Journey to Cash, page 1
Journey to Cash
Synopsis
Cash Braddock thought everything was great. Her drug business sold for a nice chunk. She’s opening an art gallery. And she’s finally free of the Sacramento Police Department.
But then the mother she hasn’t seen in twenty-three years knocks on her door. And Laurel Kallen, the ex-girlfriend who broke her heart, rolls into town. Oh, and Laurel has a message: Cash’s former business partner is back and wants to kill them both. Which is a real bummer.
Cash is no stranger to the consequences of her poor decisions, but this time everyone and everything she loves might pay the price.
What Reviewers Say About Ashley Bartlett’s Work
Cash Braddock
“There were moments I laughed out loud, pop culture references that I adored and parts I cringed because I’m a good girl and Cash is kind of bad. I relished the moments that Laurel and Cash spent alone. These two are really a good match and their chemistry just jumps off the page. Playful, serious and sarcastic all rolled into one harmonious pairing. The story is great, the characters are fantastic and the twist, well, I never saw it coming.”—Romantic Reader
“This book was amazing; Bartlett has a knack for being able to create characters that just jump off the page and immerse themselves into your heart.”—Fantastic Book Reviews
“Ashley Bartlett was able to leave me hanging on every word and then at the end just like a junkie from the book… I was hooked and craving more!”—Les Rêveur
The Price of Cash
“The chemistry between Cash and Laurel is fantastic. This match has tension, heartache that pulls you deep into their dilemma. You want them to go for it and damn the consequences. It is so good! The whole book is fantastic, the love story, the crime, supporting cast, really top notch. Ashley Bartlett has written a fabulous follow-up. I cannot say enough good things about this one. I am absolutely hooked on this series!”—Romantic Reader Blog
“This series is like nothing else I have ever read in this genre and it just keeps getting better. It’s a solid storyline that keeps me guessing as to what will happen next. Cash and Laurel’s emotions are highly charged and you can feel the chemistry brewing between them. I was hooked and kept praying they would just launch themselves at each other. 5 stars”—Les Rêveur
Cash and the Sorority Girl
“I live for this series. Live. For. It! I love the paradox that is Cash. This amazing human being with her genuine spirit just pulls to me. On the flip side, she’s a drug dealer so there is the conundrum you find yourself, as the reader, in. It’s glorious.”—Romantic Reader Blog
“Be prepared for an emotional rollercoaster. Because in reading this book, there are a few things I can guarantee. 1. You are going to laugh. A lot. 2. The sarcasm is phenomenal, and one of the main reasons I adore this series. And 3. Be prepared to feel emotionally destroyed afterwards because honestly, this book is all heart, but there are some hard to read moments. Is it worth it? F*ck yes!!!”—Les Rêveur
Dirty Sex
“A young, new author, Ashley Bartlett definitely should be on your radar. She’s a really fresh, unique voice in a sea of good authors. …I found [Dirty Sex] to be flawless. The characters are deep and the action fast-paced. The romance feels real, not contrived. There are no fat, padded scenes, but no skimpy ones either. It’s told in a strong first-person voice that speaks of the author’s and her character’s youth, but serves up surprisingly mature revelations.”—Out in Print
Dirty Money
“Bartlett has exquisite taste when it comes to selecting the right detail. And no matter how much plot she has to get through, she never rushes the game. Her writing is so well-paced and so self-assured, she should be twice as old as she really is. That self-assuredness also mirrors through to her characters, who are fully realized and totally believable.”—Out in Print
“Bartlett has succeeded in giving us a mad-cap story that will keep the reader turning page after page to see what happens next.”—Lambda Literary
Dirty Power
“Bartlett’s talents are many. She knows her way around an action scene, she writes memorably hot sex, her plots are seamless, and her characters are true and deep. And if that wasn’t enough, Coop’s voice is so genuine, so world-weary, jaded, and outrageously sarcastic that if Bartlett had none of the aforementioned attributes, the read would still be entertaining enough to stretch over three books.”—Out in Print
“Here we have some rough and tumble action with some felons on the run! A big plus is the main characters were very engaging right from the start. …If you like your books super chocked full of all manner of things, this will be a winner. I definitely ended up enjoying this wild and woolly whoosh through the world of hardcore criminals and those who track them. Give it a try!”—Rainbow Book Reviews
Journey to Cash
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Journey to Cash
© 2021 By Ashley Bartlett. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-465-6
This Electronic Original Is Published By
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, NY 12185
First Edition: January 2021
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Cindy Cresap
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design by Megan Tillman
eBook Design by Toni Whitaker
By the Author
Sex & Skateboards
Dirty Trilogy
Dirty Sex
Dirty Money
Dirty Power
Cash Braddock Series
Cash Braddock
The Price of Cash
Cash and the Sorority Girl
Journey to Cash
Acknowledgments
Since the start of this series, the world has shifted in seemingly unfathomable ways, but for those of us already living on the fringes it has only been a confirmation. Rules and laws were always intended to keep the powerful in power and the rest of us down. Like Cash, I knew from a young age that society wasn’t made for me. Once I accepted that, the entire edifice needed to come down. I built my own morals and laws based on what I knew to be true and good and righteous. And, like Cash, I sometimes had to shift those boundaries as I learned. It isn’t always easy or comfortable, but I’ve found that ignoring my own morality for the comfort of others is far worse.
