The nausea rolls up hard and fast. Behind him, the wall is splattered with thick red blood. “Oh my God.” Each word is a punch in my gut.
The man clears his throat and smiles. “Now,” he says with a lick of his lips, “let’s get back to my money. Where the fuck is it?”
My father grimaces. His eyes flick nervously between Joel and me. “Joel . . . Joel . . . look. My girls are good girls. You got this all wrong. I . . . maybe . . .”
His feverish gaze locks onto mine. “Lucky, you got some money here, right? Youalwayshave something for me.”
The nausea rises so fast it clamps my throat like a fist. I swallow hard, my breath coming short and sharp. “Dad, what . . .what are you doing? I told you . . . I told you all my money is wrapped up in this bakery.”
My father gives me a pleading smile. “Come on, kid. You were always my lucky charm.”
My mind races. I could ask for an advance at the casino. Go to the kitchen manager, tell him there’s been an emergency. “Maybe . . . maybe I can get an advance on my paycheck.” My voice is tight as I force myself to meet Joel’s eyes. “How much does he owe you?”
“Five hundred.”
I exhale.Okay, five hundred dollars, I can . . .
“Thousand.”
The floor tilts beneath me.
“Five hundredthousand?” My head snaps toward my father. “You think I have that kind of money?”
His expression shifts. Desperate, calculating. “What about your inheritance? From my mother?”
My stomach turns to ice.What the fuck?
“Are youfuckingkidding me right now?” My voice wavers between fury and disbelief. “Her life insurance policy was fortwenty grand, Vick. Fifteen of that went to bury her because you never showed up to deal with it.” I wrestle against Damian’s grip and shove away him, my pulse hammering. “The rest of it went into renting the bakery! Andgiving money to youevery time your bets didn’t pay off!”
Joel lets out a slow chuckle, amused, then pushes the muzzle of the gun against my father’s temple.
A strangled noise catches in my throat. My body shakes with the force of too many emotions. Anger. Terror. Disbelief. But I don’t want him to die. I don’t want anyone else to die.
Joel presses his ugly face in closer. “So, where’s my money, Vick?”
My father stammers, his hands shaking, eyes darting around the room like an animal caught in a trap. “I told you. I have it. I do. I swear.” Slowly, he lifts his trembling hand and nudges the gun away from his head. “Look . . . I told you, Joel, I was just visiting my kid. Lucky’s opening the bakery. I’m just moral support. That’s all. I don’t know why you followed me all the way here.”
Moral support? Is that why he and Taylor were here? Some warped, backhanded attempt at being there for me?
Joel snorts. “Because when I asked you for the money, you ran real quick, Vick.” He taps the gun against my father’s nose with each word, his voice a quiet, deadly whisper. “And when you run, I send the boys.”
Damian is one of Joel’s boys.
Listen, Angel, in all seriousness, I’m not the kind of guy you should want any part of.His warning from last night slithers through my skull, tangling around my throat. My bowels squeeze violently. I might actually throw up.
I steal a quick glance around the room. Taylor’s cheeks are streaked with mascara, her breath coming in short, hiccuping gasps. Damian and the other men look completely at ease, leaning against walls and furniture like they belong here. One of them is even sprawled in my office chair, long legs propped up on my desk, ankles crossed. A crowbar balances lazily on his knees, his attention locked on his phone like this is the most boring night of his life.
My father lets out a nervous chuckle. “W-w-why don’t I just go back home and get it for you?” He flashes a wide, easy smile. “This is all just a big misunderstanding. You’ll see.” Then he looks at me. His eyes gleam with something unsettling before he winks, as if that’s supposed to reassure me. “I have the money at my place,” he adds smoothly. “Lucky, you remember Big Dom’splace, right? I’m staying in his trailer in Paradise Park. It’s real nice.”
For a second, my shoulders loosen. Could this really be a mistake? My father is a very charismatic man when he wants to be, though, very charming when he wants you to believe something. But he couldn’t be lying about this. It’s too much money. Leading them here couldn’t have been his plan. I have to hope so. That’s all I can do. I have to believe what he says.
Then why had he been calling me for money?
The thought needles its way into my mind, prickling at the base of my skull. I push it down. Now isn’t the time. He just needs to take these men far away from me. He can get them their money, and I’ll pretend none of this ever happened. I’ll open the bakery, block his number, and never answer another call from him again.
I force myself to steady my breathing.
The only problem is the dead body.
