The Obsidian Collection

by Rebel Adams

  “The saving your ass part is debatable,” he starts, but stops abruptly when he sees the snarl on her lips. He swallows, again the lure of truthfulness more than he can bear. “Would you believe me if I said I left you after our time together—all three magnificent times—because I’m a coward?”

  Maya’s eyes widen. “Oh, I believe you’re a coward, but I can’t believe you’d admit it with a trace of sincerity.”

  “I admit it. I was a coward.” He runs a hand through his hair. “That night with you was perfect. The adrenaline from pulling off another successful operation, the gunfight in the garage, having you at the cabin, and God,” he steps forward and clamps a hand down on her hip, “everything about you. Your body. Your mind. The way you felt beneath me. I’ve never wanted someone so much. Not before and not since.”

  Maya shakes her head and says quietly, “This is not the time or place for true love confessions. Especially lies to get me to lower my guard. Again. Fuck you.” She spins to walk off but Kent grabs her arm, pulling her back.

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not doing this right now—if ever. We have a job to do starting in twenty minutes and I’m not spending it fighting with you over a one-night stand, and the fact you’re a miserable bastard. Once this job is over, stay away from me.” She jerks her arm away and storms off the balcony, disappearing into the crowded room inside.

  Maya steps into the first restroom she finds and shuts the door, furious at herself for getting so upset over Kent. He’s not worth it, she tells herself, for what has to be the hundredth time. She steps in front of the mirror and sighs with relief when she sees that she doesn’t look as distressed as she feels. What’s wrong with me? she thinks, pushing a hair back into place. It’s unlike her to behave so emotionally on a job. Or ever. Her nerves are raw, which is not how she wants to go into the biggest score of her career.

  The bathroom is enormous, with a small sitting area near the door. She sits on a chaise and opens her purse. A quick flip through her phone shows all systems are set to go. The little blue dot marking Queen’s position holds steady. In fifteen minutes, the other dots, a variety of yellow for guards and red for the security system, should disappear when they make their way to the painting.

  Her mind flashes back to Kent and his proclamation on the balcony. Fucking prick. How dare he screw with my mind on a day like this! She wonders if he’s that competitive he’ll sabotage her on purpose. He’s done it before and Maya has no doubt he’ll do it again. It’s been a year since the night they slept together. No, fucked each other, and she thought that she could move past her anger for this job.

  Apparently, she was wrong.

  “Thank you,” he said, collapsing on her back. They were stuck together like glue; sweat adhered his stomach to her back. He’d lamented about not seeing her breasts from the backside, but was satisfied her other features were just as appealing.

  “You’re welcome,” she replied, for the third time that night. Three times, three positions. Each one better than the last. Kent knew how to please a woman, which surprised her since he was such a self-absorbed dick.

  “Can I get you something?” he asked, leaving the bed for the first time that night. He stopped in front of the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. She nodded, too tired to get up herself. He brought one back, cap twisted off.

  “Sorry about your back,” she said. He twisted to see the marks she left there, but it was impossible. Maya ran a hand down the angry, red streaks. “You seem to bring something out in me.”

  “Me as well,” he agreed, moving his mouth to hers. Their tongues stroked leisurely, both tired from the events of the day and the activities of their night. “You should sleep,” he said, brushing the back of his hand over her cheek. “You look like you may pass out.”

  Maya hummed, exhausted and worn. She burrowed into the warmth of his side and inhaled his musky scent. She fell asleep in moments.

  Bright light woke her—a shiny glare through the expansive back windows. It was too bright, the sun too high, already creeping over the trees. Her body ached from the night before. A good ache and the memory stirred desire in her belly. She felt the bed next to her and found it cool to the touch. Using one hand, Maya sat, bringing the sheet up to cover her naked body.

  “Kent?” she called, blinking away the sleep. There was no reply. No movements or other sounds. Just the chirping of birds outside the window. She lifted her hand to rub her eyes but it jerked to a stop. “What the—”

  Her right, and dominant hand, had been bound to the bed by a thick black cord. Scrambling over, she tugged at the binding with her free hand, only cinching it tighter. “Motherfucker! Mother.Fucker!”

