Page 46 of Cash

“I already knocked, sweetheart.”

“No you didn’t.”

For fuck sake, the room had to be soundproof.

“Cara, sweetheart, I did. I’ll knock again but I’m sure the room is soundproof.”

I knocked again.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that I can’t hear you and you can’t hear me. But I’m right here. My hand’s on the door. I’m right in front of it.”

There was a stretch of silence before Cara spoke again.

“I’m really scared, Cash.”

No question, I was popping the motherfucker who made this sweet girl’s voice wobble in the face.

“I know you are. But I’m right here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” I vowed.

I had no business vowing anything to anyone, especially a little girl. Yet, for whatever reason not only couldn’t I stop myself, I knew I meant it.

“Come on, Cara, open the door, sweetheart.”

I stared at the door waiting for her to open it. Finally it cracked open a sliver and in the dull light a child’s face came into view. I quickly crouched, bringing us eye level. Scared, sad blue eyes set in a dainty little face stared back at me. And although I’d never experience it, the punch to my sternum felt something like—no, a lot like—love at first sight.

What in the Sam fuck was that?

Before I could begin to scrub the idiotic notion from my head, Cara pulled open the door and launched herself at me. With more strength than I thought possible, tiny arms wrapped around my neck promising to choke the life out of me. I stood taking her with me, as soon as I was on my feet and her legs wrapped around my waist, I hitched her higher, loosening her death-grip and giving me much needed oxygen. Though with her little body holding on to me like I could protect her from the world my lungs wouldn’t fill because that band was tighter than ever.

“I got you, sweetheart.”

“You came.”

Always, was on the tip of my tongue but I refrained. I’d already made one promise today I shouldn’t’ve.

I was not a man who made commitments. Yet without thought, I’d promised to never let anything happen to her.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I had to make it out of this alive.

I had to get back to Cara.

My brother’s demonic eyes locked with mine.

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” Damion spat.

I had no doubt. Two decades was a long time to get revenge on the person who’d blown your spoiled-trust-fund life apart. Not that he’d ever hurt for money. The funny thing about generational wealth and rubbing shoulders with other rich pricks was they were good at a cover-up.

Every dirty secret I’d exposed had been swept under the metaphoric rug. It wouldn’t do for the world to know that Percy McKnight, financier to the uber wealthy, had been funneling money to terrorists. Especially the same organization that had been responsible for 9/11.

Twenty years ago, the attacks were still fresh in every American’s heart—patriotism was at an all-time high—my father should’ve been burned at the stake, or better yet hanged in the town square. Instead, his death had been deemed an accident and all his felonies buried alongside him.