Thief of Hearts: A Rogue Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

by Carter Blake

  “Combien de temps doit-on attendre pour?” The man screams into the phone, effectively directing my attention towards it.

  I translate quickly—how long should we wait for?

  Shit, what are they waiting for?

  Fear and anxiety begin to rise, and my stomach churns.

  This is not Griff.

  This is not a gentleman’s test.

  Something about this is dangerously wrong.

  And that realization paralyzes me.

  But despite the fear and anxiety taking over me, I try to settle and prepare myself.

  Though I don’t really know what to prepare for.

  I run my fingers over the binding and wiggle my feet that are tied to each of the legs of the chair, hoping to get a stronger sense of my body.

  It’s like what Griff said: it’s all about control.

  I need to be able to control my body.

  And step one in doing that is knowing where it is, how it feels, how it’s placed, and how that can be used to my advantage.

  I might not have any mobility at this point, but it’s always good to know as much as I can.

  Again, just like what Griff taught me.

  I hate knowing that I have been listening to him, taking his advice and using it.

  Why does he always have to be so damn good?

  Ugh, I hate how he can still get under my skin.

  “Oui, nous sommes ici dans la region de Safi, comme vous l’a dmande,” the man on the phone said, with exhaustion straining his voice.

  It rolls off his tongue so fast that it takes me a minute to catch up.

  Yes, we’re here in Safi, as you instructed.

  We’re in Safi? Isn’t that near Marrakesh?

  I visualize a map of Morocco and its surroundings, hoping to place myself somewhere in it.

  Ah, yes!

  I see it.

  It’s near the water—and not far from Marrakesh!

  Again, I thank Daddy for his rigorous demands on my education.

  Wait, Daddy!

  Does he know what happened? He has to know by now that I haven’t boarded the plane!

  And he must have people looking for me already. He’s probably devastated to know that—yet again—I’m not on my way back to him. Safe and sound.

  It’ll only be a matter of time before he’ll come looking for me.

  I hope.

  But wait, who instructed this?

  These men aren’t doing it alone. There’s surely someone higher who is giving them orders.

  My stomach drops, and I feel more nauseous than before.

  This just got so much worse than I imagined.

  I hear footsteps—maybe one or two—coming towards me.

  My body tenses, and my senses are sent into overdrive, uncomfortably so.

  It’s as if my body is trying to prepare for something, but doesn’t know what it is or what to do, so it’s preparing for everything.

  It’s overwhelming.

  They reach me, and I can feel them hover over on either side of my body.

  “Che cosa un bel po’ di coas,” one says in an amused, higher pitch voice.

  I swallow hard, distracting myself from wanting to vomit.

  His words—what a pretty little thing—allude to more than just using me for money.

  “Il boss, potremmo avere un po' di divertimento mentre aspettiamo?” the other man says in a serious, yet mischievous tone.

  They both laugh, roughly and deeply, sending cold, harsh shivers down my spine.

  I mull over his words—boss, could we have some fun while we wait?

  No.

  Please, no, I silently beg.

  “Non toccare il suo solo ancora. Abbiamo bisogno di lei in un pezzo unico per papa,” the man on the phone responds.

  Don’t touch her just yet. We have to have her in one piece for Daddy.

  Wait, they plan on returning me? A glimmer of hope builds in my chest, and the tension in my muscles release a little bit.

  But it quickly comes back ten-fold when one of the two men beside me touches my cheek.

  I pull away instinctively.

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” I yell out.

  I immediately regret it as a hand stings the side of my face, sending tears to my eyes and releasing a whimper from my mouth.

  “Guarda la tua bocca, cagna!” he yells at me less than an inch away from my face.

  I feel the heat of his breath on my lips, and my skin crawls.

  The other man near him laughs like some kind of movie villain.

  “Stop! Avez-vous entendu?” the boss—I’m assuming—yells at the man as he runs up to us.

  Stop! Did you guys hear that?

