The Auction (Club Indulgence Duet, #1)(8)

She leers at me another moment, then steps outside. I wait until she's next to her car, then close the door.

For over two hours, I pace my house. From time to time, I reread her summary and revisit the numbers on the spreadsheets, still unable to believe Hugh would do this.

I've seen him do some unscrupulous things, but I never thought he'd screw me.

I need to call the FBI.

My reputation will never recover. I'll be associated with his embezzlement.

The SEC will have a field day.

I can't notify them.

But I can't let him get away with this.

Most people would turn the evidence over to the FBI and SEC, let Hugh rot in jail, and try to recover from the fallout.

Not me.

The longer I stew over it, the clearer it becomes. I grow more and more determined to make his life ten times worse than if the FBI and SEC went after him.

Hugh doesn't deserve a white-collar penitentiary.

Instead, I vow to destroy him, take anything close to his heart, and burn it to the ground until there's nothing left except ashes.

But how?

I spend another hour pacing, my mind spinning with questions about how to take him down. Then it hits me.

I pick up my phone and type in Jones. My time in Compton wasn't a total waste. Only a few people I know got out. Jones is one of them. And over the years, he's come in handy for some of my top-secret jobs. Plus, Hugh has never met him.

Something told me not to disclose my relationship with Jones to Hugh. I assumed it was because he was from my neighborhood, and I know how Hugh looks down on anyone not raised in Beverly Hills or a similar suburb. I was the exception. However, maybe it wasn't about that. Perhaps I kept Jones a secret because I knew deep down not to fully trust my partner.

Yet I did.

Did I?

I push the disturbing questions to the back of my mind and hit the dial button.

Jones answers, "It's been a long time, Riggs."

I run my hand through my hair, studying the waves, replying, "Indeed."

He continues, "I assume you have a job for me?"

He's always straight to the point. It's another reason I respect him. "Yes. It's extremely sensitive. Can you meet in the next hour?"

"I'm in Compton," he informs me.

I groan inside. One place I hate returning to is the old neighborhood. Jones may have survived, but he can't seem to leave it in the past. He owns an entire block, has fixed up the houses, and often uses one to do his work.

I don't get it. He could go anywhere. The guy's a millionaire and works off his laptop. Whenever I've asked him about it, he claims he likes to stay true to his roots.

I inquire, "Is your garage free? I'm not parking on the street."

He chuckles. "Maybe you should get an average car."

"Maybe you should do business somewhere else," I retort.

He snorts. "Still driving a Porsche?"

"Is there any better car?" I reply.

"That's debatable," he answers.

"Not to me. You got an open space or what?"

"Yeah. Come on over. I'll lock it up nice and tight," he states.

"On my way." I hang up and grab my keys. I go into the garage, slide into my Porsche, and make the trip to my old neighborhood.

My chest tightens as it always does whenever I come here. A trip down memory lane is the last thing I'm ever interested in, but desperate times call for desperate measures. The only way to take Hugh down is to access his offshore accounts and the funds inside them. Once I have that, the rest is going to be fun.

Now that I know what he's done, I look forward to watching his demise. It's something I never contemplated before his betrayal.

Hugh should have known not to fuck with me. One thing I don't do is forgive and forget. Revenge isn't something new to me. He's seen the extent I'll go to right a wrong done to me. He's witnessed me take others down before. It's why I don't understand why he'd even attempt this. He has to know I'd find out and come after him.

He's too arrogant.

I deal with the pileup on the expressway, inching through traffic, with my thoughts racing. By the time I get to Compton, my desire for revenge grips me tighter than ever before.

I reverse into the driveway and text Jones.

Me: I'm here.





The cedar door, which looks too upscale for Compton except for this block Jones fixed up, opens. He takes a final drag of his cigarette, then tosses it on the ground. He grinds it out with his sneaker.

I back up the Porsche until I'm inside, get out, and he closes the garage. He slaps my back, then opens the entrance. "You made good time."

I step into the house and grunt. "It's a mess out there like always."

He leads us into the biggest room. It's dark, aside from the green glow from the dozens of monitors secured on one wall. Blackout shades cover the window, and Jones rolls a second chair next to his.

I sit and say, "I need you to hack into Hugh Gallow's network."

Shock fills his expression, then he mutters, "Always knew you shouldn't trust that rich bastard. What's he done?"

If I hadn't just discovered my partner's been fucking me, I would have called him out for his stereotyping and stuck up for Hugh. Jones is a self-made millionaire, but he's never trusted anyone who came from money.