“I don’t work for free, and I don’t work on consignment.”
“It’ll take me a little while to get it.”
“What’s a little while?” I prompted.
Her gaze snapped to Laikyn like her daughter could help her out of this.
Rhyan appeared, wearing black latex gloves that glistened with fluid—most likely blood—her eyes skimming everyone in the room. “What’s up, boss?”
“Leave it like it is,” I told her, waiting for Monica to come up with an answer.
“I’ll need some time,” Monica said quickly. “But I can get it. I swear it.”
One of my biggest regrets was that I’d trusted Monica Quinn at one point. Not with money, but with her word. She’d gone back on it, but by the time I realized it, it was too late.
So, no, I wasn’t helping for Monica’s benefit. I was doing this for Laikyn. I owed her that much.
As for Monica Quinn, she appeared wealthy from the outside, but I’d learned the woman had been in dire financial straits for a while now. She claimed she didn’t trust anyone else with her money, but no one had ever taught her how to manage it properly. That and Monica Quinn had a gambling problem that had caused her to make some terrible decisions in recent years. Some far worse than others.
“How much is your fee?” Laikyn asked, her soft voice strained.
“One mil. Incremented by the same each time I help.”
Her eyes widened. “You wantthree milliondollars?”
“Yes.” I looked at her mother. “You know the drill, Mon. Three million cash. Now. Or we walk.”
That didn’t shave any of the shock from her face, but Laikyn turned her attention to her mother.
“Three million dollars to…” Laikyn waved a shaky hand toward the ceiling in the direction of the dead bodies.
“It’s cheaper than the high-price legal team she’ll need,” Rhyan pitched in.
I waved a hand low, urging Rhyan to shut the fuck up.
I pinned Monica with a stare. “What’s it gonna be?”
5
Laikyn
I could not believe I was standingin the living room at almost five o’clock in the morning, having a conversation about paying someone to dispose of bodies.
This could not be my life. It couldn’t.
Of course, being slightly warped and twisted, my thoughts had shifted elsewhere momentarily. Namely on the devastatingly handsome man who had saved me from captivity and was now the one planning the route those dead bodies would take.
But Jesus Christ, this man was so fucking hot, it was difficult to remember he was a criminal. I wasn’t merely talking about the dark hair and eyes, the beard covering his jaw. Not about his stature—at least a few inches over six feet, deliciously muscled—or his domineering air. No, it was the combination of it all. Rule was so darkly handsome that the legality of it was highly suspect. Seriously. Someone should check into that because no one was that physically perfect. I would know. I’d been around some of the most perfect people in the world, all enhanced by skilled hands. Not even the best plastic surgeons in Hollywood could make a face as spectacular as this man’s.
Yes, fine. That was me waxing poetic about a man who got rid of dead bodies for a living. Whatever. He’d saved me at one point, so there had to be some good in him. Maybe. Okay, probably not. More than likely, he was earning his one-million-a-pop fee, and pulling me out of a hole in the ground was all in a day’s work.
And we certainly weren’t going to delve too deeply into why I was regarding him in such a manner when there were dead bodies in the house. That was for therapy.
I forced myself to look at my mother while I waited for her to tell him how she was going to come up with the money. It was evident from her expression that she didn’t have three million lying around. But who did?
“What if we go to the bank first thing,” I suggested when they continued to stare at each other.
My mother’s eyes snapped to my face. It was then I realized she’d covered the marks on her face, fixed her mascara, and styled her hair into some purposely disheveled knot on her head. And at some point, she’d put on a clean nightgown, a matching robe, and a fucking pearl necklace.