  They become still, and I hold my breath.

  Is someone here for me?

  Against my better judgment, the hope I once had returns more so.

  My Dad’s here to save me!

  Chapter 35

  Griffin

  The four of us are still sitting in the café, drinks almost empty.

  No one has moved.

  We look from one to the other, wondering what’s going to happen next.

  Because we’re all wondering the same thing. From the minute Leviathan mentioned Kalista’s name, the heist became less important. But none of us want to admit it—we’ve all waited so long for an opportunity as perfect as this.

  And now it’s under threat from a girl we’ve all known for about five minutes.

  But those five minutes feel like five years.

  And Kalista is what our brotherhood was missing—even if none us realized it before she came into our lives.

  More importantly, she’s been what I have been missing—even if I didn’t realize it before she came into my life.

  “So, what are we going to do, Gryphon?” Jackal asks, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen over us.

  Since Manticore revealed that Tartarus was one of the worst mercenary organizations in the world, my thoughts have lingered on how they’re going to treat Kalista.

  A part of me still can’t believe that Kalista’s father would do that to her. Anyone who loved Kalista would want her to be safe, to be happy, and to be by their side—instead of in the hands of some cruel mercenaries, all so that they can turn a profit.

  “Gryphon?” Leviathan asks, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

  But it’s no use. I can barely hear them all over the plan I’m trying to create. If I stay, then I’m condemning Kalista to something probably like torture. But if go, then I’m going in blind, without backup and the odds that we all end up dead.

  “Looks like you’ve got two options, Gryphon. Either we all stay, and we go through with the heist. Or we abandon the heist and go get Kalista,” Manticore says firmly.

  “We? What do you mean we? I could do this on my own, and you guys carry on the heist without me.”

  I see Leviathan vaguely smile at the notion. “We couldn’t do this without you, Gryphon.”

  “And we’re not going to let you go to Tartarus on your own, mate,” Jackal adds. “Kalista’s our friend, too, and it’d be stupid of us to let you go on your own.”

  “They’d probably kill you. You’re a thief, not Superman,” Manticore states deadpan.

  He has a point.

  I don’t carry a gun. That’s Manticore’s field. Weapons invite violence, and I hate resorting to violence on a job.

  But now I have no choice. If Manticore is right about these guys—and he’s never wrong about those in his chosen field—then violence can’t be avoided this time.

  “I’m sorry, gents, but I can’t go into that museum when my mind is somewhere else. I need to go after Kali. I never should’ve let her go in the first place.”

  “You’re human, Griff. We make mistakes. No reason we can’t fix this one.” Leviathan nods.

  “So it’s settled then. Leviathan, you begin tracking wherever they’re keeping Kalista. We come up with a plan, and we go get Griff’s girl back,” Jac
kal says a bit too cheerfully.

  “I’ll go grab the car,” Manticore declares.

  Manticore strides away, disappearing effortlessly into the crowd like a ghost. He’s so good that it scares me sometimes.

  But now, I’m incredibly thankful to have his skills at my disposal.

  “Hey, Jackal, can you do me a favor?” Leviathan asks as he pulls out his laptop.

  “Do you want the Wi-Fi password?”

  “Very funny. No, I was wondering if you could grab me an espresso. Or a double. You guys all got to have to your ritual, it’s time for mine, I think.”

  “Double espresso, coming up.” Jackal agrees and leaves the table.

  “Don’t worry so much, Gryphon.” Leviathan’s eyes never leave his screen. His fingers fly over the keyboard, pausing only occasionally to tap on the table and help himself focus while the screen loads. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet. If she has even the slightest scratch on her, you know, we’ll show Tartarus what hell is really like.”

  “I know, but I just can’t help but wonder if anything’s happened to her.” I run my hands through my hair and shake my head.

  “We’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

  Jackal comes back from the counter with two porcelain espresso glasses in hand. “They were confused about the concept of a ‘double’ so I just got you two instead.”

