Page 9 of Redeemed (Redeemed #1)

Chapter Eight

Kennedy

T he money count machine flips through the last of the bills before I wrap them up and toss them into the black duffle.

The zipper slides smoothly as I close the last bag from my stack before standing to stretch my back.

Cary and I have been working through the cash drops for the past five hours and neither of us have moved.

I stand, reaching my arms high as I continue to stretch. “How’re your counts looking?”

Cary jots down what I assume is the number he just counted before turning to look at me. His head tilts to the side, as his hand swipes over his face.

“Not looking good. This count is off about ten thousand.”

“The bag is missing ten thousand dollars?!”

I move in closer, snatching up the paperwork that would’ve been completed by William Lee, the leader who picked up the money from the restaurant.

The money from his region is cleaned by a mom-and-pop restaurant that’s a tourist hotspot.

The cash flow is consistent, allowing us to clean a good amount of money.

“Yeah, I’ve put it through the counter twice.”

Shit! First the news about Antonio Garcia, and now there’s money missing from a drop. Why would I ever think anything could be easy?

“Split the stacks up, let’s hand count it,” I order as I pile stacks of twenties in my arms.

Cary doesn’t hesitate, grabbing his own stacks to count through. My chest feels tight with the thought that money is missing. Father is barely tolerable on a good day, but with money missing there will be hell to pay.

I’ve suggested time and again that we move away from allowing the restaurants to clean our money, but according to my father, I wasn’t raised to make business suggestions.

I’m manually counting the money before sending each stack through the counter machine to confirm the numbers.

Cary follows my technique, and after another hour, we discover the count is indeed off by ten thousand dollars.

I check the paperwork confirming the crew leader over the zone. We need to handle this issue today.

Me: Crew meeting once the last truck clears out.

Nathan: I’ll let everyone know. About 30 min unload time.

“This money still needs to be sent on the deposit route.” I move to the safe in my office, dipping into my emergency stash to replace the money the drop is missing. “I need to take care of things here. Do you need Nathan to help with the delivery?”

His jaw flexes before responding. “No, I got it.”

“Okay, let me know when the job is done.”

Cary leaves me to think about how I’m going to handle this situation.

If it were up to my father, the crew leader would die tonight.

He’s more of a shoot first, ask questions later kind of boss, but moments like this determine how these men respect me.

For him to even show up with money missing from his duffle makes me question if there’s more to the story.

The last truck is moving up the driveway as I make my way to the meeting area.

My annoyance swiftly transforms into anger—an emotion I’m much more equipped to deal with.

I’m angry at the fact that this is how I’m spending my evening.

Punishing grown ass men doesn’t get me any closer to confirming my mother’s murderer.

I’m close enough to hear the chatter between the guys filtering through the storage building doors. It’s payday so most of them are excited for the night ahead.

Nathan spots me as I step through the doorway. The smile on his face falls, picking up on the energy I’m exuding, but there aren’t any questions as he falls into line behind me, following me to the front of the room.

The whole room falls deathly silent, allowing my anger to fill the space—clashing with fear of the unknown. I move to sit at the table stationed in the front of the room. My gaze moves from face to face, taking in the crew in front of us with a new level of suspicion.

“It seems one of you has decided you value my money more than you value your life.”

I watch from my peripheral as Nathan’s posture stiffens. Some of the guys keep their faces emotionless, while others look around at their cohorts, attempting to figure out the culprit.

“William, come have a seat.”

William’s complexion turns pale as he struggles to control the emotions flickering across his face. He takes the seat directly across from me, and I catch the tremor in his hands before he moves his hands to his lap.

“Are you going to tell me where my money is?”

“Ma’am, I promise that I didn’t take your money.” His voice takes on a pleading edge, like he’s begging for his life before I’ve even threatened to take it.

“Can you explain why your reports from the pickup and the actual money turned in don’t match up?”

There’s genuine surprise on his face. “I have no idea. The shipment my zone received is what was sold. And the cash was delivered to the Hill’s restaurant to be cleaned at the assigned intervals.”

