by Ruby Vincent
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“See you at three?”
“Yes.” I visited my father every day at three. Mercer went with me.
“Bye, gorgeous.”
“Bye.”
I strode through the alley, passing the spot the Merchants cornered me for the second time. My feelings that day came roaring back. Curious about these men who were once nothing more than masked faces on security tapes. Baffled that fate dropped them in my lap. Equally frightened and furious that circumstances had forced me into the arms of men who might beat and abuse me.
Of course I fought them in the beginning. I didn’t know what they do. Now, I asked myself why I didn’t stand in this alley and know they were mine.
I walked to my car, got the bag out of the trunk, and went to the silver ride idling in the back. Gianna honked me out of my boots.
“Whoo,” she hooted. “What do you think? Like it.”
“Love it.” I slid into her new car, getting comfortable on the leather. “Although, I was expecting gold.”
She winked. “I’m getting the next one in that color.”
I flicked to the dashboard clock.
“Seriously,” Gianna went on. “I didn’t go crazy. I got this for a good price. Figured it was time we stopped relying on Raul and public transportation to take care of business. If there’s an emergency, we need to go and get quickly.” She squeezed my hand. “Like today. You ready?”
“I’m ready.”
Gianna cracked a smile. “Why am I acting like you need emotional support?”
“There is something I need,” I said over the hum of the starting engine.
“It’ll take me a while. Few weeks. Will that be a problem?”
“I’ll just have to figure something out.” I nudged her arm. “Hey, did this thing come with busted speakers? Blast the music.”
“Now that I can do.”
We played old songs through the whole ride—singing them aloud to make a mumble or skipped word obvious.
We arrived at the park with ten minutes to spare. Found a parking space minus an incident or a need to result to petty crime.
“Wait in the car,” I told her.
She nodded.
This was no Mercy Park on a perfect day. Dark clouds promised rain, and plenty of it. Damp in the air blanketed the flowers. The playground didn’t hold shrieking children. I was alone on the path to the tunnel—missing the babies in their strollers.
Duncan had chosen the right date for this. It wasn’t a good day.
I should’ve taken her seriously that day in the game room. I definitely should’ve remembered the easy access she had to Dad. I guess I keep expecting goodness from those who get to be.
I had no choice but to become this creature. Duncan did.
Years of good service and a spotless criminal record. She turned to this knowing there was another way. Chose to become like me, and I was outsmarted.
Time to pay the price.
The garbage can loomed before me. I had to assume she was here somewhere watching me, like I did to her.
I dropped the bag in the can. Doubling back, I disappeared into the shadows of the tunnel.
Minutes passed.
On ten o’clock on the dot, a figure came jogging around the curve. She wore a green backpack.
Duncan went through the routine again. Looking around. Stretching. Taking a sip of water.
She set her bag down, and reached inside for mine. Duncan opened it in full view. Two hundred thousand fake bucks for the taking.
She let out a whoop.
Dropping her bag in the trash, Duncan set off the way she came, backpack slung over her shoulder.
I pulled the detonator from my pocket. The small red button gave way to a featherlight touch.
Boom!
I flew off my feet, smacking into the wall, and dropping down.
Witnessing the power of Killian’s explosives still hadn’t prepared me for the heat on my face. Spots dancing in my eyes. The ringing in my ears disorienting me.
Scorched bills floated through the air—the final legacy of the smoldering pile of ash that was Tara Duncan.
Pushing myself up, I ran to the garbage, claimed her bag, and took off the way I came.
Yes, Duncan outsmarted me. For all of a day.
That was how long it took me to recall Killian kept a spare bomb under the passenger seat.
“You think if you act like a psycho, I’ll turn tail and run.”
Her mistake was thinking I was acting.
Gianna was dancing and bobbing her head to music as I climbed inside.
“So?”
I ripped open the bag. “Laptop, tablet, phone”—I played a snippet of the recorded conversation—“evidence.”
“How accommodating.”
“Leave a fake trail, will you, G? Make it obvious she was blackmailing a dangerous person, and got it in the ass. Pick someone off the pedophile list.”
“No problem.”
Gianna put the car in gear as the sirens rang out. “Damn, we’re good.”
“That’s what I keep saying.”
“REMEMBER WHAT TO DO?”
Cash adjusted my grip on the gun, erection digging into my butt cheek as he did so. He lifted my arms to line the shot. But that wasn’t what he was talking about.
“Gee. I don’t know. My role is soooo hard, and you know what trouble us little ladies have with keeping two thoughts in our—”
Cash bit my ear.
“Ow,” I cried, giggling.
“Just won’t let that little lady thing go, will you?”
“Could be persuaded to get over it.” I tapped my lips. “Right here.”
Cash kissed me—slow and lethal. I broke away dizzy.
“You know, you said I suck at this, but it seems you like me with a gun just fine.”
“You’re every man’s fantasy, Adeline Redgrave.”
“But your reality.”
I turned for more of the activities that ate half our day, and left me standing naked in his room wearing only his shirt and our cooling sweat on my body.
Cash turned me back. “Hit the target three times.”
