by Ruby Vincent
I chuckled. “We’ll find out, won’t we?”
“The hard way—like always with you.”
Getting to my feet, I said, “If I’m so difficult, you won’t be sneaking into my bed tonight, burning me with that furnace you call a body.”
“The fuck I won’t,” she snapped. “This is the kind of thing I’m talking about.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow night too. We’re paying La Roche a visit. By this time tomorrow, he’ll be working for the Merchants.”
ADELINE
Sinjin’s arm slung over my waist. Possessive waking and sleeping, he kept me close by.
Inch by inch, I wriggled out from under him, sliding off the edge of the mattress. My feet were soundless padding across the floor to the multiple places Saint flung my clothes. I gathered them up and dressed out in the hall.
My phone lit up again.
“I’m coming, G,” I whispered. “Meet me at the front door.”
Our two-story abode was silent, and my slipping out and traveling downstairs didn’t disturb the peace.
A shadowed figure moved on the other side of the frosted glass. Gianna stuck her head through the door crack to kiss me.
“Hey. We still good?”
“We’re good,” I confirmed. I came out, following Gianna to her car parked at the end of the block. “Killian doesn’t know we used his Plan B to take care of a quick problem. Is it the same size and look?”
“The guy did his best.” We climbed inside. Gianna popped open the glove box. “What do you think?”
I handled it carefully, examining the small block of C4 and its accompaniments. “Perfect. Exact down to the colored wires.”
“Put that under the seat, and he’ll never know it was missing. This Tara Duncan shit is finally over.”
I released a breath I’d been holding for weeks.
“Finally.”
THAT NEXT NIGHT, I met Cash in his room. He filled up a mirror with each sexy inch of him, fixing his reflection’s tie.
“I’m ready,” I said.
I wore a long, red drape dress whose hem flirted with the straps of my heels. La Roche’s home required a dress code, as did our parts as gentleman and lady criminal consultants.
Cash swept a slow, lingering look over me that shivered my bones. “Nice,” he said simply, though his eyes said something else.
“Thank you.”
I came up behind him, slipping my arms around his waist. “Five minutes in these heels and they’re already killing me. Keys, please. I’ll wait for you in the car.”
Killian handed them to me without question. I brushed my lips over his ear. “Love you,” I whispered.
I headed downstairs to the car—the bomb tucked in my purse. We were parked on the side street. I got in, crouched down, and felt for the little pouch sewn to the underside that housed the stolen bomb. I slid the replacement inside.
I was seated and fussing with my hair in the mirror when Cash arrived.
“You going to tell me the reason you smashed our only chance now?”
He didn’t answer. Cash started the car and pulled into traffic.
“Come on, Cash. You can’t play the ‘we’ll sound rehearsed’ card on me. La Roche will expect me to know.”
“Fine. Here it is.”
Cash explained the secret room behind the cabinet, what he found, why he took the ring, and why he reigned supreme as a leader of the Merchants.
The last part he didn’t expound on, but he didn’t have to. The truth of it settled in my bones as I sank in the seat—stunned. Cash knew what he was doing. He did choose the item La Roche must have truly wanted.
Which makes me wonder if he knew that secret room was in there?
I shook my head. If he did, he’d tell the Merchants straight out to go in the room and get it. He had no reason to play coy. He didn’t know—which made me fortunate to be there for his reaction.
Killian arrived at La Roche’s mansion thirty minutes later.
We were ushered in by two guards. The two who carried their bleeding friend away from me.
They patted us down, turned out Killian’s pockets, checked my purse, and patted me down again.
I smiled into their narrowed-eyed looks, cool and calm.
“Forgive the added security.” La Roche came down the stairs. “A friend pointed out there were a few holes I needed to plug.”
“No problem,” said Killian.
“Do you have it?”
“We do.” Killian picked up the ring box security put on the table. “Shall we go upstairs?”
La Roche swept his hands in an “after you” gesture. He grinned at me on the way up.
