The Job (Auctioned) by Cara Dee (highly illogical behavior txt) 📕

“I had a feeling you’d find more money,” he replied. “I’m a little surprised you told me about it…”

What the fuck? If he hadn’t been smirking to show he was kidding—partly, anyway—I would’ve been offended.

“I’m ignoring that, you dick.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Why did you think we were gonna find more?”

“Because with human trafficking comes a buyer or several,” he responded coolly. “We knew there’d been…transactions.”

I flinched. I didn’t feel bad whatsoever for using money from criminals, but I hoped said criminals were buried in the desert.

“Can I ask?” I wondered.

No, I couldn’t.

He shook his head. “All you need to know is I’m satisfied with the outcome, and I don’t settle very easily.”

That did bring me comfort. It was interesting, though, that we hadn’t heard anything on the news yet.

“So what about the money?” he asked. “It’s yours.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” I replied bluntly. “I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t come here for entirely selfless reasons, but I still saw those photos, Darius. I see their faces every fucking night in my sleep. And knowing y’all were out here, hopefully putting those sick sons’a bitches away, without getting a dime for it…? It doesn’t sit well with me.”

He said nothing in response; he just looked at me, waiting me out, and it caused more memories to rush back. This was his shtick. The quieter he was, the more others talked. Highly frustrating, highly effective.

“I’m willing to let go of 70% of what’s in these bags,” I went on. I got a reaction to that. His brows hiked up a bit. He hadn’t seen that coming. “You didn’t work alone—share it with everyone who helped you. Even if you wanna wash your hands of everything, not everyone has gold buried on their property like you do.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oh, sure he didn’t. I wasn’t born yesterday. I’d seen pictures of his new place up in the woods. More than that, I’d grown up with him. He probably didn’t have a savings account, but I’d bet my bottom dollar one would find themselves staring into the barrel of his shotgun if they turned the wrong stone in his yard. Or looked under the mattress.

He moved forward before I could ignore another retort. “You said you weren’t here for entirely selfless reasons.”

I inclined my head and shifted in my seat. “I need a favor.”

“I’m listening.”

Here goes.

I took a breath and hoped for the best. “You take 70% of that money, and you hire me at your restaurant. Make up a position. Maybe I’ll be a scout of some sort—someone who keeps you updated on the latest culinary trends from Vegas. Fuck if I know. And you use my share—my $660,000—to pay me a hundred grand a year until the money runs out.”

I could practically see the hamster wheel spinning.

It was a big favor, and I’d asked him for a reason. No one was better at finding loopholes and telling the IRS to fuck off. It was nobody’s business how much money he had, and there were likely no records of his savings. Which made him a good candidate. It wasn’t illegal to pump private funds into a business.

“You wanna look good on paper with a taxed income,” he stated.

I knew he’d get it.

I nodded.

“Up your credit score, be able to get loans,” he continued.

That was exactly it.

“Yes.”

He lit up another smoke with his old one. “I’d do that without the extra money, kid.”

Did that mean…? Could I breathe out? Was he agreeing?

“What’s Boone sayin’ about all this?” he asked.

“Well, unlike me, he has a profession,” I answered. “Any auto shop would be lucky to have him. He’s on board with the idea and thinks it’s smarter you hire me since he can get a job easier.” The fucker just had to try.

The reason I’d had more gigs than Boone the past four years was because he didn’t like working alone—and he lacked the confidence to be in charge. That’d always been our dynamic. I took the wheel; he fixed the car. So to speak. Then we’d split the money.

Darius lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. “I don’t see any problems. We’ll get the paperwork started as soon as I get home.”

Oh, fuck yeah!

A breath of relief gusted out of me, and I dragged a hand over my face.

“I’m almost insulted that you look so relieved,” he chuckled. “Since when have we not helped one another out in this family, Casey?”

“I know, but—I don’t know. This is different.” Holy shit, I couldn’t wait to tell Boone. “Thank you, Darius. Seriously.”

He inclined his head. “Anytime. I just have a small condition.”

“Name it.”

“Buy that house for your family and make sure there’s AC in the Airstream,” he said. “Gray and I will need a guest room when we visit.”

I grinned. “Consider it done.”

Epilogue

348 Pop-Tarts later

Okay, so how long was I gonna stand here and hold this?

I wiped my forehead and eyed the pool. Ace had Emma over, and the two were taking full advantage of the two big inflatable pool chairs with cupholders. They were the biggest we could find, one hot pink for me, one neon green for Boone. We would’ve bought a third, but then there wouldn’t be any room left to swim and actually see the water.

“Girls, do you need more sunscreen?” I asked.

Ace sighed dramatically—several years too early for obnoxious preteen behavior. “We’re already pasty white with the stuff.”

All right, all right.

I squinted for the sun and peered up at the aluminum tent pole I was holding in place. I didn’t know what else to call it. Boone was in charge of handyman shit, and he’d bought it. Several of them, actually. This was the last one.

I liked the house all right. It wasn’t beige. It was terra-cotta. And stucco, of course. A bit cookie-cutter, with all the houses on our street similar, but it didn’t bother me.