Cadillac Payback: Rising Tide by AJ Elmore (grave mercy .TXT) 📗

coattails of the wealthy. I worked at country clubs, marinas, places that were saturated by retirement communities and summer homes. I could fake it well enough, and eventually I caught the eye of the woman who quickly became my entire world.

I worked under her father, eventually accepted, but still he never really thought I was good enough for his princess. I had to work for my status, after all, and that still stained my collar blue in his eyes.

My jaw grinds painfully, and I say, “I've never been a fucking puppy. You just treated me like your dog.”

She smiles, all fake innocence and sticky sap. She doesn't need to say anything, she just lets the truth linger. She retrieves her sunglasses, slides them into place, and says, “Enjoy the rest of your day off. We're going back to Destin tomorrow. We'll get you cleaned up once we're back, get you into a proper wardrobe, and discuss our first order of business.”

“And if I run?”

She makes a tsk and a small laugh.

“There are eyes everywhere, Isaiah. You know better,” she says.

“Get the fuck off my porch,” I answer.

My porch, this tiny scrap of solitude that's all I have left in the world.

Her shoes dangle in her fingers as she steps into the sand. She's so confident to leave her back to me, and she doesn't look back as she leaves. As I watch her go, I'm glad my cooler is inside now. If it were close, I might just throw away my life to watch blood blossom on her stupid dress.

Long after she's gone, I sink back into my chair, and tip my bottle up. It's funny how this shit goes. You leave one life, scrape and scrounge to build another, then when you leave that life, the first catches up to bite you on the ass.

This is a fine cluster fuck, a grand catch twenty-two that comes down to death or slavery. I almost wish I were brave enough to put my gun in my mouth. That would be a nice “fuck you” to all of them. But that's not my style.

I'm the best I know at the art of escape. But the truth is, from where I'm sitting, I can't see one.

Chapter 3 Losing Deals

Maria

“Yes, it's a problem. Negotiations are closed,” I spit into my mobile.

The voice on the other end hesitates. I'm standing in a closet, shoving through the clothes hanging in front of me. This is a back-up wardrobe, clothes left at one of the several apartments we operate out of. I don't have much to work with, but I can't stand the dress pants, or the button-up shirt for another meeting. Especially not a meeting with Noah.

Black shorts and a silky red top will have to do. The outfit could be worn to a club, except I don't go to clubs. I glare down at the offending shirt. It doesn't look familiar at all. And I almost miss the words that come across the phone line.

“Then you tell him he can run dry until he changes his mind. This is not a debate,” I answer, my fingers tightening around the slinky fabric.

I hang up without another word. The shirt hits the floor as a quiet fury stirs in my gut. I don't have time for this shit.

I yank a plain v-neck t-shirt in gray off its hanger with shaky fingers. It's a good thing I'm going to the restaurant. I'm not really sure when I ate last. I'm pretty sure it wasn't today.

My phone chimes with a text. This is a business only line, so I can damn well guess it's somebody else who needs my attention. I change into the shorts, then swipe across the screen of my phone to bring it to life. I thumb open the message, and start working the buttons of my shirt loose with my other hand.

“Goddammit!”

We lost a sale. The last shipment was a bit worse for wear when it arrived. I know it's not worth the agreed price, but that price wasn't set by me. I can't just change shit up after I take the deal to the top – via Abuela, of course. I'm not ranked enough for that. So now we're losing deals. I'm losing deals.

That's when I hear the front door open. I freeze for a moment, listening. I hear keys jingling, and a giggle. I chuck my phone at the bed and retrieve the S & W .40 from the coverlet. I creep into the hall, my bare feet making no sound on the tile floor. There shouldn't be any giggling bitches here. This base is for business.

I take aim as I round the corner. There's a flurry of movement and a scream.

“Shit!”

It's Joshua, and his hands are in the air instantly.

“What the fuck!” the female screeches.

For a moment, I just hold my aim on her. Just a moment. Then I drop it, and nail Josh with an expectant glare.

His hair is pulled back in a high knot, like it usually is these days, and there's stubble on his chin. He's wearing a white t-shirt. I haven't seen him in three days. His hands are still high, but his gaze slides down to the open button-up, over my nude lace bra and little black shorts, all the way to my brother's gun.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” I ask, and it sounds like I've been gargling gravel.

“We were just stopping by, I have to grab a phone charger I left,” he says quickly, but his eyes are still on the Smith and Wesson.

“Excuse me!” the bitch says with a lot of whine and a little attitude. “Who the fuck is she? You said you were single!”

“Shut up, Carrie!” Josh snaps.

The fuse is burning. I've been working since the ass-crack of dawn, and her voice is