This book—this series—is the product of my friendships. Sydney, thank you for answering all my questions and also for your handsome face. Carsen, thanks for calls after midnight when you’ve already spent the whole day on the phone. Hearing your laugh gave me the fuel to write for a few more hours on desperate nights and also added years to my life, probably. Ruth, you keep me grounded. You see the parts of me I hide and you never cringe. I love you all.
I’ve been with Bold Strokes for most of my adult life. Rad and Sandy, I’m so thankful for you. Cindy, you’re the bestest editor and an excellent friend. I love when you coddle me and I love when you don’t.
Finally, my readers. Thanks for staying with me and Cash to the end. I’ve had a great time and I sincerely hope you have as well. I’d promise not to break your hearts again, but I think you kind of like it when I do.
Dedication
For my wife.
I’m not entirely certain why you stick with me,
but I’m awful glad you do.
Chapter One
It was an unremarkable Friday in June when I opened the door to an unremarkable woman. She was in her late forties, maybe. Her sweater set and khakis were nice in an understated way. She looked like a process server, which, considering the year I’d had, wouldn’t have been surprising.
“Cash Braddock?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Marjorie Braddock.” She hesitated, waiting for a response before continuing. Suddenly, the fifteen missed calls I had from Clive made sense. “Your mother.”
“Oh. Umm, hi.” That was how I greeted my mother after twenty-three years. “Come in?” I stepped back. I didn’t know how to act so I reverted to bland politeness.
“Thank you.” She stepped inside.
I led her into the living room. I hesitated before sitting in my usual armchair. Would she think I didn’t want to share the couch with her? Did I want to share the couch with her? I had no idea how to occupy space with a woman who had carried me in her womb, which wasn’t entirely surprising. She had abandoned me, after all.
“Would you like something to drink?” I pushed myself up out of the chair. “I can make coffee.” Did she drink coffee?
“I’m good, thank you.” She twisted her hands and stared intently at me. “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here.” Her eyes were bright and earnest.
“A little. Clive called me a bunch yesterday and today. I’m guessing he knows you’re here?”
She
“Cool.”
“I think he wanted to warn you I was coming. He asked me not to come yet, but I didn’t want to wait any longer. I needed to see you. I know I have no right, but I’d like to get to know you a bit. Sorry, I’m rambling.” She started to pick at her thumbnail. “If you’re open to it, I’d like to stick around for a while.”
“Cool.” Apparently, my vocabulary had been reduced to one word. I gave myself a mental head shake. “Where do you live now?”
“Del Mar. It’s a little town above San Diego,” she said. I nodded. That had been the extent of my polite questions. The silence stretched. “I moved there when I got married.”
“You’re married?”
She smiled. “For almost ten years.” Faint lines appeared in the creamy softness of her skin. I wondered if I would show those same wrinkles in twenty years.
“Any kids?” It hadn’t occurred to me that I might have siblings until I asked the question. Then again, it hadn’t occurred to me that my mother was alive and clean.
“No. Just you.”
My phone rang and I had never been so fucking happy for my phone to ring in my life. “Sorry.” I dug the phone out of my pocket. It was Kyra. “I have to take this.” Marjorie nodded. “Hello?”
“Hey, Van got stuck at school so he can’t meet the art movers. Any chance you can meet them at the gallery?”
“Aren’t they due at three?” I glanced at the time. That only gave me twenty minutes.
“Yeah.” There was a pause. I assumed Kyra was also looking at the time. “Shit. Never mind. I’ll just ask them to push back the delivery an hour or so.”
“If you do that, we won’t have time to get the final pieces hung.” Those three pieces weren’t the end of the world or anything, but we wanted the opening to be perfect. My mother caught my eye. Whoa. My mother. That was weird. I suddenly needed to get the fuck out of there. “It’s fine. I can get there by three.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t realize what time it was. We’ll just have to work with a later drop-off,” Kyra said.
“Great. I’ll be there in fifteen.” Hopefully, Marjorie couldn’t hear Kyra’s side of the conversation.
“Cash,” Kyra said.
“Yep. See you then.” I hung up.
“You have to leave?” Marjorie asked.
