Rogue Royalty

by Meghan March

  “Something like that. Come on. That’s not the part of the bat cave you really wanted to see.”

  He’s right. I turn to follow him toward another door at the end of a hallway. This one has a fancy-looking keypad and what I hope is a retina scanner. Because that would complete my little mental picture I’ve been forming of his lair.

  And I’m right.

  Kane puts his fingers on a piece of glass and looks into the scanner before the door opens—and then my mind is blown.

  “Holy. Shit. Are you kidding me right now?”

  I feel like I just walked into the Pentagon, and not the room for the normal people. This is like the bunker for the joint chiefs and president. Everything looks so fancy, I’m almost scared to touch anything for fear of breaking it.

  “Are you staging a nuclear strike from here? Or is that next week?”

  Kane laughs again, but I’m not totally joking.

  “Not exactly. More like operation Save Ransom’s Ass.”

  My humor evaporates, and I’m reminded of why I sought Kane out to begin with.

  “I truly can’t thank you enough for doing what you’re doing. It means more to me than you’ll ever know. This isn’t anything fancy, and nowhere near enough, but I made it for you and I want you to have it.” I hold out my sweatshirt to Kane.

  He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Your sweatshirt?”

  “Inside.”

  When he unfolds the fabric and looks at the pieces of metal I’ve welded together, I wonder if he recognizes what it is. My art isn’t the kind that you can always tell exactly what I’m trying to portray, but I thought I came pretty close here.

  “It’s a—”

  “Willys jeep,” he says, finishing for me. “The kind they used in the army originally, right?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “You made this for me?”

  “Before . . . before everything. I didn’t have time to give it to you then, but I wanted you to have it now. I truly am grateful.”

  He holds the jeep in one hand and reaches for me with the other. “I didn’t do this for gratitude. I told you, I would’ve done it even if you hated me. Took me a while to realize that’s what love is supposed to be.”

  “Dammit, don’t make me cry again.”

  “Shh. It’ll all be over soon, princess. I promise.”

  Kane sets the sculpture aside and wraps me in his arms. I breathe in his scent and cling to his strength. We stand there, holding each other for several minutes before I break the silence.

  “Is Giles being involved going to make this harder for you?”

  I feel Kane’s lips press a kiss to my head.

  “I don’t know. It certainly doesn’t uncomplicate it. His connections could go deeper than we realize.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of. “So, what then? Does it mean this will never end?”

  Kane’s gaze turns flinty. “This will end. I swear it. Even if I have to take out every single person involved myself.”

  28

  Temperance

  The next two weeks are a strange mix of stressful and surreal.

  Stressful, because Lagarto is still running free in Mexico. Rafe had him in his crosshairs outside Mexico City, and the motherfucking Lizard’s car blew up just before Rafe pulled the trigger. His bullet took out the nearby window of a store instead. Thankfully, no one realized it wasn’t from the explosion; at least, according to the online news article. Lagarto wasn’t just slimy, he was slippery too.

  I had originally intended to make an alligator for my showing at the gallery, but now any kind of reptile pisses me off.

  Instead, I’m creating a sugar skull, and it’s going to be epic. At least, it will be if I can find something amazing to use for the nose. None of the pieces of metal I’ve cut to the shape I want give it the feel it needs. I need something different. Something new.

  I pick up my phone and tap Kane’s number, even though he’s only one floor up.

  “Hey, princess. You need me?”

  This is the surreal part of the last couple of weeks. Kane and me.

  We’re forging a new life together, and it’s turning out as beautiful as one of my sculptures. It’s not perfect or normal, but it’s completely ours. We spend most nights at my apartment, in a bigger bed that Kane had delivered, and then in the morning, we get coffee and breakfast at a café before making our way to the warehouse where we go our separate ways to work.

  Kane is an avid day trader, something I didn’t know until I finally asked what he did to fill his time. It wasn’t just money from wet work that paid for this warehouse and everything in it. He’s actually a bit of a financial genius, which is pretty freaking cool.

  “Yeah, I need to hit a scrap yard.”

  “And here I thought maybe you wanted to rob a bank.”

  “I’m laying off the felonies for now, but I need a piece of metal and can’t find the right one. I thought maybe a trip to a scrap yard would give me what I need and knock a few more ideas loose.” I haven’t yet committed to the final pieces I’m making for the showing, and I want to.

  “I’m coming down. I know a place you might like.”

  “Thanks, babe.”

  I end the call and lay my phone on the workbench before leaning back against it and surveying my work.

  In two weeks of solid days spent hammering, cutting, and welding, I’ve managed to knock out more pieces than I thought possible. And what’s more, I’m proud of every single one of them.

  I’ll be proud to stand in front of them and take ownership of them. Each piece is unique, impossible to replicate. I’ve made it a point to add an old car part to each one, and I’ve decided that’s my signature.

  “Damn, princess.” Kane strides toward me, his gaze fixed on the sugar skull. “That’s gonna be sick when you’re done. It’s already awesome.”

  A smile curves my lips. It’s incredible to have the support of someone who believes in you and your dreams. “You think?”

