wrong, but I didn’t care, and neither did Hugh. He was too fine for his age and liked to flirt a little too much. I should have told my dad the moment it started, requested another tutor, but horny little sixteen-year-old me went with it.

  It wasn’t until William found us fucking on the dining room table that our little rendezvous came to an end. He became the talk of the town, and everyone labeled him a pervert. Because he was an outsider, not one of the pillars in the community, people talked and harassed until he left town, and now, he’s not even talked about. People in Bexley Falls don’t want the name of their good town tarnished, so if they can handle shit alone without involving the cops, they will.

  “I don’t see how that has anything to do with this.” I wave her off.

  “If they find what’s on his laptop, I guarantee they won’t say anything. They’ll see him as a monster and drop everything, only they won’t have to run him out of town like they did Mr. Jackson. They’ll keep it quiet. You know damn everyone in Bexley will turn a blind eye.”