Beneath These Scars (Beneath #4)(9)

“My daddy’s PI has been on the trail since about five minutes after I got the call, but he’s coming up with nothing. It’s like Jay got picked up at the gates and just disappeared. We’re still trying to get the security footage. How that * got out of going to a halfway house . . . Well, I’m sure we can both figure that out. Money talks.”

Those feelings of safety I was hanging on to? Sliced to pieces by her words. But my determination to stand my ground? Multiplied exponentially.

“Watch your back, and I’ll watch mine,” I said.

“I’ll be watching mine with a loaded weapon,” Valentina vowed. “He comes near me, he dies. Dead men make excellent witnesses. Be safe, Yve. I’ll call if I hear anything at all.”

“You be safe too.”

When we hung up, I considered my options. I would not let Jay control my future; I’d already let him have too much of my past.

I picked up my phone and dialed another number. “Hello, this is Yve Santos. I’d like to make an appointment to speak with one of your small business loan officers.”

Dirty Dog was going to be mine. Jay would never control my life again. I wouldn’t hide from him, and I wouldn’t let him run me out of this town.

And I definitely wouldn’t let him win.





I SLAMMED THE DOOR OF my Aston. It was the only exhibition of frustration I allowed myself. Then I dialed Colson to fill him in on my meeting with Johnson Haines.

“How’d it go?” Colson didn’t bother with a greeting. We didn’t do meaningless small talk.

“He wants too much.” I’d expected big demands because all politicians operated on a quid pro quo system, but Haines’s request wasn’t something I could agree to lightly.

“Like what?”

“An open-ended favor. Anything he needs, whenever he needs it. And a hefty donation to his re-election campaign.”

“We expected the donation.”

“No shit, but I’m not going to be at the beck and call of some pompous politician.”

Haines had been the caricature of a Southern politician, his big gut testing the limits of his suspenders in his navy pin-striped suit and red power tie. All he’d been missing was a big fat cigar.

“He’s a power junkie. Having you on his list of favors would give him a boner. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Colson was right. Haines was the kind of man who liked having others under his thumb, and I could see the power light his expression when he’d explained that in exchange for my marker, he’d have to call in several others. But he was confident he could swing the tide in favor of the bill.

When I didn’t respond, Colson asked, “What’d you say?”

“That I’d think about it.” The money wasn’t the problem; it was being beholden to someone. I didn’t put myself in a position of anything but power, and owing a favor like this jeopardized that. I f*cking hated politics, and this was exactly the reason why.

“He give you a deadline?”

“No one gives me goddamn deadlines, Colson. I make the deadlines.”

“Fair enough. When are you going to decide?”

“Do your job. Find another way. Get creative. I don’t care what it takes, as long as it’s not this.”

“How creative?”

I knew what he was asking. “Feel free to color outside the lines on this one.”

“Done.”

Nothing more needed to be said, so I hung up. All I wanted tonight was a glass of Macallan—and a big fat Cuban cigar, in honor of the state senator. Giant *.

No one, and I do mean no one, pushed me into doing anything I didn’t want to do. I controlled my empire and the world around me to a merciless degree. Handing even a slice of control over to someone else wasn’t in my nature, and to a politician, it would have to be a last resort. But f*ck, I needed this to happen.

My father had said it would never work, said it was a waste of time. But he was wrong. This project would make me more money than I could spend in several lifetimes. Without the political catalyst, it would be an uphill battle. With it, I’d practically be printing money. It might sound like a shady way to do business, but the ends justified the means, in my book.

I just needed to get my ass back into the office to finish up a few things, and then to Lakefront Airport and a jet to Europe—with my cigar and Scotch. It was time to get back to making money.

It was one of the two things I excelled at.





“YOU SURE YOU’RE GOOD WITH giving me a ride?” I asked Levi as I locked the shop’s back door. “What time is your flight again?”

“I’ve got plenty of time. You know I don’t mind.”

We climbed into his Karmann Ghia and it started up more smoothly than my Jetta, which was ironic considering his Volkswagen was about forty years older than my car. I rattled off directions to my house, which was actually within walking distance to work and no big deal, but the box of accessories the UPS man had delivered needed to be sorted, assessed, and priced tonight, and carrying it home would be awkward as hell.

Getting a ride from Levi reminded me of the one I’d gotten from Titan. And the note that had arrived three days ago. Dark, slashing script on paper that even felt expensive, as did everything when it came to that man. It was arrogant and to the point—just like him.