I heaved a sigh. “Fine. And yes, I remember what to do. Keep an eye on Vega. Warn you when he leaves. Definitely warn you if he suddenly springs out of his seat and runs for the exit.”
“This won’t be simple. Mercer tapped two of Vega’s friends for as much information as he could get. It’s not so much a safe as it is a safe room.”
Vega and La Roche have more in common than they think.
“Insurance won’t pay out if he doesn’t take every measure to keep them safe, so the stashed coffee tin in the kitchen won’t cut it,” said Cash. “Especially for a man who needs to flaunt his revenge. The most expensive items are placed in the room under display cases. Every now and then, he allows people inside to view the pieces.”
“Getting into that room won’t be easy,” I confirmed.
“No, but once again Mercer’s information-gathering is invaluable. If he regularly lets people inside, the room can’t be rigged to send an automatic alert to the police. One less thing to worry about. On to the rest.
“Mercer needs at least an hour to get in. Then there’s taking out the guards and household staff, disabling additional security measures, and clearing the scene. I clocked the job at four hours. Vega cannot leave before then. If he shows up, nothing changes. We still pull the job.”
“But then Kendall Vega enters the equation,” I finished.
“Parents do out-of-character things when they believe their children are in danger.”
“One hundred percent probability,” I said, thinking of my dad.
I adopted the proper stance, aiming for the silhouette taped to the door. “Neither of us wants you guys forced into restraining and traumatizing a little girl. Or her witnessing a shoot-out if their guards pull their weapons. I will make sure they don’t leave the party early. Four hours. I can
do it.”
In the two weeks since Tara Duncan decorated Mercy Park with her parts, the Merchants and I had been busy. Their men were hand-selected and readied for the strike against Vega. I spent every day from early in the morning to late at night, prepping for the charity dinner.
Emily Chandler requested a five-course meal to be served prompt, and cleared away at designated times during the evening. A good chunk we prepared ahead of time. For the remaining to be cooked on-site, Ryan had checked, double-checked, and triple-checked the ingredients were fresh and top quality. I was back to driving out of the city to buy organic farm-to-table produce—in between ducking into the walk-in freezer to check the news.
The trending story for the last two weeks was the death of Tara Duncan. Mercy Park closed. Crime scene techs swarmed the area. The residents and staff of the home were questioned.
Reporters suggested ransom almost immediately. How could they not when the wind carried burned bits of money as far as Ninth Street, and the cops had to restrain park stragglers who stomped over the crime scene, snatching up the bills.
The only question was if Tara was delivering a ransom or picking one up. No one had flashed my picture under a wanted label, so whoever they were searching for in connection with her death, it wasn’t me. The final loose end to tie up was replacing the bomb under Killian’s seat.
Just my luck that was the only thing not stashed in the torture room.
Gianna was in the process of finding me a replacement with the same look and style. All I could do was wait and keep Killian occupied.
Which he was. Sebastian Vega accepted the invitation for him and his daughter. Mercer convinced Rivas a charity dinner for cancer was exactly what he wanted to do on a Saturday night. The Merchants were ready to go.
I glanced at the clock.
In one hour.
“All right,” Killian said. “Fire.”
Taking a deep breath, I pulled the trigger.
The door flew open.
Mercer jerked—struck dead-on. Red stained his shirt, spreading to soak his chest in wet crimson.
“Bit of a harsh reaction for not knocking.”
I smothered a laugh. “Sorry. Did that sting?”
“Like a bitch.” Mercer shrugged off the shirt now covered with paint. “Your phone is going off again. You should make sure everything’s all right.”
“Excuse me.” I slipped out of Killian’s hold and hurried downstairs.
My father was released from the hospital a week ago. Currently, he was back at the home under the tender care of Mrs. Watkins and his many girlfriends. Didn’t stop the kick start of panic through my heart every time my phone rang off the desk. I prayed Tara Duncan enjoyed a long stay in hell for that crime alone.
I picked my phone off the bed, glancing at the screen.
“Hello, Chef.”
“Adeline, where are you? I’m at the venue, and you’re nowhere to be found.”
I double-checked the time. “I’m still at home. You said to be half an hour early.”
“I told everyone else to be half an hour early. You needed to be here five minutes ago.”
“Yes, Chef,” I said simply. “Heading out now.”
He hung up on me.
Quickly, I dressed, said a rushed goodbye and good luck to the guys, and ran out the door.
It was time. Sooner than I planned. But it was time.
This was the first true domino to fall in the search for Kieran. Let him walk into my trap. Let my twisted love coax me into torturing him, egging me on to drain every drop of info on the ledger. And then let me get there first—claiming the ledger and my mantle as shadow ruler of this city.
Now that I think of it, I’m glad I’ve been summoned earlier. The fun starts even sooner.
CASH
Sinjin and I ducked into the shadows, peering at number 11. The biggest home on Midsomer Street. Our masks were tight over our noses and mouths. Sinjin’s addition was the knit cap pulled low over his blue hair.
“Diego?” I asked.
“Hacked the cameras. They’re showing what we want them to see.”
“Good. Three minutes.”
“No blood.”
I nodded.
In a flash, we were out of the alley and running across the street.
