A cold chill sweeps over me, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.
Fuck.
That’s the last thing Rhett needs.
As if Charles Vaughn, the shining star of Columbus’s police force, wasn’t hell-bent on putting my father behind bars before; as if he needed another reason to use all means necessary, Rhett went and almost killed his fucking daughter.
Technically it was Babyface, but that dead idiot took his orders directly from Rhett, even if he didn’t fulfill them well.
Vaughn won’t care who nudged the sedan. He won’t care that the man responsible for his daughter’s near-death experience paid the highest price.
He’ll only care that the order came from Rhett Willard, the weed he wants to hack.
“And,” Rhett continues in a humorless tone. “I have reasons to believe Hailey knows whatever information Alex gleaned from working Aalyiah.”
That’s… a problem. A big fucking problem.
There are wrathful men walking this earth. Dante Carrow is my personal hero in that department, the story of how eight years ago he mind-fucked the man who oversaw a bounty on Layla—Dante’s wife—will forever remain my favorite moment of vengeance in criminal history.
Rhett’s almost as single-minded when it comes to revenge. And while I can claim a spot up there, standing arm in arm with those two when it comes to protecting my own—Vaughn…?
Well, he’s a few levels above.
Rhett’s done enough research on the guy since he transferred to Ohio from Florida that we both know Charles Vaughn is not just vengeful. Not just hell-bent on weeding Ohio off crime, not just a clean cop.
He’s methodical.
Patient.
Intelligent.
That, coupled with Vaughn’s past victories and a long list of once-untouchable men now serving life behind bars, is not good news for old Rhett.
The mistakes he made that fateful night will cost him dearly. You can’t harm what a man of Vaughn’s stature holds dearest—his baby girl, his flesh and blood, the only living connection to his late wife—and come out on the other side unscathed unless you have a good, fool-proof plan.
“Don’t tell me you want Vaughn dead,” I say, the idea sounding absurd even to my ears.
Rhett scoffs, offended I think so low of him. “Of course not. Killing him would be like signing my own arrest warrant and shitting all over our unspoken deal with the police. No, Vaughn’s safe as always.”
He’s one of the few clean cops in Columbus. There’s no more than a handful and Vaughn’s the leader: an anomaly in a sea of officers bending the rules for extra cash.
No amount of money can buy Charles Vaughn. Many try, none succeed, they’ve all gone down. He’s locked more men behind bars than I’ve killed and that says something.
I respect his commitment. It’s admirable, truly, but a clean cop is a problematic cop and Vaughn’s been a thorn in my father’s side since last summer.
The unspoken agreement between the mafia and the force is clear for both sides in every state, including Ohio where Rhett pays and the corrupt cops guarantee his freedom. They help by losing evidence, contaminating crime scenes, pulling fake alibis from thin air, and convincing any witnesses that they did not see what they think they saw.
If not for those corrupt cops, Vaughn would’ve gathered enough evidence to shove Rhett in jail by now, but with thick envelopes come perks.
Bought cops keep my father on this side of the fence, but the delicate balance would shift if Rhett decided to put a bullet in Vaughn’s head.
The entire police force, clean cop or not, would turn against him regardless of how much cash he gave out. They’re like NATO. Attack one and you’ll feel the wrath of all.
“Then what?” I ask, resting both elbows on my knees. “You want to kill Hailey?”
“Wrong, again,” Rhett muses. “Luck is partially on our side, Carter. She’s alive, doing better and better as the days go by, but… she woke up with a chunk of her memory missing.” A rare cunning smile graces his lips. “For now, I’m in the clear. She can’t remember anything to do with Alex. But one of the nurses taking care of Hailey works for us; she told us her neurologist thinks she might regain those memories at some point.” He leans forward in his chair, his gaze searing into mine. “That’s where you come in.”
He leans back, cigar smoke circling around him, the stench irritating my nose.
“We have a small window of opportunity, son. Vaughn got the doc to spew a few bullshit stories, scaring young Miss Vaughn into cooperating. He knows I’m behind the car crash and he wants Hailey off the grid, safe, and out of my reach, so he’s transferring her to a private college. Poor bastard still doesn’t understand I have eyes everywhere.”
