The Bandit

by B. B. Reid

  When the elevator arrived at the lobby, the woman practically ran out with her tail between her legs. I stepped out after her and took in my surroundings. I had enemies that would take any opportunity to kill me, even in a crowded hotel.

  “Mr. Knight, good evening. I hope you enjoyed your stay,” the front desk attendant greeted. I checked out and found a car waiting for me when I stepped outside. With a nod to the driver, I hopped in the back, but as soon as my ass touched the seat, my phone rang.

  “Z, what’s up?”

  “Someone’s in your house.”

  Chapter Five

  Fair exchange is no robbery.

  MIAN

  The cylinder turned. The sound of the lock disengaging was music to my ears. Smiling, I pocketed the tension wrench I had borrowed from Joey.

  The double doors stood at least seven feet tall and were made of dark wood with several rows of panels from top to bottom. The elegant knobs looked as if they were dipped in a pot of gold. I pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.

  Whoa.

  The vast entrance alone was a statement of Arturo Knight’s wealth. Above hung two candle chandeliers with dangling crystals to dazzle. The tiled floor was made of marble, and the two staircases flanked the entrance leading up the second-floor balcony. A black metal railing made of intricate designs protected it. The Knights were loaded in an obvious way.

  The sudden and frantic beeping of the watch I also borrowed from Joey interrupted my inspection.

  Seven minutes.

  I reset the timer and made my way up the curved stairs to my right. It was just two days before the fourth. If I were lucky, Bea would be on vacation. So, for the last sixteen hours I watched.

  No one came. No one went.

  It wasn’t until night had fallen that I made my move.

  My father berated me for not planning and called me an amateur for taking too many risks. But our survival was threatened by time I didn’t have. How could he judge me anyway? My father had defied odds on a regular basis, and because of him, following in his footsteps became inevitable. Even though he expected more of me, it never stopped him from sharing his secrets when I was a kid. But it was always about the job. Never about his marks.

  It was the same each time.

  He’d teach me the trade and then would warn me not to get any ideas.

  “You’re going to college, baby girl. One day you’ll be an accountant. You’ll be a square, unlike your old man, but what’s important is that you’ll be better than me. Promise me, Mian.”

  “I promise, Daddy.”

  This job had been different because it was personal. When the police questioned why he killed his best friend, he said Art had taken something from him. That night, he was only supposed to take back what was his, but instead, my godfather was murdered.

  Now it was up to me to finish what he had started.

  He never explained what it was, but I assumed it was money. Why else would he go along with my plan to finish the job?

  My father was a good man.

  He loved us.

  He’d want Caylen to have all that he deserved and so I exploited that to break through his reservations.

  The greatest challenge was believing the money my father was after was even still there.

  But that was what plan B was for.

  Down a short hall off the east wing, I found a small balcony at the end and two doors. Taking the one on the left first, I pushed inside and found a guest room. Across the hall was the same deal.

  I moved back down the short hall and turned left down another hall—this one shorter but wider. At the very end were double doors. I walked through them and found another bedroom. This one was at least twice the size of the others and dominating the center was an enormous bed. The headboard was painted black and reached high over the wide mattress. The silk sheets were also black, adding to the intimidation. It wasn’t exactly a woman’s touch.

  A shiver passed through me, but then something caught my eye.

  Against my better judgment, I moved to the foot of the bed for a closer look and found a dark gray tie curled on the bedding. I picked it up before I could rethink and wondered about the man it belonged to.

  After twenty-three years of friendship, Art betrayed my father, and my father killed him. Maybe there was a clue hidden somewhere in this castle that would tell me why.

  My stolen watch beeped, breaking my train of thought.

  Seven minutes.

  I was wasting time.

  I looked around the room for something valuable. There was too much space to decorate every inch. Art and Bea must have thought the same and chose to keep it simple. A loveseat faced the bed, aligned directly with the center.

  I wonder…

  A few years ago, Erin was curious about threesomes so she convinced me to watch a video with her. The first two videos were nothing special. I forced myself through them since Erin thought they were hot. But then we stumbled upon one that I’d never forgotten. For his anniversary, a woman gifted her husband his fantasy—to watch her with another man. I watched him watch his best friend and wife make love from a love seat very much like this.

  Would Art enjoy seeing his wife make love to another man? Or maybe he just liked to watch her…

  Beep beep! Beep beep! Beep beep!

  Getting caught in a fantasy allowed another seven minutes to pass by. I tore my gaze away from the love seat and reset my watch. I looked around and finally found what I was looking for. There were two doors adjacent to the bed. The door on the far left was open so I could clearly see it was a bathroom. The other was closed. I quickly moved toward it and pushed open the door.

  Bingo.

  This time, I didn’t waste time admiring the grandeur. I ventured deeper inside the closet with my eye on the island at the center. I ripped open the first drawer. Inside were an array of watches and rings.

