Rhett’s almost as single-minded when it comes to revenge. And while I can claim a spot up there, standing arm in arm with those two when it comes to protecting my own—Vaughn...?
Well, he’s a few levels above.
Rhett’s done enough research on the guy since he transferred to Ohio from Florida that we both know Charles Vaughn is not just vengeful. Not just hell-bent on weeding Ohio off crime, not just a clean cop.
He’smethodical.
Patient.
Intelligent.
That, coupled with Vaughn’s past victories and a long list of once-untouchable men now serving life behind bars, is not good news for old Rhett.
The mistakes he made that fateful night will cost him dearly. You can’t harm what a man of Vaughn’s stature holds dearest—his baby girl, his flesh and blood, the only living connection to his late wife—and come out on the other side unscathed unless you have a good, fool-proof plan.
“Don’t tell me you want Vaughn dead,” I say, the idea sounding absurd even to my ears.
Rhett scoffs, offended I think so low of him. “Of course not. Killing him would be like signing my own arrest warrant andshitting all over our unspoken deal with the police. No, Vaughn’s safe as always.”
He’s one of the few clean cops in Columbus. There’s no more than a handful and Vaughn’s the leader: an anomaly in a sea of officers bending the rules for extra cash.
No amount of money can buy Charles Vaughn. Many try, none succeed, they’ve all gone down. He’s locked more men behind bars than I’ve killed and that says something.
I respect his commitment. It’s admirable, truly, but a clean cop is a problematic cop and Vaughn’s been a thorn in my father’s side since last summer.
The unspoken agreement between the mafia and the force is clear for both sides in every state, including Ohio where Rhett pays and the corrupt cops guarantee his freedom. They help by losing evidence, contaminating crime scenes, pulling fake alibis from thin air, and convincing any witnesses that they did not see what they think they saw.
If not for those corrupt cops, Vaughn would’ve gathered enough evidence to shove Rhett in jail by now, but with thick envelopes come perks.
Bought cops keep my father on this side of the fence, but the delicate balance would shift if Rhett decided to put a bullet in Vaughn’s head.
The entire police force, clean cop or not, would turn against him regardless of how much cash he gave out. They’re like NATO. Attack one and you’ll feel the wrath of all.
“Then what?” I ask, resting both elbows on my knees. “You want to kill Hailey?”
“Wrong, again,” Rhett muses. “Luck is partially on our side, Carter. She’s alive, doing better and better as the days go by, but... she woke up with a chunk of her memory missing.” A rare cunning smile graces his lips. “For now, I’m in the clear. She can’t remember anything to do with Alex. But one of the nursestaking care of Hailey works for us; she told us her neurologist thinks she might regain those memories at some point.” He leans forward in his chair, his gaze searing into mine. “That’s where you come in.”
He leans back, cigar smoke circling around him, the stench irritating my nose.
“We have a small window of opportunity, son. Vaughn got the doc to spew a few bullshit stories, scaring young Miss Vaughn into cooperating. He knows I’m behind the car crash and he wants Hailey off the grid, safe, and out of my reach, so he’s transferring her to a private college. Poor bastard still doesn’t understand I have eyes everywhere.”
A deep frown marks my forehead. His intentions make no fucking sense. He doesn’t want her dead; he needs to know what Alex told her, but she doesn’t remember, so... I’m at a loss.
“And?” I urge, tired of guessing. “What’s the plan?”
He reaches into the side table’s drawer, fetching a thick manilla envelope. “This is all we have on Hailey’s fragile state. Her medical records and the neurologist’s notes are your bible.Particularlythe dos and don’ts for amnesia and brain injuries.”
I glance at a page filled with handwriting not even a professional medical transcriptionist could decipher before whipping my head up. “Dos and don’ts? Are you suggesting—”
“Do the don’ts,” Rhett confirms. “She’ll be safer if she never remembers what happened. Her brain needs time to heal, Carter. Every trauma will set her progress back and keep those memories as dead as Alex.”
My stomach churns. Hurting women is not my thing. The mere thought makes me fucking sick after I saw my mother’s bruises and watched the life leaving her body when Francis beat her up so bad her ears bled.
I swallow hard, pushing the memories aside.
“Do the don’ts,” I echo, mulling over the idea.
I’ve murdered people with my own two hands, watched them bleed, scream, shit their fucking pants from the pain and never batted an eye. Now, hurting a woman...fuck.