  Fully alert now, Maya scanned the room. The clothing Kent wore the day before was gone. As was his jacket by the door and the keys on the small table. Her clothes were folded neatly on the chair next to the bed. A sinking feeling landed in her stomach. She took a deep breath; something to steady her nerves as she figured out how to get out of the situation. The cords weren’t meant to hold her forever. That was obvious by the fact he left one hand free. Kent wanted her to get away—just not right away.

  The knot was intricately tied. She rolled to the edge of the bed, using her teeth and free hand to loosen the binding. ‘She must look a fool,’ she thought: naked and struggling to free herself. She refused to search the room for a camera. There was no doubt Kent recorded every moment of their time together. This one probably thrilled him the most. Once the cord had enough lax, she twisted and turned, scraping the skin off her wrist. “Shit!” she yelled, breaking free.

  Pissed off and naked, Maya stood in the middle of the room holding her red, inflamed wrist in the air. “Fuck you, Kent,” she declared, hoping he could see her extended middle finger wherever he was.

  She dressed in a hurry and bolted down the stairs, knowing before she got there what she’d find. The Bugatti was gone. In its place was a beat-up silver pick-up truck. Key in the ignition.

  In the car, Maya refused to wipe the tears rolling down her face. Refused to show any sort of weakness. And she would never reveal herself to a man like Kent again.

  Kent tracks Maya through the mansion, weaving through guests and assorted bodyguards. He wants to catch her—no stop her—to confess the raw feelings boiling in his chest, but now isn’t the time. Grabbing a drink, he settles by an exquisite statue to assess the room once more. Discrete cameras are placed around the room. The windows and doors are wired. The guards are all in position, just like the intel they’d received from Agent Carson warned. A vibration pulses against his wrist and he glances down at the watch Maya designed.

  Fifteen

  The message morphs into a countdown, the seconds ticking away. He and Maya have fifteen minutes before Queen starts the clock. After that, everything must happen on a tight schedule with no room for mistakes. He checks the numbers again and downs his drink.

  Fourteen minutes and thirty-three seconds. It’s now or never, he thinks, moving across the open room. He ducks down the hall carrying a thin blade in his hand. As expected, the door is locked. All it takes is a solid wedge and jiggle, and he’s rewarded with the soft release of the bolt. Opening the door with a quick glance back, he slips inside, locking it behind him.

  Before he can even turn around, he feels the hard, blunt nose of the gun pressed against his head.

  “Don’t you fucking move,” Maya spits behind him.

  Kent spins on his heel, grabbing the wrist holding the gun and disarming her instantly. With one hand, he tucks her gun in his pants. With the other, he pushes her against the vanity, the slit in her dress widening so he can see the strapped on grenade. He tugs at her dress and runs his hand up her body. “I’m an idiot,” he says.

  “And a bastard.”

  “A total moron.”

  “And a fool,” she prompts.

  His watch vibrates, signaling another minute has passed. “We’ve got eleven minutes, b
abe, before we bring down the biggest art heist in modern history. How do you want to spend it?”

  Maya’s lips purse into a thin line and Kent knows that he went too far. What he did is unrepairable. He fucked up. He’s lost her and it’s his own damn fault for being a coward. He takes a step back but her hand grabs his tie and she drags him back to her. “Maya?”

  “Shut the fuck up,” she says, clenching his tie so tight that he’s afraid she may choke him. Except she doesn’t try to kill him. She licks her lips and presses her chest into his, right before attacking his mouth with hers.

  Kent kisses her in return, tasting the sugary alcohol on her tongue. Raw heat churns between them and he lifts her onto the marble counter. Adrenaline fuels their passion but he knows it’s more than that. “Maya,” he whispers against her ear.

  “Don’t Kent. Don’t say anything you’ll regret.”