  Jackpot.

  Snatching up the watch with the most bling, I stuffed it in my pocket, shoved the drawer closed, and ran from the room.

  The safe my father was after three years ago is hidden behind a painting in the second-floor study. At the time, I didn’t think the hiding spot was very original, but now I just found it convenient.

  The main hallway curved past the balcony and led to the west wing. Off to the right was another short hallway that led to the study. The doors were locked when I twisted the doorknob, so I fished the torque and tension wrench from my back pocket and knelt. After much poking and prodding, I felt the pins give.

  My watch went off again and the end of another seven minutes broke through my victory.

  Shit.

  The doors to the study matched the front doors but weren’t as heavy. When I walked through them, I was half expecting the ghost of Arturo Knight to be waiting on the other side, but all I found was a massive desk in front of oversized windows. Parallel to the desk was a brown leather couch that spanned the length of the desk. On the left wall, a bookcase was built into the length of the wall, and on the opposite wall were paintings decorating the space.

  Thinking I’d miscounted, I counted the frames again and found six, perfectly spaced paintings. Daddy had said there would only be five. The paintings were large and probably weighed at least half my body weight.

  I slumped against the door.

  My father had been right.

  I had no skill to move on a job like this without a plan. Naively, I’d given myself ten minutes to get in and out. Thirty minutes had gone by, and I was no closer to getting in that safe than I was when I started.

  I straightened from the door and moved until I was standing in front of the first painting of a man I didn’t recognize. The hook holding up the painting was too high for me to reach. I moved to the second and then the third and so on until I came to the fifth painting. The familiar features of a man I hadn’t seen in
years were captured with skillful accuracy.

  Arturo Knight.

  A chill passed through me at the same time the watch beeped again. I reset it and frantically searched for leverage and found a single seat chair decorating the corner to my right. The elegantly carved legs and back and a decorated cushion of the chair weren’t meant to be besmirched as a ladder, but it would have to do. I dragged it to the painting of my dead godfather and planted my dirty, torn chucks on the cushion. Stretching to the tips of my toes, my fingers were able to reach the top of the frame where the hook sunk in.

  Lifting the heavy painting was harder than I originally judged but with a grunt and sheer will power, I removed it.

  Holding it, however, while I stared at the empty space was impossible. The painting slipped from my fingers and crashed to the wooden floor.

  There was no safe.

  Or at least there had been.

  I ran shaking fingers over the obvious patch in the wall in disbelief. It had been my only chance. Leaning forward, I touched my sweaty forehead to the lump in the wall and rolled my head back and forth.

  Three years…

  I waited too long.

  I wasn’t sure how long I’d stayed in that position until my watch beeped again. Slowly, I lifted my head from the wall and stepped down.

  I should have left. Instead, I reset my watch and then stared down at the painting of my godfather. The piece didn’t seem to suffer any trauma from the fall.

  Art stared back at me with an expression carved in stone. He might have been a ruthless criminal, but he had always been good to me. After five generations of bandits, it ended with him.

  “It’s all over, godfather.”

  His dark brown eyes stared back at me almost as if he were challenging my claim. I suppose a man like him would defy anything that wasn’t to his liking.

  Just like your son.

  His son .

  Arturo Knight was as powerful as he was dangerous but his son…

  My legs trembled.

  …his son was a dark replica of the man my father murdered.

  Their legacy wouldn’t have died with Arturo.

  Angel would never let it.

  “Oh, God.” My gaze was pulled away from the painting until it found another. The last one in succession.

  The sixth .

  The floodgates opened.

  So many memories I couldn’t keep suppressed any longer drowned me. The same man trapped in the painting stood between those gates with his arms outstretched and his strong hands holding them open.

  Keeping them open.

  My body jerked, and I found myself clutching the back of the chair and dragging it over.

  It had to be.

  I launched myself on top of the chair, and with strength I hadn’t possessed before, I lifted the painting. Staring back at me was black metal about a foot wide and high. A keypad was centered to the right of the handle.

  After setting the painting down and recalling the combination from memory, I said a quick prayer for it to work. I reopened my eyes and positioned my index to key in the first number.

  That’s when I heard it.

  The faraway sound of a door closing.

  I was no longer in this house alone. Art may have been dead, but Angel was not, and the reality of how much trouble I was in slammed against my chest from the inside.

  It was too late to pretend I wasn’t here.

  So, I did the next best thing.

  Slipping from the study, I ran to the main hallway and stayed close to the wall. There were three bedrooms I could hide in on the east wing but the balcony poised over the foyer would expose me. I should have been running for the exit, but even a rookie such as me knew it was the most likely avenue to get caught.

  With careful steps, I slid along the wall, deeper into the west wing. Another set of doors like the master suite on the east wing was up ahead.

  Fuck it.