My gut feeling makes it hard to believe that he stole money from me, but an example must be made. Money simply cannot go missing without an explanation why. I place my gun and my knife on the table in front of me.

“I’m going to let you choose your punishment.

This gun represents what my father would suggest: a bullet to your brain.

The knife is my personal offer to you.” I deliver that last line with a smile.

“If you choose the knife, I will replace the money that your bags were short. But as punishment for mishandling my funds, I’m going to take a couple fingers to forever remind you of this grave error. So, what will it be?”

“The knife, ma’am.”

His trembling hand returns to the table as his chin tilts up, acceptance written on his face.

“Tell me, William, did you check the money in the bag when you picked it up from the drop?”

I can hear his audible swallow and know immediately he didn’t before he even begins to give an explanation.

“No, ma’am. That pickup had never been short before, and I was running late to get back here and turn in the money. I didn’t stop to check all the stacks.”

My next address is to the group behind him.

“I’m the first to tell you I’m not my father, but I will demand the same respect you show him.

That respect includes keeping your crews in line and making sure my money remains mine.

Let this be a lesson for you all. I’m holding you accountable for everything that happens in your designated districts, just like my father holds me accountable for my leaders’ actions. ”

I pick up the knife and flip open the blade before leaning down to grab hold of Will’s left hand.

His scream pierces the air as soon as the blade begins sawing through his pinky.

By the time I make it to his ring finger, his voice is hoarse and broken.

Once both fingers are removed, I pick them both up and stare each person down.

“Ashton Rose doesn’t take well to missing money, and neither do I. Next time, I will not be as forgiving.”

I leave the warehouse, the hand not currently holding severed fingers squeezing tight, attempting to stay the tremors as I walk back to the main house.

Hold it together, Kennedy.

I get to the kitchen and grab a plastic bag to put the fingers in. My stomach rolls at the sight of them. I wash the blood from my hands and look through the kitchen window to see Nathan making a beeline across the lawn.

My head is pounding, and I sway a little as I make my way to the office, feeling lightheaded. As much as I don’t want to spend another moment here, Nathan and I need to talk about the Antonio Garcia situation. I can unpack these useless feelings later.

Nathan enters my office, as I pull up the documents my techs emailed over on Antonio Garcia this morning.

“What the hell have I missed today?” He sounds as exhausted as I feel.

“Quite a bit. But money going missing is the least of our problems at the moment. Do you still have the security briefing on the Garcia assignment?”

Nathan comes up short, his eyebrows pulling in.

“Yeah, it’s in my office. I can grab it. What’s up?”

“I’m just wondering if it mentioned the fact that he was Michael Ellis’s personal arms dealer and probably had more information than I gave him credit for.”

“Shit,” Nathan says with disbelief in his tone as he drops into the chair in front of my desk. “There’s no way I would’ve missed that in a briefing.”

“Considering I was being punished for stating my opinion, I never received a copy of the briefing report for the mission at all. I was just told to show up and do my job. So, go grab your report.”

Nathan leaves as I drop my head into my hands.

My vision swims, and my stomach growls, reminding me that I’ve been surviving on caffeine since breakfast. If the report details that Garcia was in fact Ellis’s personal arms dealer, my father is going to murder me.

We had someone who was deep in Michael Ellis’s camp—we could’ve tortured information out of him for weeks.

Garcia never met with Ellis the entire time we were following him.

“Kenn, are you good?” Nathan returns with the file in hand.

“Yeah, I just need to eat soon. What’d you find in the report?”

“There isn’t anything listed in the report, other than him selling product in our region.” His brows are furrowed as he continues to flip through the report.

I rub my temples, knowing there isn’t much I can do when I’m feeling like this. Pushing myself up from the desk, I grab my bag and begin packing my things to leave for the day. “What are the chances Ashton Rose missed a detail?”

Nathan tosses his report on top of my papers for me to take. “Fucking slim. But if he did miss it, we might have dodged a bullet. He’s going to be pissed when he finds out we killed a prime ally too soon.”