“Hello again, Miss Adeline. Always a pleasure.”
“Nice to see you too.”
“I trust life is treating you well?”
“It is.”
“Glad to hear it.”
We ended the conversation, continuing to his office in silence.
La Roche motioned for us to sit. “So, which one did they get? Am I to assume it’s on its way?”
“No, it’s here.”
Killian set the ring box on the desk. He used one finger to slide it over.
La Roche watched its approach, face crumpling in a frown. “I don’t understand. What is this?”
“Open it.”
Opening the box, he tipped the contents out. The frown solidified.
“Is this a joke?” The jovial, devil-may-care tone vanished. “How dare you.”
“This is not a joke, Richard,” Killian said. “Or an insult. You asked the Merchants to bring you one of the most expensive items in Vega’s collection, and that’s what they did.”
“This can’t be worth more than two hundred dollars,” he growled. “The break-in is on the news. Vega will have tripled security by now. They won’t get another chance to get my vase or make this deal!”
Killian weathered the explosion in silence. “Richard, you didn’t seem to have heard me. The Merchants stole that from Vega’s collection,” he repeated. “That would be the collection of flags, medals, books, statues, and other Nazi memorabilia he kept hidden in a secret room within his safe.”
“He...”
I was right La Roche’s face was worth seeing in person. The red leeched with his rage, leaving true shock. “Nazi memorabilia?”
“I had the same expression when I saw the pictures.” Killian handed over his phone. “They went in there for the vase. Sinjin tells me they had it in hand. Then one of their guys noticed something odd about a cabinet and stumbled on a secret entrance.
“Sinjin had a theory—and if he’s wrong, he’ll return for that tiara, security or no—that this war of antiques you’re both in is more than bids at an auction. Vega is determined to prove that despite your looks, money, and influence, you can’t get everything you want. And the point of sending the Merchants after him, was to say yes you can.”
Disbelief etched into his face, swiping through the photos. Disgust was my emotion of choice.
“It’s a good, old-fashioned dick-measuring contest that wouldn’t end with the theft of a single vase.” Killian tapped the ring bearing a swastika. “Sebastian Vega is quite a collector. Without a doubt, we can say he’s more than a collector, he’s an admirer. A fact he’s taken great pains for no one to know.”
“Now you know, Richard. You have the photos. You have the ring. You can end this war between the two of you once and for all. Demand he hand over all the pieces he snaked from you. Warn him to behave himself from now on, or the world finds out the truth about the great philanthropist, Sebastian Vega.
“Secrets, Richard. Those have always been worth infinitely more than furniture or jewelry.” He pointed. “The Merchants delivered the most expensive item in that home, but you tell me, would you rather have Vega’s dick in hand, or his balls in a vise?”
La Roche stared at the ring and phone.
He burst out laughing.
“Good. Very good,” he b
oomed. “Balls in a vise, indeed.” La Roche squeezed the ring in his fist—a look of such wicked glee overtook him, I leaned back in my seat. “I have that duplicitous, sneaking worm now. For years I combed through that perfect façade and came up with nothing. No dirt. No affairs. No double-dealing. He even pays his taxes on time. Finally, I have him.”
What La Roche planned to do with him, I no longer cared. Vega’s daughter was a gem, but one look at those pictures, and my twinge of sympathy for the innocent man vanished. There was no good reason behind that room, or the worship laid in their pedestals and arrangement. La Roche could do whatever he wanted to the Nazi-lover.
“Turned out all you needed was a Merchant,” Killian said.
“Yes.” La Roche replaced the ring and put the box in his top drawer. The lock slid into place with a soft click. “You can tell them I accept this substitute. This Sinjin was right. The ring is a far more valuable prize.”
“May I make a suggestion?” I asked. “Vega has a big insurance check coming for that broken vase. If it was me, I’d kindly request he donate it to a charity for survivors of the Holocaust and their families.”