  I threw open the door and slipped inside. Looking around, it appeared to be just another guest room. This room, however, had small pieces of life to it, though not as much as the master suite.

  This must have been Angel’s room…

  “I’ll take the west wing,” I heard a hard voice call out.

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  I was trapped, and from context, I gathered he wasn’t alone. I didn’t recognize the voice, which meant my childhood crush turned worst nightmare wasn’t the one hunting me. Standing in the middle of the bedroom, I knew the owner of the voice would catch me at any moment.

  Hide.

  I analyzed each potential hiding spot and acknowledged each as worse than the last…

  Heavy footsteps drew closer.

  Time had run out.

  Since the closet was the likeliest place a person would hide, I chose the bed and wiggled my way under it with little effort. I guess being petite had its advantages after all.

  Breathing became impossible when the shadow of the person’s feet stopped outside the door.

  Maybe he could smell fear…

  I wanted to shut my eyes, but I was more afraid of not knowing when my doom would happen.

  The bedroom door opened.

  The boots stepped inside.

  I was no longer alone.

  He waited, and I prayed.

  Suddenly, his feet turned. He headed toward the closet. I listened as the door was snatched open and items were tossed aside as he tried to uncover my hiding spot. When it was clear no one hid among the cargo and dark jeans Angel had favored when we were kids, he moved to the bathroom. Finding nothing, he made his way to the side of the bed and stopped.

  I closed my eyes for self-preservation, but it was too late. The stranger’s voice disrupted the silence.

  “Come out. Come out. Wherever you are.”

  I didn’t come out.

  After a moment, his heavy footsteps plagued my ears once again. He must have discarded the possibility that an intruder would hide under the bed since most people stopped thinking it was a good hiding place after age ten.

  I cracked my eyes open and stared at the open doorway. He stood in it, and I could tell his back was turned to the room. The door slowly closed and only then did I breathe again.

  Until the unthinkable happened.

  Beep beep! Beep beep! Beep Beep!

  I froze, but it didn’t matter.

  Two seconds later, my hiding spot was missing its key element when the mattress and support were ripped from above me and effortlessly tossed away.

  I looked up into the startling silver eyes of the devil’s envoy .

  “Hello, pretty girl.”

  * * *

  “ Should we fuck her up or keep her on ice?”

  God, I was straining so hard that I wasn’t entirely sure exploding wasn’t the next step. I’ve been trying to make sense of the one-sided conversation since I was tossed over the broad shoulder of a man I hadn’t seen enter the room and was carted downstairs.

  The one that found me had suffered a pretty hard blow to the kneecap so I could escape what was left of the bed.

  Unfortunately, he’d managed to recover before I could escape…

  “Give it up, girl. I’m bigger than you.”

  I ignored his leering face and looked for an avenue of escape.

  “Stronger than you.”

  I scoffed and considered jumping from the window. Could I get it open in time?

  “Faster.”

  Guess not.

  With no other option, I got into a fighting stance and prayed the meager training Angel gave me—one of the few things he did right—paid off. “So try me, bitch.”

  The sudden glint in his silver eyes was my only warning a second before he launched.

  Throwing myself out of the way just in time, I scrambled to p
ut distance between us. He stood where I once was, and I moved closer to the door.

  I expected anger and insults. The pretty man dressed in blue jeans and a fitted white tee stared back at me with interest. He certainly didn’t look the type to storm castles and scare little girls from under their beds.

  Figuratively speaking, of course, since I did break in.

  “Why are you just standing there?”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. His attention was no longer invested in me.

  “Because you already lost.” The whisper came from behind, so close it tickled the hairs on my neck.

  I’d forgotten he wasn’t alone.

  Goose bumps spread from my neck to my fingers, and the voice materialized in front of me in the shape of a man. His blonde and black hair was pulled carelessly into a bun. His green eyes twinkled as he smiled. “Hi, there.”

  I was lifted in the air before I could react and tossed over his shoulder. I jerked into action and pounded against his back, but I might have been throwing feather punches because he didn’t break stride or even indicate he was in pain as he carried me from the suite to the staircase and down.

  I could feel the presence of the other man following, but then his voice speaking curtly into the phone confirmed he’d followed.

  “It’s a chick, man. Yeah… she’s alone.”

  Man-bun never took his eyes off me and with half a grin on his pretty face, he looked too friendly for what was happening here.

  I sat on the marble floor of the entrance where he ordered me after I had socked him and sat crossed legged as he instructed. He stood in front of me with his hands shoved in his pockets, but something told me not to misjudge his easy stance. He could probably slit my throat before I untucked a leg.

  The other one brooded a few feet away with his phone plastered to his ear. He wasn’t as friendly as his partner was, but he hadn’t hurt me either. I sat as still as I could and listened in on his side of the conversation but understood nothing. They either spoke in code or didn’t believe in complete sentences.