  He stops in front of me and brushes a curl back that has slipped free of my bandana. “I know. You’re killing it, Temperance. Just like I knew you would. Now you have to talk me out of buying all of them so we can keep them here.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re not buying any of them.”

  “I’m not?” He tilts his head to the side. “And why’s that?”

  “Because you want me to make a huge splash in the art world, and for people to see these pieces in homes all around New Orleans and beg Valentina for more of them so I’m not a one-hit wonder.” The last part is courtesy of a small niggling voice that has crept into my subconscious these last two weeks.

  “You’ve already sold more than one piece, so how could you be a one-hit wonder?” Kane asks, confusion creasing his brow.

  I glance away for a moment before looking back up. “Only a few, and I went and quit my job on the off chance I can really make a career out of this. What if I can’t? What if it was just a few people and a little luck, and after this, no one wants any of my sculptures?”

  Kane wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest. “Stop. You’re not a one-hit wonder. This isn’t a flash in the pan. This is real. Your talent is real.”

  “You have to say that because you love me.”

  He presses a kiss to my forehead. “It’s the truth. You’re going to rock the hell out of this showing and have so much demand, you won’t know how to keep up with it. I’m already working on sources for more good scrap to prepare for it.”

  I jerk my head up to stare into his eyes. “You are?”

  He nods, and the confidence he has in me feels like the most incredible gift I’ve ever been given.

  He believes in me.

  I push up on my tiptoes to brush a kiss across his lips. “I love you so much,” I whisper.

  “Not as much as I love you.” He takes my lips and dominates the kiss.

  A bolt of lust shoots through me, and I don’t care that I’ve been working
for hours. I need him. Now.

  Pulling back, I grab Kane’s hand and drag him toward a Jeep with no top. It’s perfect for what I have in mind.

  Kane doesn’t argue. No, he helps me strip and then tears at his own clothes.

  “Front seat,” I say on a groan between devastating kisses. “I want you in the front seat.”

  “You first.” Kane lifts me off my feet and into the passenger seat of the Jeep. Then he climbs in the driver’s side, and I step over the gearshift to kneel on either side of him.

  “I apologize in advance for what we’re about to do to your leather.”

  “I don’t fucking care. All I want is you. Right now.” His lips press against my stomach as his fingers find my nipples and tug.

  The heat that was already growing between my legs spirals even hotter. I reach for the bar above his head, and he pulls back to watch as I position myself over his cock.

  “That pretty pussy’s already wet for me?”

  “Always.”

  As I slide down, taking his cock inch by inch, Kane groans. He begins to lift his hips, but I shake my head.

  “This is my ride. I’m in charge this time.”

  Kane’s icy eyes flare. “You giving me orders, princess?”

  “Damn right, I am.”

  “You realize that means the next time I come down while you’re working, I’m going to bend you over the hood of that Chevelle and spank your sweet ass until you beg me to fuck you.”

  I grip the bar and begin to move. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  He shakes his head. “No, what I got myself is the perfect woman, and she’s all fucking mine.”

  A few hours later, Kane holds my hand as we walk down an aisle at a scrap yard, looking for the elusive piece to complete my sugar skull. We’ve already collected a pallet’s worth of metal that we’re taking with us, but I still haven’t found what I want.

  “Do you ever feel like you shouldn’t be as happy as you are?” I ask. “Like it’s not allowed because . . .”

  He stops and tugs at my hand until I face him. “You’re allowed to be excited about this showing, no matter where your brother is in the world and what he’s doing.”

  I fix my gaze on the ground. “I just feel guilty that things seem to be going in the right direction for me, and his life . . .”

  “His life is where it’s at because of him.” Kane tips my chin up with two fingers. “You didn’t make those choices. He did.”

  “But—”

  Kane shakes his head. “Did he work his ass off to put himself through college?”

  “No.”

  “Did he bust ass to have a respectable job so he could feel good about himself?”

  “No.”

  “Did he pursue a passion that creates something beautiful for the world to see?”

  This time I shake my head because the lump growing in my throat makes it hard to speak.

  Kane speaks for me. “No. He didn’t. He chose his path, and you chose yours. You reap what you sow, Temperance. He might share your blood, but what he does with his life has always been up to him. You couldn’t stop him if you tried.”

  “I know.”

  “So don’t, for one second, let the situation he dragged us all into take away a single moment of your joy for living your dream. You did that. You deserve to enjoy it.”

  Tears, which I should be out of at this point, blur my vision, and I blink them back as I meet Kane’s gaze and nod.

  When I turn my head, I see it.

  The perfect piece of metal.

  “There it is,” Kane says, but he’s talking about the smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

  I point behind him. “No, there it is.”

  As Kane helps me pull out the headlight housing, the excitement that fills me isn’t only for the metal I’m using to build my sculpture, but for what we’re building.

  After I pay for the metal and arrange for delivery of the pallet to the warehouse, we turn to leave the scrap yard. Kane’s holding the headlight housing as we walk toward the Scout, and I spot a man running toward a dark SUV.

  “What the hell?”

  Kane’s gaze follows mine. “What the fuck is he doing?”