“Sorry.” I stood to highlight the speed at which I needed to leave. “My friend and I are opening an art gallery. Tonight is the opening of our first show.”
“Wow. An art gallery. That’s impressive.” She stood. “Well, I uh, suppose I should let you go. It’s been—You look—Thank you for seeing me. Can I give you my phone number?”
“Sure.” I dug my phone back out and opened my contacts. I handed it to her.
She carefully typed in her name and number before handing it back. “I hope you’ll call so we can actually sit down together.”
“Right. Yes. I’ll do that.” I didn’t know if we were planning a business meeting or a family reunion. I walked her to the door and held it for her.
She paused and turned before walking out. “I’m sure this is a lot. I’ve had time to think about it, but you haven’t.” She shook her head. “Anyway. I won’t bother you again. It’ll be entirely up to you.” Her hand came up. For a panicked moment I thought she wanted to hug me. Instead she touched my cheek briefly with the tips of her fingers like she was afraid any more would do damage. She smiled a brittle smile and let her hand drop. “Good-bye.”
I nodded, torn between acknowledging the weight of the moment and wanting to sprint away. Marjorie walked to a sedan at the curb and climbed in. I closed the door and had to brace myself against it. My heart was racing and my hands trembled. I wished I had answered Clive’s calls or listened to his voice mails. Maybe it was good I hadn’t because I never would have answered the door.
My phone rang. I pulled it out and looked at the screen. Kyra again. “Yeah?” I slid down the wall and sat on the floor. Everything felt shaky, precarious.
“What was that?”
I took a deep breath and prepared to explain how my world had just shifted. But then I didn’t. I couldn’t deal with it. Saying it was far too much acknowledgment.
“Cash?”
“Nothing. It was nothing. There was someone at my door and I needed an excuse.” I knew she wouldn’t be satisfied with that, but hopefully she could let it simmer untouched like I was planning to do. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Ten minutes later, I parked in one of our two spots behind the gallery. I made sure to keep the other space clear enough for the truck. The building backed up to an alley. The west side of the building was accessible for vehicles. The east side had a narrow strip of garden. It was mostly overgrown planters spilling flowers. There was also room for a small table and two rickety chairs.
I left the gate open for the delivery guys and let myself into the small office that overlooked the garden. Kyra had clearly been the last to leave the night before because the surface of the desk was tidy. She’d left detailed instructions for Van, which was great because I needed just as much guidance as her boyfriend did, but I rarely admitted as much.
At five after, the rumble of a large truck carried down the alley. The art movers came in through the gate. I gave them Kyra’s instructions and watched them carefully place each piece in the appropriate locations. I’d wanted to hire an assistant to handle that sort of day to day task, but Kyra insisted we should handle it ourselves and use the money for better wine. I didn’t know shit about wine and was generally too lazy to be so present, but when the movers handed me the invoice and shook my hand, it felt real and valid. Like I’d earned my name on the door.
Van arrived not long after and I helped him hang the last pieces. The main gallery space had been finalized two days before the opening. Kyra had overseen that. My ego was quite comfortable with her having done so. The final pieces were split between the smaller room that branched off the main floor space and the narrow loft upstairs. Per Kyra’s instructions, the loft pieces needed plenty of breathing room. After much discussion Van and I decided that meant they needed lots of space because they were big. Too bad she hadn’t left detailed instructions about that part. Hanging them made me very aware that Van had muscles and I did not. But I could use a level with the best of them. We were doing a final check of the lighting when Kyra arrived.
Van wolf whistled. “I mean that in the most respectful way. Like, you look real successful and empowered. Not like you look bangable.”
“So I don’t look bangable?” Kyra looked down at the tight cocktail dress she was wearing. Her undercut was freshly buzzed, and the curls piled on her head had a glossy sheen.
“I didn’t say that. You look more than bangable. Like bangable and also audacious,” Van said.
I climbed down the ladder. “Smooth, dude.”
“Thanks. I know.”
“Neither of you are dressed for tonight,” Kyra said.
Van and I looked at each other. She was correct. “And?” Van asked.
“You guys aren’t planning on wearing shorts and T-shirts tonight.” Her tone suggested it would be extremely unacceptable to make that choice.
“You are really good at this state the obvious game we’re playing,” I said.
Kyra rolled her eyes and huffed. “When were you planning on changing?”
“I have my bag in the office.” Van nodded at the back of the building.
“I wasn’t entirely prepared when I came over. I need to run home,” I said.
“Yeah, what was that about earlier?” Kyra asked.
I kicked around the words in my head but couldn’t bring myself to say my mother had shown up on my doorstep. I really tried. Honest. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow though.”
Kyra stared at me like she was pulling apart my syntax to find a lie. After a moment, she nodded. “Okay. Get out of here. Hurry back.”