This was a quiet, wealthy neighborhood. Residents were either out spending their money, or faced away from the window and at the television—sipping a glass of port in between basking in the lack of worries only millions could bring. No one would observe our activities.
I knocked on the front door.
“Hello?” The voice came through the intercom.
“Yeah, hi.” I adopted a deep, booming voice. “This is Terry Molletto from number 13. The keypad lock isn’t working, and I left my phone inside. Is Sebastian home? I just need to use the phone to call my wife.”
“Mr. Vega isn’t here right now,” he returned. “I’m not authorized to let you inside. But if you wait there, sir, I’ll bring the phone for you to make your call.”
“Very good.”
I checked my watch. One minute and fifty-two seconds remaining.
Fifty-one.
Fifty.
Forty-nine.
Forty-eight.
Forty-seven.
The door opened.
“Wha—?”
Sinjin grabbed his outstretched hand, yanking him out onto the porch. He flew into my punch, and sounded a groan that signaled eight masked men to emerge from their holes.
Sinjin and I carried the struggling guard inside. We dropped him on the welcome mat. Brutal took over.
Backpack slung on his shoulders, he wrenched the gun the guard tried to pull from his grip. It went flying as he buried a gloved fist in his gut.
We wouldn’t spill blood. Didn’t mean we were going easy on them. The guards had to go down, and stay down. Everyone made it out alive that way.
“Kitchen. Living room. Back door. Ten minutes,” I ordered. “Brutal.”
Brutal knocked him out. The man slumped limp on the floor.
“Stash him in that closet,” I said.
A slim figure in a tailor-made suit and a silk mask stepped inside over the body. A bag of his own was hooked around his neck.
“You and Mercer. Eight minutes, fifteen seconds.”
Mercer and Brutal went one way to look for the safe room. Sinjin and I trailed the men hunting for more guards and the household staff. Breaking ahead, I walked the most likely path to the kitchen.
Stepping through that house, it was clear La Roche downplayed Vega’s obsession with ancient, pretty things.
The entire estate was an antique, for all that the home was built in 1920. We passed by a French Louis XVI-style sofa with curved gold legs. It rested next to an old, gleaming cabinet that looked too delicate to breathe on. Even the wallpaper was the type favored in the old days. A garish burgundy and gold damask designs.
“—ooh, yes.”
Voices poured out of the entrance up ahead.
“Take it, slut.”
“Right there!”
I rounded the corner.
A naked woman lay spread-eagle on the dining room table, screeching her orgasm for the rutting hunk of tattoos and cheap suit between her legs. The half-kneaded dough beside them gave a clue to what she was in the middle of before he interrupted.
I let the man finish. I wasn’t a complete bastard.
“Ahem.” Sinjin cleared his throat.
The guy whipped around, condom flying off.
“I believe this is the part where I say stick ’em up.”
She opened her mouth to scream.
“Don’t,” I said. I pulled my gun. “Or I’ll shoot you. Simple as that.”
She snapped her mouth shut.
“Get dressed. These nice men will assist in gagging and tying you up.”
Pistol, Cain, Lucky, Frankie, and Ted streamed around us. They stuffed gags first down their throats, muffling the shouts as they we
re put on the ground and tied up. They moved them into the pantry while I checked the time.
“Six minutes. Find the rest.”
ADELINE
Gazpacho. Crostini with smoked salmon and honey cream cheese. Sicilian pasta salad. Roasted pork loin with baked apple slices. Baked brie with blueberry compote. And finally, dessert, cherries jubilee with lavender coconut macarons.
Ryan outdid himself with this menu and three guesses why.
Not to say the man slacked off in general. Everything he put out was delicious. But the arrival of his nemesis kicked him into a new stratosphere. At one point, I thought he was inventing his own flavors.
Emily asked for a light, fruity meal boasting lots of colors, flavors, and tastes. Ryan delivered—to the detriment of my health and sleep.
But all that matters is you’re right where you should be.
I stood just outside the kitchen doors, watching Sebastian Vega. I knew what he looked like, of course. I’d seen his face pinned on Killian’s whiteboard enough times.
His beard was just as neatly trimmed. His suit similarly expensive and refined. A pronounced nose hung over thin lips—that he dabbed with a napkin after every three bites. Seated next to him was his daughter, Kendall.
I assumed Kendall took after her mother. Kendall’s mouth was full. Her nose snubbed. And long black hair swept down her back while Sebastian’s was a lighter brown.
The two of them chatted quietly as the event went on around them. Emily organized the evening for the auction to start after the main course. Everyone would be sufficiently full, happy, and ready to open their wallets.
Two hours.
Two hours since Vega arrived. Two more hours he had to stay to give my boys plenty of time to rob him blind. I should—
“Adeline!”
I jumped out of my skin.
“What are you doing out here?” Ryan hissed. “You’re supposed to be pureeing the blueberries.”
“It’s done,” I told him. “I just popped out to see how Rivas is enjoying the food. He’s cleaned every plate, Chef.”
“Has he?” Self-satisfaction rolled off him in waves. “Of course, he has. Inside. Now.”
I did as ordered.
Sebastian Vega was settled in and enjoying himself. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