  He steps back, yet never losing contact. His hands stroke her neck and arms. “I need you to listen and I need you to believe me. I’m sorry. I fucked up that night. Royally. I’ve regretted it since the moment I walked out the door.”

  “Before or after you bound me to the bed.”

  His lips curl. “You’re so beautiful and so strong.”

  She eyes him warily, but he knows she’s listening for once. “What’s your point?”

  “You’ve owned me, Maya, since the first moment I saw you staring down the barrel of my gun. It scared me. I’ve never wanted someone so badly. We connected—body and soul—and I ran once. I’m not running again.” He looks at her with heat in his eyes, determined to wipe that away for good. “After tonight, I want to figure this out. No running. No fighting. Just you and me.”

  She scoffs, “If we get through tonight.”

  He kisses her again. Softly at first and then harder. Her inner thighs clench against his hips. “We’ll get through. For the first time, I have something to fight for, other than myself.”

  “If you’re bullshitting me, Kent, I will stab you in the heart.” She tries to look fierce, but instead her eyes are wide and intense. “I can’t do that with you again.”

  “Never again.” His watch vibrates at the same time as the gold cuff on her wrist. Cupping her face with his hands, he says, “We’ve got to go. Queen’s in position.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Hell, yes you are,” he says, helping her off the counter. The fear is gone. It’s replaced with confidence. With a quick move, she removes her gun from behind his back.

  “When I open the door, exit left. The first hallway will lead us to the library and art collection. Don’t stop—not even for a drink. Make sure the guards are taken care of. I’ll scan and disable the security system,” she says, all trace of personal emotion gone. Maya’s on the job. He loves this about her.

  They exit the bathroom and Kent turns down the hall, immersing himself in a small crowd. With a glance back, he sees that Maya has already slipped away, in search of the security station. Snatching a full glass of wine off a serving tray, he casually makes the final turn toward the library. Midway down the hall, he spots a large man dressed in a gray suit standing in front of a velvet rope. He makes several polite commands in Italian.

  “Americana,” Kent says, between gulps of wine.

  “Sir,” the guard says, this time in English but with a thick Italian accent. “You must return to the party. This area is not for guests.”

  Kent lowers his glass and stumbles on his feet. “Oh, I must have gotten turned around.”

  “The party is back that way.”

  “This isn’t the way to the balcony?”

  “No. Please turn—”

  Kent doesn’t give him chance to finish. He strikes the guard in the stomach and then throat. Caught by surprise, the guard falls forward and Kent catches him mid-air, kneeing him in the nose. Kent presses his watch against the guard’s neck and an electrical shock runs through the guard’s body. He presses a button and says, “Thanks for adding the Taser to the watch, sweetheart.”

  “Came in handy, huh?” Maya replies.

  “Definitely. One down.” He spots two more guards coming down the hall. They’re like Laurel and Hardy. Big and small. “At least two to go.”

  This time, he doesn’t have the upper hand. Both men have drawn guns but Kent pulls his own. Laurel, the thin guard, shoots without warning. Kent dodges and the bullet ricochets off a gold plated mirror. The loud crash provides him the opportunity to rush both men, swiping Hardy across the ankles and Laurel in the head with his gun. Both stumble, but only Hardy falls, too big to have any agility. Laurel curses him in Italian, relying on his gun to do the work.

  “Drop the gun, asshole,” Kent says, bashing the guard’s hand on the wall, beating it repeatedly until the weapon falls to the floor. From there, he manages to get Laurel twisted and on his stomach. Removing a bundle from his pocket, Kent winds a thin cord around his wrist and binds him. He’s just about finished when Hardy groans and rolls over, holding the gun level with Kent’s eye.

  "Vaffanculo,” he says smugly. He cocks the trigger inches from Kent’s skull.

  Kent scrambles, kicking his tangled feet from Laurel’s. It’s no use, so he tenses his shoulders, bracing himself for the bang. A shadow crosses over the men, followed by a loud smack of flesh against flesh. Hardy releases an, “Oof,” and crashes to the ground. Maya hovers above like a dark angel, surveying her damage.

