Chapter Forty

Ben

I stare at the warehouse for a timeless moment, at the shadows cast over it by the afternoon sun. I draw in a breath.

I have to deal with this and put it behind me once and for all.

Especially if I want to make something work with Tessa.

I walk in, shoulders back, head held high. I’m not nervous so much as uneasy. He’s got nothing except a tooth, which could belong to anyone.

“Right on time.” Dirk gives me a snakelike smile.

I look around. “We secure here?”

“Sure.”

Which means we’re not. He doesn’t have the resources to make sure we’re secure. Good thing I don’t have any tech on me. I case the small warehouse—and it is small, reminiscent of the warehouse where this shit took place fifteen years ago. Is this another black market warehouse?

“Where’d you find this place?” I ask.

“Does that matter?”

“Sure as hell matters to me. I don’t like being forced into a corner.”

“So you admit I’ve got you?”

“I admit nothing.” I look him up and down, from the Yankees hat to the scuffed-up work boots on his feet. “You’re probably wired. Or you’re trying to record me on your phone. None of it will work, because none of it is admissible in court.”

“Maybe I’m working for the cops.”

“You think I didn’t already check that out?” I scoff. “What I don’t understand, Dirk, is why you’re pushing this. You stand to lose a lot more than I do.”

“There are worse things than spending the rest of your life behind bars. Free food, shelter, clothing for life.”

I regard his gold bracelet. “You don’t look like you’re doing so poorly.”

“Only because I’m good at stealing.” He smirks. “Also, if I’m in prison, I don’t have to support those bitches who had my kids.”

“Nice. You screw them and then don’t want to deal with the consequences. You ever hear of a condom, dumbass?”

“Fuck off.”

“I’d be happy to.” I turn to leave.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Is he armed? Probably. He told me to come unarmed. Which I didn’t, of course.

I look him straight in the eye. “Did you ever think of putting all that pent-up energy to use doing something good instead of something criminal?”

“That ship sailed a long time ago, Black. For both of us.”

I shake my head, stepping toward him. “That’s where you’re wrong. That ship didn’t sail. You fucking killed a man, Dirk. You. Not me. Not Carlos. Not Jerry. Maybe we’re accessories, but the actual murder? That’s on you.”

“Don’t forget whose idea the whole thing was in the first place,” he reminds me.

As if I could. But I don’t say this. Instead—

“I haven’t forgotten. It was your idea.”

“The fuck are you talking about, Black? I didn’t even know about that warehouse.”

“And I did?”

I’m playing a dangerous game, and I know it. Indeed, it was my idea to rob the warehouse, only because I knew there was a stash of cash there. Someone else apparently knew as well and got there first.

To his detriment. The poor fucker got killed by Dirk. Got his teeth yanked out by Jerry.

Wrapped up in my tarp.

After we stashed the body in the Boston Bay, I went back to the warehouse early in the morning and I scrubbed away every drop of blood I could find.

I was ready to put my share of the money back, but ultimately I decided not to. Why the hell should Jerry, Carlos, and Dirk get paid out and not me?

Dirk knows none of this. After that night, I told those three never to speak to me again.

They never did.

“It was self-defense,” Dirk says.

“He didn’t pull a gun on you.”

“Maybe he did.”

“You’re a fucking moron, Dirk. Don’t pull that shit with me. I know the truth. It was all your idea, and you needed me to come because I had a truck.”

He curls his hands into fists. “Fuck you, Black. It was my idea to hold up the convenience store. The warehouse was your idea.”

I shake my head. “You’re wrong. Why are you lying?”

“Why are you lying?”

Easy. I’m lying because Carlos is in Mexico and Jerry’s in prison, so the only people who can corroborate Dirk’s story are a convict and a guy who’s not in the country.

I’m using my brain, which is what I should have done fifteen years ago. But I was being a dickhead back then. A fucking spoiled little rebel who didn’t want to pull his share of the weight in the household.

I was being a prick and a stupid ass. If I could take it all back, I would.

But I can’t. So I’ve got to get Dirk the hell off my back. Problem is? Sounds like he doesn’t have anything to lose.

He doesn’t mind going to prison and dragging me down with him.

I have great attorneys. There’s no body. There’s the tooth around Dirk’s neck, but I’ve got people who can make quick work of that.

No, it’s only my word against Dirk’s. And without a body, no charges will be filed against either one of us.

He doesn’t seem to know that, however. It’s almost like he wants to go to prison.

I’m the one with something to lose. I’m Ben Black, and there will be publicity I sure as hell don’t want.

Worse? Braden and my father will never forgive me.

Can the business survive it? Maybe. We have enough of a fortune to last more than ten lifetimes, but shit like this is what brings companies down.

So I have to deal with this myself, and it ends here and now.

“You want to go to the cops? You want to go to my brother, my father? Go for it, Dirk. I don’t fucking care.”

“Are you forgetting about this?” He pulls the tooth out from his collar again.

“Who gives a rat’s ass? It’s been fifteen years. No one will even know where to start looking for the person that belongs to.”

“What if I know where the other twenty-seven are?” he asks.

I blink. “You don’t.”

“Maybe I do.”

He’s lying again, because I’m the one who took care of the fucking teeth. No way was I going to trust any of those three to do it. Each day, I put one in the trash and took it to the dump.

Those teeth are scattered far and wide in landfills at this point.

But I can’t say that. I’m in the middle of trying to convince him that this was all his idea.

“You know what, then? Like I said, go for it. I’m sick and tired of these fucking games, Dirk. We’re thirty-two years old now, and I’ve got a damned good life. The fact that you screwed yours up is not my problem.”

“I think it is.” He plays with the tooth around his neck. “I want ten million, Black. Unmarked bills, and I promise you’ll never hear from me again.”

“You made that promise to me once three months ago, yet here you are.”

“Yeah? You didn’t pay up then.”

“You didn’t send me anything like you said you would. Clearly you thought better of blackmailing me then. So what the hell are you doing now?” I drop my gaze to his neck. “If you had that tooth three months ago, you would have rubbed my nose in it then.”

He shrugs. “Turns out I didn’t need the money as bad as I thought I did. I figured it was better to wait, and I’m glad I did, because now you’ve got something that my brother and I both want.”

Rage curls at the back of my neck. “Don’t you fucking dare go near her.”

“Seems I can kill two birds with one stone. I can get that tall, sweet thing, let my brother have his way with her, and then give her to Garrett Ramirez to dispose of.”

My hands clench into fists as full-fledged rage sweeps through me, landing at the back of my neck. “Don’t you fucking dare go near her.”

“She’s alone right now. At her place, isn’t she?”

Why did I leave Tessa alone there? I called to get security on her, but—

I stalk forward, ready to pummel the smirk of his ugly face. “If you harm one fucking hair on her head, I’ll—”

He raises his hand. “Shut the fuck up, Black. Ten million, and this all goes away.”

“You’re not getting a fucking penny from me.”

“Then I guess I have to go to Daddy and big brother.”

I meet his gaze, my own darting daggers at him. “You know what? Fucking go for it. Do whatever you want. They’ll be angry, yeah. But in the end, blood is thicker than water, and you’ll get what’s coming to you.” I grab him by the shirt, yank the chain off his neck, and throw him to the concrete floor of the warehouse.

“You give that back, you son of a bitch.” He rises, rubbing his behind.

I dangle it right out of his reach. “I didn’t want to do this, but I think I’ll have to invoke the age-old finders-keepers rule.”

“You didn’t find it. You took it.”

“Potato po-tah-to,” I say. “I’ve got better things to do now. Do not contact me again.”