26. Miles
Miles
“You gotta be kidding me,” I muttered.
“No, that’s what we’re looking at,” Carlus said, his flashlight beam highlighting the warped seam along the ceiling joint, the beam catching dust motes dancing in the air.
Even though I’d struggled the last few years with what to do with Whitmore Ventures, I did love getting my hands dirty. Getting into a place, building, shaping it till it was something someone else would call home for years to come.
I leaned the ladder against the wall.
“Easy, man, that looks like it’s gonna come down.”
“I got it.”
I climbed up and ripped a piece off. The plaster crumbled with a soft sigh, releasing a cloud of fine white dust that looked like powdered sugar.
Then, with a groaning crack, the whole ceiling gave way.
A torrent of cold sludge, gray muck, and broken drywall slammed into me, the smell of dust and decay thick in the air.
I hit the floor, coughing violently, dust and memory filling my mouth.
Serena.
The sound she made when I told her to look at me. The way her body clenched around me like she couldn’t help it. How she whispered she hated me right before coming so hard she damn near blacked out.
That face—eyes glassy, lips parted, hands grabbing at anything she could find to anchor herself. That was mine. That was real .
I’d seen her wrecked. And she let me see her like that.
No armor. No claws.
Just her.
And now here I was, face-down in drywall and rot, thinking about the woman who’s both the sharpest weapon I’ve ever held and the only softness I’ve ever really wanted.
She’d never admit it, but something shifted between us last night.
And I felt it.
“Goddamn!”
Carlus cursed. “You good?”
“Peachy,” I spat, the word tasting like ash as I pushed plaster dust from my braids.
I wasn’t stupid enough to believe she trusted me again. But maybe…maybe for the first time in a long time, she didn’t hate me either.
Maybe she needed me.
And fuck—maybe I needed her too.
“Mr. Whitmore.” I turned to see one of our workers enter the living room, nervously glancing over his shoulder. “There’s a guy here for you. Not sure how he got past the gate.”
I frowned. “Send him away?—”
“Hmm, didn’t think you got your hands dirty here, son,” Victor said as he entered the living room.
I didn’t say anything at first. Couldn’t. The shame hit me in two waves—first, that Victor was here, now, in front of my people. Second, that he’d found me like this.
“What are you doing here?”
He looked around the room like he was taking inventory. “Nice spot. A little busted up, but I see the potential.”
“Do you know who this man is?” Carlus asked.
Victor gave a lazy grin. “Just a man with an opportunity.” Victor offered a seemingly innocent smile, and I glared at him as Carlus did the same. “I don’t want to cause any problems for you, Miles.”
“Let’s talk outside. Carlus, you mind fixing this?” I pointed to the ceiling. I didn’t wait for his response, as I motioned for Victor to follow me. I led him through the back and onto the patio, away from the main area people were working.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Some new developments have happened,” Victor said, and I didn’t even notice the black bag he had in his other hand that he tossed on the floor. “I can’t keep the money. It has to go to you.”
Victor bent to unzip the bag. “Five million. In cash.”
My stomach dropped. “Wait. Wait, wait?—”
Victor reached into the bag again—not for a gun, but something that felt just as dangerous. A folder. Slim, manila, with a thick gold paperclip across the top.
He offered it.
“I can’t take it.”
This wasn’t part of the plan. I was supposed to drag this out—nod, smile, let him talk himself into a corner. Wait for Victor to get too comfortable, say something that could burn him. Then bam . Flip the script. Use it.
But if he was already moving money, already trying to get it off his hands, then I was too late.
“A dummy company,” he said. “LLC. Looks like landscaping. Clean books, clean payroll, even a little website in case someone gets curious at your company. You slip it into your subcontractor list. You pay it out, no questions. But let me tell you when to pay me.”
I stared at the folder like it might catch fire in my hands.
“I told you I’m merging. Anything new on the books?—”
“I heard you.” His voice stayed soft, but there was steel behind it now. “And I understood. But here’s the thing, Miles. You already took money from me years ago. You remember that?”
I swallowed hard, eyes narrowing, but I held his stare. That’s when I saw his hand—slow, unbothered—slip inside his jacket. This time, he pulled out a gun.
Then, with a deliberate movement, he brought the gun down, pressing the cold, hard barrel right into my stomach.
“It was me that saved you. When nobody gave a damn. ”
“Giving me money doesn’t constitute you forcing me to commit a crime,” I said, not looking away even when he pressed the gun harder.
“You owe me this favor, Miles,” he snapped. His voice cracked. “I don’t have anyone else. You hear me? No one.”
I shook my head, eyes dropping to the dirty duffel bag at our feet.
“Some people think I’m a very bad man. I can show you why some people fear me. If you’re caught with me? Hmm, I don’t think people here will like that. Or that wife of yours?”
I stiffened.
“It would be a shame if something happened in the parking lot. Dark nights, bad lighting. A mugging gone wrong. Or maybe her car goes off one of these pretty little cliffs Lush is so proud of. Terrible accident.”
“You fucking touch her, and you’ll have much worse problems on your hands,” I growled at him.
“Or maybe someone leaks some emails. Hacks her laptop. Finds something private. Some explicit photos. Or—hell—fabricates them. Who do you think the media will blame first? Her? Or the husband with dirty money on his hands?”
I clenched my jaw. My fists. Everything.
“You’re a smart man, Miles. I don’t need to spoon-feed you what I’m selling here.” He gestured to the bag at my feet, the folder on top. “Make the right choice.”