  “I have no idea, but . . .” I spot the broken side mirror on the Scout. “That motherfucker.”

  Kane turns and takes off after him, but the guy is already diving into what looks like a black Tahoe and takes off, tires spinning and throwing gravel.

  I rush to the Scout and the first thing I notice, other than the broken mirror, is the divots on the glass.

  He tried to break the damn windows. But they’re bullet resistant and he wasn’t prepared for that.

  Kane comes back, not even breathing hard after his sprint, and hands off the piece of metal we found to me.

  “The dumbass didn’t cover his plate. We’re going to track this motherfucker down.”

  29

  Kane

  The plate belongs to a dead man. Gregor Standish. A man that Mount had offered me a contract on, and I said no because I don’t shit where I eat.

  No self-respecting hit man takes jobs in a town where he has a home if he can avoid it. Have I been unable to avoid it on occasion? Yes. Like the time Mount needed to wipe out an entire cartel contingent. That was for justice, at least in my eyes.

  You don’t go after a man’s woman.

  So, why the fuck is a guy driving a dead man’s car coming after me?

  Unless he’s not.

  I keep digging into Standish to find out who would want to avenge his death, but all I find is a string of ex-wives who took him to the cleaners.

  Before I can keep digging, I get a text from Ransom.

  * * *

  He’s arranging another shipment. It’s time to end this.

  * * *

  Damn right, it is.

  All of this.

  I’ve got a new lease on life, and I’m ready to get to living it without anything hanging over our heads.

  30

  Temperance

  Standing in the middle of Noble Art, even amidst the chaos of setup, is surreal.

  Setup for my showing that is happening in two days.

  I’ve taken Kane’s words to heart and haven’t let my worries over Rafe’s situation detract from my excitement about what is a dream come true for me. I can still stress about Rafe and the man he’s hunting down, and yet enjoy this too.

  Like right now, I push it all away and let giddiness sizzle through me like a kid who’s just spotted a massive pile of presents under the Christmas tree.

  But this is better than Christmas on every level, even though it’s slightly terrifying. Like facing a firing squad and hoping the guns shoot confetti instead of bullets.

  Valentina’s employees bustle around the room, setting up pedestals for my sculptures. I’m supposed to be helping, but all I can do is stand here dumbfounded, bubble wrapping clutched in my fists as I watch them treat my work like it’s precious art.

  Which they think it is.

  Insanity.

  This is the life I couldn’t even have dreamed of. This is the life I wouldn’t be living if not for Kane pushing me to go after it. Tears prick the back of my eyes, which seems to be a regular occurrence lately, and I blink them back.

  “Pretty crazy, isn’t it?” Valentina returns from the back room and hands me a bottle of water.

  I accept it and twist off the top, taking a sip for no other reason than it’s something to do to distract me from the urge to blubber like a baby over the reality of what I’m seeing.

  “I remember the first time I saw an entire wall covered with my paintings, and my name was actually beneath them. It’s not something you ever forget.”

  I stare at the wall ahead of me and the canvases that I know are Valentina’s. “You must have been so proud,” I say, glancing from the nudes to her face.

  “I wanted to throw up, run out of the gallery, and never come back.”

  “No way.
You?” I decide not to mention the fact that I feel like I might need to escape to the restroom and puke in the next five minutes.

  She nods. “Absolutely. If you think it’s easy to dig something out of the very depths of your soul and then display it in public to be judged by your friends, family, peers, and complete strangers . . . you’re insane. This isn’t for the faint of heart.”

  “Thank you for saying that,” I whisper. “Because right now I’m mostly excited, but there’s this other part of me that wants to puke and then rock in the corner and cry for a week.”

  Valentina slides an arm around me and squeezes. “You’re going to be totally fine. It isn’t easy to expose our true self to others, especially those who might not appreciate it. But I can tell you this—if anyone says anything cruel or stupid or hurtful about any of your pieces, that says a lot more about them than it does about you.”

  My gaze locks on the large piece I did that is a different version of the one I made for Harriet. Nudes, but in metal. Clearly locked in a carnal position.

  “I know not everyone is going to like them. Some people will come to throw rocks, literally or figuratively.”

  Valentina squeezes me again. “Don’t waste a minute worrying about them. Bad reviews are as inevitable as the sunrise. Just remember, even Picasso thought everything he ever painted was crap. You’re going to do great. If anyone says a cross word to you, chances are Rix will put them in cuffs, and they’ll spend the rest of the night dealing with paperwork and lawyers at the police station.”

  The laugh that bubbles from my lips is genuine, and I send up a prayer of thanks that I’ve found people like Valentina in my life who have stepped in and changed its course.

  But no one has changed the course more than Kane. And if he heard someone say something bad about my sculptures, I’m pretty sure that someone wouldn’t end up in the police station. Maybe the hospital. I’m ruling out the morgue. For now.

  Today Kane’s off chasing down a lead on a human-trafficking shipment and trying to find out if it’s connected to the Lagarto shipment Rafe is tracking from his end. Even though I wanted to be involved, it feels good to be doing something that moves us forward, instead of focusing on digging us out of the mess my brother got himself in.