Page 46 of Risky Obsession

Then again, lies were good.

If they had known who I really was, I would never be able to return to my family who I’d been lying to for decades.

I couldn’t believe that bitch cop saw my Bachelor of Business Accounting certificate, the only thing I still had with my real name on it.

I kicked the wicker basket at my side and when the four rolled-up blankets inside spilled out, Tiger pounced on them like they were rabbits.

Why did I hang that certificate on the wall?

I knew why. That bachelor’s degree was the only honest thing I’d ever done. I had to study hard to get that degree. I’d earned that qualification.

Hadthat cop seen my real name? I couldn’t fucking focus until I knew.

I stood between the floor-to-ceiling windows and the cold fireplace that I’d never used, pulled my phone from my pocket and rang B for the fourthtime in as many hours. The damn bitch liked to think she was in charge, and answering calls on her own time was one of her fucking annoying tactics.

“Hughes. You’re an impatient bastard.” She sucked in air, and I imagined a cigarette wedged between her wrinkled lips.

“I told you to ring me.” I tried to keep the anger out of my voice, but it bristled anyway.

“And I told you I would when I had answers.”

I hated that I needed her, but she had contacts that I didn’t. “And? Do you have answers?”

“I have some.” Her voice was gravelly, and her tone was cocky.

I fucking hated her as much as all the other bastards who had owned me.

Clenching my jaw until my teeth ached, I tried to temper my rage. I huffed out a breath. “Listen. I know you like this powerplay thing, but it’s wearing thin. I have dirt on you. You have dirt on me. If one of us goes down, we both do. I get it, so cut the fucking crap.”

“Well. Well. The brainiac has balls after all.” She released a grainy cackle that sliced through my head like razor wire.

“Beatrice! Have you found her?”

“I have, but you need to pay me a hell of a lot more for this info.”

Fuck! I shuddered, trying to contain my rage.

She must not know that the cops had frozen my bank accounts. And when she found out the offshore business accounts were also frozen, she would fucking implode. Without those funds, Chui’s entire empire will start to crack. My plan was to disappear before that happened. But I had to be smart about it. Thank Christ I’d kept some money in the name I was born with in my Aussie bank accounts.

I hated this game we played. It was a game I had to play with just about every bastard I dealt with. Money poisoned people. “How much?” I kept my voice level.

“Fifty grand. You know where. Once it shows up, I’ll send you the deets.”

“Just tell?—”

The phone clicked. A strangled cry burst from my throat, and it took everything I had not to peg the phone across the room. I stormed back tothe desk that I’d barely moved from all morning and lifted the lid on my laptop.

Within five minutes on the dark web, I’d sent Beatrice the money from my personal account, via a series of fake company accounts, to her offshore account that I’d set up for her years ago. The details of her account were recorded in my encrypted files and were a small part of the thorough list of ammunition I had against her. It was leverage that I hoped I would never need, but fucking well would if she ever tried to eliminate me.

Half an hour later, I was pacing the room like a rabid dog and checking my inbox every thirty seconds.

I stared out the window at the stupid cows that belonged to the neighbor I’d never met, and my jaw ached from clamping my teeth. The neighbor on the other side grew crops of corn, but it was the drug manufacturing plant hidden beneath that paddock that provided his lucrative income.

John Coleman was as dumb as dog shit though. He was constantly messing up his records, which meant I was spending way too much time on his rundown farm. The old shack I had to stay in each time had rotten floorboards, cracked windows, and mice in plague proportions, just like the damn flies. But the drug manufacturing plant beneath his paddock of corn made a hell of a lot of money, and John wasn’t getting any smarter. So rather than stay in that dive each time I visited, I had this hide-out built high up in the hills overlooking his farm with state-of-the-art security, a secret escape tunnel, and a helipad.

Each time I choppered in or out of John’s farm, I made sure I didn’t come directly from this place.

But just like my island mansion that I blew to bits, this place wasn’t a home like I had growing up. It was a statement. And the statement was, the owner of this property was fucking loaded. I wasn’t anymore, though. With my offshore accounts and the business accounts that I often siphoned money from all frozen, and the cops closing on the Chui drug empire that had earned me millions, all I had left was about a million in my Aussie bank account and the cash in my backpack.