“Excellent suggestion, Miss Adeline.”
“Richard,” Killian cut in. “Can I tell them the good news? Do we have a deal?”
“Killian, Killian.” He shook his head. “Not so fast. I haven’t had a chance to act on this information yet. Once I do, and ensure his ‘balls are in a vise,’ you and I can discuss terms. A conversation that wasn’t worth having until the Merchants proved themselves.” He patted the desk drawer. “I don’t deny that they have. If Vega falls in line, we can move on to the next part of negotiations.”
I opened my mouth. Killian’s hand on my knee stayed me.
“I understand,” he said simply. “I’m just pleased we’re moving in the right direction. I look forward to that call, Richard.”
“Good evening.”
We left. I spoke up as the door closed behind us.
“Give me the keys.”
“I’m driving.”
“Killian.” I ran out in front of him, blocking the driver’s side. “I’m driving. You’re taking me on a date.”
His brows crowded together. “What?”
“Every time we go out, you’re either stalking me or bringing me along for cover. Tonight, we go out like a real couple.”
“No.” He picked me up to put me aside. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, holding tight.
“Yes,” I said. “Give me those keys, Killian Hunt. Since it’s short notice, I’ll pick the place, and you’ll supply the romance and sweet talk.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Killian was warm and solid in my hold. He dressed up to visit La Roche. A painted-on black suit clung to the bumps and ridges under my wandering hands. Moonlight did wild things to Killian’s eyes. In the glare of sun, they were defiant pools of molten gold. At night, they darkened to almost black. Dual sides of light and dark.
“You know why not, Adeline. We’re not a real couple,” he said. “We can’t be while Kieran is out there with that ledger.”
I pressed a kiss to his eyelid. Then the other. “Kieran is the invisible hand behind Killian Hunt’s trigger. If he were to find out he could put me in his sight, it’d be dangerous for both of us. I understand that, Killian, I really do.” I smiled. “That’s why Cash is taking me out.”
“Excuse me?”
“Put on a mask, baby. You’re gonna need it.”
CASH DID NOT LET ME drive. I was directed to the passenger seat where I gave him directions.
“Turn here,” I said, looking up from my phone. “It’ll be at the end of the street. Picturesque Theaters.”
“We’re seeing a movie?”
“Nope.” I was having too much fun. How could I not? There was an eighty-nine point nine percent chance Killian said no and drove us home. He was here with me. I was enjoying every last second of this till the clock struck midnight on this pumpkin.
Killian parallel-parked in front of the theater. He took one look at the crowd going in and said, “No.”
I laughed. “There’s my favorite grouch. Come on, Killian, you know this is the perfect date for us. We’ll be in masks. It’ll be fun.”
Couples, friends, and singles strolled inside the theater wearing capes and deep red gowns. The most important feature of their outfits were the masks of all sizes, shapes, and designs.
“It’s a Phantom of the Opera party.”
“Redgrave,” he said clearly, “I am not going into that building.”
“Can I ply you with sexual favors?”
He halted reaching for the ignition. “I’m listening.”
“Wake up by blowjob every morning for two weeks.”
“Tempting.”
“I’ll wear that naughty maid costume I didn’t quite throw away.”
He groaned, eyes falling shut. “Dirty pool.”
“I’ll pose as your model in a few original works—after you’ve ravished me within an inch of my sanity, of course.”
Killian took out the key. “Let’s go.”
“Here.” I pulled two gold, half-face masks from my purse. “Mask up, lover.”
“You planned this.”
“Yep. I heard about it from Gianna. They have these pop-up parties all over the city. A different night, a different theme, a different location. A group of people rent the venue, and send out word to anyone who wants to crash. Gianna’s been to a bunch with her acting group friends.”
Killian came around and helped me out. We walked arm in arm across the street, Killian a strong, imposing presence that drew passing eyes even in his mask. I loved being on his arm. Loved his hands swallowing my waist as I rode him. Loved the smell of him lingering on my pillow, and the ice chipping away bit by bit every day.
