He refills his drink, then mine. I wouldn’t notice his hands shaking softly if not for his gold signet ring clanking against the crystal glasses.
“The order was clear. I wanted him and the slut alive. I had to know what information he gathered, how much he passed to Vaughn, if he had any hard evidence, and what case they were building, but...” A deep, defeated sigh escapes him. “Babyface got impatient.”
Babyface is Rhett’s muscle man. No brain, no hair, no imagination. Dumb as they come, and equally brutal.
“He was tailing them,” Rhett continues. “They were getting away and Babyface said henudgedthe car, but...” He motions at Apollo who passes me a handful of pictures.
The make and model of the silver sedan is unrecognizable. It must’ve rolled down a hill before wrapping itself around atree. The driver’s side is folded inwards, the roof’s collapsed, and windows shattered.
No way anyone could’ve survived that.
“Who was driving?” I ask, peering up at Rhett.
I know the answer. Rhett’s already speaking about Alex in past tense, but...
Hope. Dies. Last.
There’s nothing more I want in this moment than to find and skin the fucker alive. Slowly. So fuckingslowly.
“He was. Dead on impact.”
Lucky bastard.
“Babyface said he checked his pulse,” Rhett continues. “And when he found him dead, he put a few bullets in his head out of sheer fucking frustration.”
He probably realized Alex dying when Rhett specifically asked for him alive would cost Babyface his head.
I hand Apollo the pictures, grateful that he sets a second bottle of bourbon beside my empty glass. He’s the only person in my father’s entourage I respect.
“And the girl?” I ask. “Dead?”
“It was close for a hot minute but she made it. According to Babyface the cops were too close to risk dragging her out of the car or making her into a sieve.”
“Who is she?”
Rhett’s fingernails turn white on the glass. “Now that’s the real kicker. She’s the second mistake I made and the reason Babyface is no longer breathing.” Building on my mounting sense of dread, Rhett lights a cigar.
Apollo drops another picture in my lap, this time of a girl. I guess Alex had a type... young and innocent-looking pretty little things.
“Her name is Hailey.” Rhett blows out a cloud of thick smoke, pinching a cigar between his lips as he takes anotherdrag. “I should’ve checkedwhoshe was before I sent Babyface after Alex. I would’ve sent Apollo had I known. He’s less inclined for theatrics, but it’s too late to list what I could’ve done differently. Thankfully, Hailey’s alive, or we wouldn’t be speaking right now.”
On the spot, I conjure two reasonswhynot. One, the most obvious: he’d be dead, executed for harming whoever this Hailey is. Rhett’s jittery when he talks about her, his eyes dart away and his words don’t come easily.
He knows he’s in deep shit.
The other reason is less obvious, but it’s happened a few times the past eight years: we wouldn’t be talking unless he needed a fucking favor. He wouldn’t tell me about Aalyiah if he didn’t need me to do his dirty work.
The thought hits like lightning, scorching my veins, pushing me to grab Rhett’s wrinkled throat and squeeze hard.
I squander the impulse, dropping my gaze to the picture. I take my time, scrutinizing every detail of Hailey’s face, her deep, steel-blue eyes, strawberry-blond hair, heart-shaped face, and full lips, wondering if she’s another boss’s daughter, sister, or wife. She’s clearly someone whose death would demand Rhett’s, so she must be fucking important, but I’ve never seen her before. I can’t find any resemblance to the big players—those few capable of making Rhett feel uneasy.
“Who is she?” I repeat the question.
“That, my son, is Vaughn’s only daughter.”
6
Hailey