  “Thanks, Jackal,” Leviathan pauses for a second and throws back his head as he drinks the espresso like a shot of vodka. “Oh, fuck! That’s hot!”

  He wheezes in pain. It makes Jackal and I chuckle despite ourselves.

  “So, where are they holding her, Leviathan?”

  “Well, the good news is, she’s still in the country.”

  “And the bad?”

  “They’ve taken her to Safi.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad. Safi’s a nice city this time of year,” Jackal quips.

  “Yeah, but two and half hours is a long time to be driving when you’re on a rescue mission.” Leviathan points out, looking up from the screen just briefly to meet my eyes with a worried gaze.

  “How inconsiderate, the bad guys don’t just leave their kidnap victim on our doorstep.” Jackal’s tone is abrasive and sarcastic as he rolls his eyes.

  I give him a look that tells him to ease up on Leviathan.

  Truthfully, it could’ve been worse. Tartarus took Kalista when she was on her way to the airport and not in the middle of a flight. We could’ve had to travel to a different country—and hope that Eagle was free to fly us there.

  As if on cue, a metallic cherry red Maserati pulls around the corner, stopping just in front of where the three of us are sitting. The tinted window rolls down, and there sits the Manticore.

  “Get in, losers, we’re going shopping,” Leviathan declares as he snaps his laptop shut and drinks the other espresso in a similarly shot-like fashion. “Fuck! It’s still really hot!”

  I slide into the front passenger seat, leaving Jackal and Leviathan to sit in the back. We roll the tinted windows up and slip into the late morning traffic.

  Manticore drives in silence. We weave in and out of traffic, and it no longer seems like it’ll take two and half hours to get to Safi—maybe closer to one and a half, or maybe even one if we continue the speed we’re at.

  “So, they’re keeping Kali in an old shipping warehouse in the dock district of Safi. It’s owned under a shell company of Von Knopf Chemical Corporation, as if we didn’t already know that her dad was in on it.”

  “It’s highly likely that the dock guards are on the side of Tartarus,” Manticore adds, his steely eyes on the road. “They’ve likely taken over that entire area around the warehouse to make sure only their people can even get close to it.”

  “But luckily, given that it’s a public space, there’s an access road running right up to the front door.”

  “That’ll be crawling with hired guns,” I point out.

  “Who’s expecting us to turn up?” Jackal laughs. “Von Knopf doesn’t know we exist, and it’s not like he’s going to expect a brotherhood of thieves to come after his daughter. Far as he’s concerned, he’s got all this in the bag.”

  Jackal sounds so confident in us all, but I’m skeptical. If they hear us coming, Tartarus might do something to Kalista to make us stop. I can’t risk her getting hurt.

  “A frontal assault still might not be the smartest move.”

  “No, but going through the front door might not be as stupid as it sounds,” Manticore says quietly.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

  “Well,” Manticore tears his eyes from the road and to the clock on the dashboard. “Tartarus has been trying to recruit me for years. Demanding a meeting with their boss wouldn’t be difficult.”

  “Well, they’d likely roll out the red carpet for us, then,” Jackal chimes.

  “Right. Then when we find Kali, we drop cover, beat up everyone in sight, and get the fuck out of dodge,” Leviathan nods.

  “You mean surround ourselves with dangerous mercenaries and then hope that an exit strategy reveals itself on the fly? That’s so fucking rushed. What if Kali gets hurt?”

  “Gryphon, relax. None of us will let a thing happen to Kalista. Besides, it’s not like we’re going in unarmed,” Manticore says to me.

  I catch him looking away from the road for barely a second, so that he knows he has my attention. The road signs above the motorway begin to point the way to Safi, but my heart hasn’t stopped pounding in my chest.

  “Speak for yourself. You know that I don’t carry.”

  Manticore smirks at me. It’s a smirk I’ve seen before, and it was one I hoped to never see again.

  But things are different. Kalista’s life is on the line.