“No shit. Can you drive me home? This is a problem I can work through once I don’t feel like I’m going to pass out.”

“Yeah.” Nathan stands to leave. “Let me grab my stuff and I’ll meet you at the car.”

I shoulder my work bag and make my way through the house. The adrenaline that was coursing through my body has depleted and I’m crashing fast. I’m in desperate need of food and a long hot shower. We climb into the car in silence, both lost in the deepest corners of our minds.

This life has always been one of consistent movement, never lingering on one emotion too long.

For a good part of my life, I reveled in the fact that nothing could phase me.

I’m learning, in real time, that I have no idea how to handle most of my emotions.

Right now, I’m lost at sea with waves crashing into me from each direction.

The flickering fire of revenge is the only thing that keeps me moving toward the shore of redemption. My mother deserves it.

The next morning I’m relaxing in bed, drinking my coffee, and checking the emails I didn’t touch yesterday evening.

It’s Saturday and I don’t plan on leaving my bed until it’s time to rot in front of the TV with Nathan.

Fall weekends are for football and cheat meals.

It’s the only relaxation that I allow myself without feeling a hint of guilt or fear for my father’s disapproval.

Work still gets done, but I can’t complain too much when said work is being accomplished from the couch.

I’m contemplating how long I plan on hiding out under my covers when a message appears on my screen.

Tori: Hey, Kennedy! Sorry to reach out on such short notice, but would you be able to come into the lounge around noon? The owner had some time open up and can meet with you sooner than I thought.

There’s still an inbox of emails that need responses, but I figure I can knock out the emails and make it downtown by noon.

Me: That works for me! See you at noon.

As soon as I send the text, my brain remembers the security cameras mounted in the alleyway of Emerald Nights.

Could the video footage of the incident deny my VIP access before even meeting with the owner?

Surely a phone call or email would suffice to deny my request. I shut down the thought of losing this opportunity and start working through my inbox.

After finishing up one last email to the board of one of our businesses, I clear my work items and focus on the task of getting ready.

I decide on a more professional look since I’m meeting the owner, opting for black dress slacks, a dark red blouse, and black Louboutin’s.

I wrap my long strands into a neat bun before slicking down my edges and applying a light layer of makeup.

When I’m satisfied with my appearance, I decide that another cup of coffee is needed for the ride into town.

The sound of ESPN commentators excitedly discussing the lineup of college football games for the day blares as I step into the hallway.

When I walk past the living room, Nathan snatches up the remote and lowers the volume.

He studies my face before saying, “There are a few games on TV that I set to record for us to watch later.”

“Okay cool. I need to head into the city to run some errands, but I should be back for the evening games,” I say nonchalantly as I move around the kitchen, grabbing my coffee fixings. I see Nathan move to perch on top of a bar stool from my peripheral.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed for running errands?”

I take a deep breath and will the guilt away from my gut that comes with lying to my best friend.

“I didn’t know you joined the fashion police.” I stick my tongue out on the way to the coffee machine.

His eyes roll in annoyance, but he doesn’t comment on my appearance anymore. “So, I take it you believe Will didn’t steal that money based on your choice of punishment.”

“No, I don’t believe he stole the money or lied to me about why the money was short.”

“You know we’ll need to visit the restaurant.”

“Yeah, I’m not looking forward to that meeting. I actually like the Hill family, but this can’t go unaddressed. Although, that’s a problem for next week, after we’re sure this Garcia situation isn’t going to bite us in the ass.”

“Sounds like a plan. Is Cary driving you to your errands today?”

He stares me down, probably anticipating the response I’m about to give. Yes, Cary is my personal security, but he needs rest, and I need this time alone.

I grab my coffee and head to the door. “Nope, but I won’t be long, and I promise to be careful.”

There was a response coming, but I cut that off with the shut of the front door. Nathan will worry regardless—it’s in his job description. But I’m a grown-ass woman on a mission, and nothing is going to stop me.