Killian had been the one to worry about. The Merchant poised to uncover more than he should.
But not anymore.
Kieran or no Kieran, I had him.
A theater didn’t seem the best place for a party. You’d have thought the rows and rows of plush red chairs would make dancing, flirting, and drinking awkward.
And you would be right.
There was barely room to move. Down the center aisle was a long table packed with food and beer. On the outer aisles, people bunched up in packs to chat while others pushed through them to the stage.
Pulsing strobe lights shone on the dancers. They swirled around the stage. Capes swishing. Hems flaring. It was a haunting scene from a dream that faded as you woke up. And in that scene, awkward became perfect.
I laid my head on his arm. “Will you dance with me?”
“Yes.” The soft agreement carried to my ears. “But not down there.” He grabbed my hand. “Come with me.”
We ran back the way we came, meeting a winding staircase that carried us to the top. He led me down a red-carpeted hallway, shushing my giggles like we’d get in trouble.
“Where are we going?”
He chose a door midway down the hall. “Here.”
I stepped inside, breath catching.
The magnificence of the theater laid out before me. The dancers. The revelers. The subtle magic of the dim lights encasing us in a long-forgotten world. It was just us in the red and black opera house box, high above the party. La Roche. The Kings. Kieran.
Killian moved the chairs aside. He reached for my hand as I reached for his.
Curling into him, I laid my head on his chest—safe in the hands around my waist and cupping my neck.
“This is a hard song to slow dance to,” I murmured.
Pop-y punk rock floated to the rafters.
“You asked.”
I laughed softly. “Touché.”
We swayed slow circles in the small space. Killian spun me, bringing me to rest my back against him, and hold me close in our linked arms. He kissed the sensitive spot under my ear.
“There’s that sweetness, Erik.”
&nb
sp; “And there’s yours. Now I’m the disfigured obsessive lurking in the bowels of a theater.”
I giggled. “That’s one way to interpret the story. The Phantom was alone, never knowing kindness or compassion, so he gave it in the limited way he knew how. Once he truly understands what it is to love, he sacrificed everything for it. The Phantom of the Opera is a fairy tale, not a tragedy, Killian. It’s the hope that there’s someone out there who sees beneath the mask—beneath the monster the world deemed unworthy of love—and only sees you.”
Killian turned me, taking my chin between his fingers. “Whose fairy tale is this, Christine? Mine or yours?”
“Ours.” It was the truest thing I said to him.
“No, Christine. You don’t hide or wear a mask because we’re the monsters in this story. I do so because Kieran is mine. You do... because I’m yours,” he said. “And that story is a tragedy—for what both of us have made of you.”
I shook my head, smiling. “You’re wrong, but in every good story, you won’t see it until the end. I can wait, Killian.”
“You shouldn’t—”
Rising up, I captured his lips in a fierce kiss. Killian swept across my lower lip, demanding its surrender to his dominance. I defied him, breaking away shaking.
“I want to, Erik. I’m your someone.”
His mouth crashed on mine. This kiss I would not escape.
Killian pressed me to the wall—my legs tight in his grip. Our masks bumping together as he sought my lace boy shorts and tugged them down.
Christine and Erik. Killian and Adeline.
That ours was a tragedy didn’t make it less of a love story.
Killian carried me to the ledge, draping me over the three-story fall. I put my arms out, laughing at the upside-down red, gold, and black swirls. My legs around his waist and the hands around mine separated me from certain death. A thought that lazily made its way through my mind, and vanished on a single thrust.
My moan tried to pierce the music. “Erik never did this with Christine.”
The glittering gold mask did nothing to conceal the wicked curve of his lips. “I’m an entirely different kind of monster.”
Killian started pumping—fast at first, and then slow. He took his time, driving me over the literal edge to the curious eyes of the crowd below. To them, we were nothing more than shadowed figures in a game of pretend.