A deep frown marks my forehead. His intentions make no fucking sense. He doesn’t want her dead; he needs to know what Alex told her, but she doesn’t remember, so… I’m at a loss.
“And?” I urge, tired of guessing. “What’s the plan?”
He reaches into the side table’s drawer, fetching a thick manilla envelope. “This is all we have on Hailey’s fragile state. Her medical records and the neurologist’s notes are your bible. Particularly the dos and don’ts for amnesia and brain injuries.”
I glance at a page filled with handwriting not even a professional medical transcriptionist could decipher before whipping my head up. “Dos and don’ts? Are you suggesting—”
“Do the don’ts,” Rhett confirms. “She’ll be safer if she never remembers what happened. Her brain needs time to heal, Carter. Every trauma will set her progress back and keep those memories as dead as Alex.”
My stomach churns. Hurting women is not my thing. The mere thought makes me fucking sick after I saw my mother’s bruises and watched the life leaving her body when Francis beat her up so bad her ears bled.
I swallow hard, pushing the memories aside.
“Do the don’ts,” I echo, mulling over the idea.
I’ve murdered people with my own two hands, watched them bleed, scream, shit their fucking pants from the pain and never batted an eye. Now, hurting a woman… fuck.
In any other circumstances this task would be beyond my comfort zone of cruelty, but Hailey’s responsible for Aalyiah’s death. If there’s a sin that’d make hurting a woman easy on my conscience, this is it.
“Yes,” Rhett confirms. “You need to be smart about it. I won’t mind if she dies prematurely so long as it looks like an accident. I’m sure Vaughn will be monitoring Hailey. If you scare her too much, if it’s too obvious you’re trying to turn her brain into mush, she’ll tell her father. If she does, he’ll pull up your whole life history, and he will connect the dots. Don’t underestimate him.”
“What if it doesn’t work? What if she starts remembering?”
“Then you need to put yourself in a position of trust.”
“Trust,” I scoff, testing the word. He’s losing touch if he thinks this is plausible. “You expect me to try and break her, and at the same time get close enough that she’ll trust me when it all goes wrong? You’re mad.” I drop the envelope on the floor, scattering its contents. “I’m twenty-six, for Christ’s sake. Not exactly college material anymore, Rhett.”
He chuckles, waving a dismissive hand. “You won’t be the only twenty-six-year-old there.” Another envelope lands in my lap. “Bios of your fellow students. Mostly spoilt rich kids and army brats.”
I pull the thick file open, landing on a picture of some guy, his personal details listed on the right.
“This isn’t your average college, Carter. It’s a playground for the rich and insufferable. Under the pretense of higher education, they do whatever they fuck they want, blowing through their trust funds.”
I don’t like where this is going. I skipped school in favor of working for Rhett and Dante. I was never the academic type. Not stupid by any measure, just too damn greedy for the day jobs college education sets you up for.
Dante was a much smaller fish back when Rhett first sent me to Chicago. A fish with the love of his life in peril. He bargained for the safety of his now-wife with anyone who’d agree. My father saw an opportunity. He agreed to hold off his men if Dante would take me off the grid and under his wing.
There was too much heat surrounding Rhett back then—even more now—and he needed me off the radar.
At least that’s the official story, but knowing Rhett Willard, he simply wanted his illegitimate son to earn his way in this world without help or the Willard surname making things easy.
No special treatment.
I didn’t enjoy the notion as an eighteen-year-old, but I appreciate it now. I earned my place. Proved my worth. When the option surfaced to join my father’s ranks two years ago, I considered it only because of Aalyiah.
Working with Rhett was never high on my list. I respect Dante. He has values. A code of honor. A moral compass I admire.
Rhett has none of those things.
And Aalyiah knew that.
She hated the man our father became. She despised his dealings, blackmail, and pointless murders. She didn’t want that for me and told me to stay in Chicago.
I listened. I always fucking listened to her. Maybe if I hadn’t, maybe if I moved when I had the chance, she’d still be alive.
She deserved better from me. Her memory deserves better.
“Fine,” I grind out, tossing the file aside. “I’ll do it.”
But not because the ground’s slipping from beneath Rhett’s feet. I’ll do it because Hailey, knowingly or not, had a hand in my sister’s suicide.
She’s responsible.
And she will be held accountable.