  “You don’t need to worry about your love, Gryphon. I’ve got us all covered.”

  Chapter 36

  Griffin

  Silence fills the car as we pull into a secluded alley next to the warehouse.

  Adrenaline thickens the air between us and oddly calms us into a pointed state of awareness and anticipation as we ready ourselves to descend upon Tartarus.

  The excruciating hour-and-a-half-long car ride provided enough time to cover all our bases. We prepared as if the whole crew would be there, mapped out the blueprints of the warehouse, and did some Intel on members themselves—their weaknesses, their moves.

  We left no stone unturned.

  We may have started off with the hint of a plan, but we are the best at what we do. And now we are prepared to take on an army.

  My main mission, though, is to get Kalista out from the bindings of the Tartarus. And, hopefully, out from the shackles of her preposterous father as well.

  Safely.

  “Gyphon, you ready?” Manticore asks me.

  I nod and look at the two in the back, posing with stone-cold faces.

  They all look at me, waiting for my response.

  “We all set?” I ask them firmly. I’m anxious as hell, and there’s a quiver in my voice, though they don’t notice.

  We’ve done heists before, but nothing of this magnitude. With these many forces against us.

  I’m not concerned for us—we’ll be fine—it’s Kalista that I can’t stop thinking about.

  Putting on his hat—metaphorically—Jackal looks at me, excitement emanating from him.

  It’s contagious.

  “We’re more than set,” he winks, and then opens the door, making his way to the trunk.

  I nod, and follow him, along with the others.

  Opening the trunk, we all stare down in greed, amazement, excitement—or all three—as Manticore proves our readiness.

  He wasn’t lying when he said that he had us covered.

  Each of us has armed himself with a couple of different types of semi-automatic pistols and submachine guns, ranging from Heckler & Koch to Manticore’s favorite, SIG Sauer. And if my eyes aren’t deceiving me—and they don’t often do�
�I’m certain that I see Jackal and Manticore hide a grenade in their bulletproof vests.

  Yeah, we have this.

  We all nod to each other and make our way to the entrance of the warehouse.

  Silence again falls upon us, but this time as a part of our preparation.

  The work of Leviathan and Jackal gets us through the door, with no questions asked.

  And a man with dark features and a prominently crooked nose walks up to us and begins to check us out.

  Tension and anxiety crowd the large, rather-crowded warehouse. All of us stand still, muscles and mind patiently waiting to attack.

  But we wait, holding in our itching need to beat these assholes to a pulp and find Kalista.

  After eyeing me up and down, he continues to scrutinize the other guys, and I look around the space.

  It’s exactly what we thought.

  Two stories, sparingly filled with miscellaneous materials—boxes filled with a range of chemicals and liquids and some random tables and stocks of paper.

  I bet Jackal is feasting his eyes—he has prime ingredients for a bonfire.

  But it reeks of metal and alcohol. It’s disgusting and stings when you breathe it in.

  My stomach drops, thinking about Kalista here, absorbing this piss for who knows how long.

  “Welcome to Tartarus, Manticore,” he declares—matter-of-factly—with a thick French accent.

  We give each other a passing glance, sharing a moment of assurance.

  “I better be,” Manitcore says sternly.

  I stifle a smile. His blatant disregard for the danger these men possess and the fire we are about to set in here is refreshingly humorous, yet not completely appropriate.

  A smaller group of about five other men gather around to greet us, guns cocked on their hips.

  Each one looks bigger than the next. All of them stand stoically and on-guard, looking as if they would shoot us the second the boss says so.

  “Please, follow us. The boss is excited to see you,” says one with an Italian accent.

  Like the idiots they really are, they didn’t pat us down or try to take our displayed weapons from us. This boss must be new or is just too thirsty for action or money. That’s what they’re known for anyhow—greedy, thirsty idiots.

  I marvel at their foolishness while heading to the far side of warehouse, weaving through walls of raw material and boxes.