The Auction (Club Indulgence Duet, #1)(26)

"Definitely," she replies.

"Great. I'll pull up, and your staff can bring it out to my car," I instruct, not wanting to deal with parking issues.

"No problem. Talk soon," Isabella states and hangs up.

I continue battling traffic on my way downtown. I park in a lot and walk into the music store. It's the best in L.A.

Within seconds of walking in, a middle-aged sales guy approaches me. He pushes his glasses up his nose and says, "Welcome. My name is Kyle. Can I help you, sir?"

"What's the best piano you have?" I question, knowing hardly anything about pianos but convinced Blakely needs one. I've promised her she can work on her music the next year and she'll be better for it when she leaves, so I need to keep my promise.

A look of excitement appears on his face. He leads me through the store and stops in front of a crystal piano. It's completely transparent, and I have to admit, it looks like a masterpiece. I'm sure the price tag is as well.

Kyle states, "This is a Heintzman & Company. They're made in Canada."

"Not a Steinway?" I inquire, throwing out my limited knowledge of pianos.

He shakes his head. "We have Steinways if you want one, but this is a top-of-the-line, rare item."

"What's the price tag?" I ask.

"3.2 million, plus tax. It includes shipping anywhere in California," he states.

I whistle.

He adds, "If you want something a little bit more economical—"

"No, that's not necessary," I state. It really is a beautiful piece. I can imagine it in the beach house, and I can picture Blakely sitting on the matching crystal bench with her fingers dancing over the keys.

Kyle's face lights up. "Fantastic! It's a great choice!"

"Better be for the price tag. When can it be delivered? I'm out in Malibu," I inform him.

He motions for me to follow him, answering, "Let me look at the schedule."

It takes twenty minutes to check out and arrange for next-day delivery. Satisfied with my purchase, and convinced Blakely will love it, I get back in my car and head toward Skid Row.

It's another area of L.A. I hate as much as Compton. It's not quite as bad, but over the years, it's gotten worse and worse. Plus, I'm not comfortable leaving my Porsche there.

I call my contact Chainsaw when I'm outside of his house. Rumor has it he got his nickname because he cut off his father's legs with a chainsaw when he was eight. I don't know if I believe the story, but I wouldn't put it past him. He's one of the meanest sons of bitches I know. We met when I was living in Compton. Over the years, he's done several jobs for me.

"Riggs," he answers.

"I'm outside. You here?" I ask, wondering why I didn't call before I got here.

Because all I can think about is getting home and breaking Blakely.

"Yep," he replies.

I order, "Come meet me outside."

"I see you're still demanding," he teases.

"Not leaving my car outside, man. You know how I am," I claim.

He grunts. "Maybe you should get a beater for the hood."

"Not a chance."

He adds, "I'll be out in a minute."

I wait, watching my mirrors, only semi-confident that no one would try anything on Chainsaw's doorstep. Relief hits me when he finally steps outside.

He opens the passenger door and slides in. We slap hands, and I notice he's added three more tear tattoos under his eyes. It's common with gang members, which I'm sure Chainsaw is. Which gang, I don't know or care, since I don't ever mess with him. Each tear is a sign that he's killed someone and proud of it. I assume the tears represent rival gang members since he's probably killed way more than only three people since I last saw him.

Chainsaw questions, "What's the job?"

It's why I like him. He's straight to the point, like I am. I state, "I have a guy I need you to pick up. He works security for the front door of Cheeks. His name is Snake. Make sure it's him you pick up and no one else."

"Yeah, of course," Chainsaw says, as if I've insulted him.

I ignore his tone, adding, "Take him to my warehouse."

"Will do. Do you know his schedule?"

I shake my head. "No. I'm assuming he'll be there tonight, although I could be wrong."

"I'll call you when it's done," Chainsaw states.

I hand him a yellow envelope of cash. "Call me when he's at the warehouse."

Chainsaw arches his eyebrows.

I continue, "Don't finish him off. I want to make sure I'm there."

His lips form into a sinister smile. "I love it when you like to jump in and play."

I grunt. The warehouse is only for these types of situations. It's not the first time Chainsaw's handled business for me. I normally like to have him do everything so my hands are clean, but Snake messed with Blakely. This is personal.

"I'll text you when he's there," Chainsaw states, then gets out of the car with the yellow envelope.

I peel out of the neighborhood. I'm heading toward Malibu when another call comes in. I hit the answer button on my dashboard screen and say, "Jones, what's going on?"