  “Good timing, babe.”

  “Get up,” she says, stepping over the bodies. “Tie him up, too.”

  He binds Hardy’s wrists and opens the nearest door. Maya grabs the lighter one and lugs him inside. Kent follows, dumping the big man on top of the smaller one. They lock the two men inside.

  Back in the hall, Kent says, “Three down. Is the system cut?”

  “Yep. The monitors are on a playback loop. Their eyes are on the party. No one will notice the difference.” Maya wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. Her skirt has a tear in the hem. She notices him looking at it. “Stupid dress. If I go down, it’s because of this freaking outfit.”

  “You look hot.”

  “Shut up.”

  He smiles at her retort, happy that even after their declarations she’s still feisty as hell. Maya stalks away, her heels clicking against the wooden floor and he follows watching their back. “There’s a security line here.” She points to one spot on the wall and then another. He can’t see anything. “And then another one here. Queen disabled both remotely.”

  The library has a double French door. Kent reaches for the knob but Maya stops him. “The handle has a sensor.”

  “The handle?”

  “Yes. We need a palm match.”

  “How do you propose we get one of those?” he asks.

  Maya reaches between her breasts and pulls out a small square. She unfolds it carefully and Kent realizes it’s a single glove. It looks like latex. “Agent Carson sent this with the dress. He said I’d know when to use it.”

  “Why you and not me?” He doesn’t like being left out of the loop.

  “Because you wouldn’t know what to do with it. Plus, it’s in my size.”

  With the glove securely on, Maya turns the knob. A sharp click sounds and green light glows around the handle. “We’re in,” she says, with a relieved smile. They enter and are met by enormous shelves of books, climbing all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. Kent walks along the exterior shelves, scanning the spines, each title in one of a dozen languages. Italian, French, Latin…each carrying the scent unique to books. Spaced around the room, atop glass cases, are the rare prizes—battered pages and worn covers. The room reeks of ancient history and wealth. “This is incredible,” she says, standing over an illustrated copy of the Bible.

  “And I thought I was rich.”

  The dual vibration against Kent’s wrist and from Maya’s bracelet snaps them back to reality. They had eight minutes before they were set to meet Queen outside the property.

  “Okay, accor
ding to the maps, the art gallery should be just north of that wall,” he says, pointing to a long row of bookshelves. “I don’t see an entrance.”

  “Must not be visible. I doubt they’d have the Obsidian where guests can see it—even invited ones.”

  They moved quickly across the room to the north wall and searched for a way through. Everything seems standard and in place. Whatever opens the door is well hidden. A figurine catches Maya’s eye, but before she can move Kent says, “Fuck this,” and pulls his gun.

  “What the hell, Kent!”

  “Move back. We’ve got seven minutes. You still got that grenade?”

  “It’s a flash-grenade, dumbass. And don’t shoot anything.” She shoves him out of the way and touches the figurine. The door unlatches with a click and springs open.

  “God, you’re impressive,” Kent says, grabbing her by the waist. He kisses her hard, while pulling them both into the room. “I can’t wait to get you out of here.”

  Maya has no chance to reply, a jovial voice greets them from inside the hidden room. “It’s so nice to see you two getting along.”

  The door closes with a snap behind them. Maya spins and smirks at the man standing in the middle of the room. Queen has a painting in his hands, held carefully with a pair of archival gloves. An oriental rug is flipped over in the middle of the room to reveal a small opening in the floor.

  “What are you doing?” Kent asks. Maya’s gun rising next to him.

  “Taking the Obsidian.”

  “But why?” He looks between Maya and Queen. Her eyes are ice. He’s fairly certain she may blow Queen’s handsome face off if he doesn’t let go of the painting.

  Queen smirks. “For the best of the best, you’re pretty stupid, Kent.” Maya releases a sharp snort.

  A snort. At his expense.

  Tha-fuck?

  “Light bulb,” Maya says, shifting her gun and sight onto Kent, before he has time to react. She glances at Queen. “Told you he was slow.”