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“Call my girl a bitch again, Sawyer. Just to see what happens.”
He’s not stupid enough to do it twice in front of me. Instead, he moves position again, showing he’s anxious about the situation, and rests his elbows on his knees as he leans forward to talk.
“Look, I’ll give it to you. I was dumb for not wanting to do get into arm’s dealing before. You were right, it was a great idea. We’re doubling our money, and we’re all profiting from it. You know what that means. We can’t stop now. Everything is working perfectly.”
“If you want to keep doing it, find a new mule.”
“Absolutely fucking not,” he snorts. “You found the perfect one. Why would I change that? There is no one else from NSC who will ever do this for us.”
“Billie won’t be moving anything ever again. You heard me.”
I don’t need to convince him. She won’t do it, period. I turn around, ready to leave, when he talks again.
“You’re the one who put her in this situation, Cade. You’re the one who assaulted her and filmed it. Who blackmailed her into working for us. Just because your dick convinced your dead heart that it cares, doesn’t change anything for our crew. That’s your problem, not the Kings’. You don’t want her to do it? I don’t give a shit. I can blackmail her. I can make the bitch do anything I fucking want.”
Two steps, and I’m on him, smiling down as I punch him three times in the face. He grunts, falling back on the sofa, but I grab him by the t-shirt and hit him another two times. Just in case he didn’t get the message. He’s a big man, but I’m too fast for him to do anything.
“That’s what happens when you call her a bitch twice. Wanna try again? See what I do next?”
As he gets his bearings again, I pull my phone out. The fucker just made me realize something.
“You’re right, Sawyer. I blackmailed her.”
I pull up the videos I have of her. I might have shown them to him in the past, but I’m the only one who has them saved. I wave my phone at him before deleting them.
“Gone. What are you gonna blackmail her with now, motherfucker?”
I hit him one last time before I leave. If I don’t go now, I’m going to kill him, and it’ll fall back on me. Plus, I need to be somewhere else.
I park my car next to the ones I would never be able to afford and look around. The Bakers’ residence is not something I could even dream of. I didn’t even know this kind of shit existed. I was here last week to pick up the first half of the cash, but I think this kind of mansion never ceases to impress. The grand, French-Chateau style would look tacky anywhere else, but in Stoneview it just makes them fit in even more. The larger the house, the bigger the privileges.
I slither my way between the parked cars and look inside. If I could steal even one of them, I would probably be set for a few years.
Ringing the doorbell, I tilt my head to the side as I observe the intricate carvings in the thick, double-wooden doors. Who the fuck puts dogs, hunting foxes and deer on their front door? It makes me cringe at how rich they are.
A butler opens the door, his nose up in the air and his eyes looking down at me.
“Welcome to Mister and Misses Gerald Baker’s residence,” he says haughtily enough, where you’d think he’s the one who lives here and I’m the butler.
“I’m working the party,” I tell him as if this whole situation didn’t affect me.
“Right,” he says with a pinched smile.
“I got it, Fred,” a bright female voice calls behind me.
He steps to the side and bows his head at the young girl behind me. She can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen. Are these guys hiring underaged girls? Fuck, that shit isn’t gonna run with me, and I can’t afford to leave this party with a murder charge rather than the money I came for.
“Miss Baker,” Fred says as he disappears further into the hallway. That’s when my eyes take in the huge family portrait behind them.
Gerald is in a suit, sitting down on a throne-like armchair. Behind him, his wife has a hand on his right shoulder, and a young teenage boy is on his left, his arms limp by his side. He has the same look as his dad; light blue eyes and blonde hair so light they could be white. The forced smile on his face makes me twist my mouth. Rich people are so unhappy. On the floor, her legs under her and her arm resting on her father’s lap, is a little girl who looks exactly like the woman in front of me. She’s older now, but she still has that look in her eyes—fear masked by fake sweetness.
“You’re his family?” I can’t help but choke out. Why would she be involved in this in any way, shape, or form?
She shakes her head and gives me a small smile. “I would suggest not talking to anyone if you want to have a half-decent night.”
Her baby blue eyes darken slightly, pity clouding the color. She puts a strand of white-blonde hair behind her ear and jerks her head. “Come. I’ll show you where they want you to get ready.”
We start walking and she tries her best to make me feel comfortable despite it being completely impossible.
