She lifted the blade, still wrapped in the cloth, and passed it to him. He took it in both hands, afraid to damage it. It really wasn’t much to look at—nicked and tarnished, antique but ordinary to the untrained eye.
“It was made in Imperial Russia.” Arianne pointed to a crest carved into the handle. “Look, here’s the coat of arms, and these etchings, here on the blade? Symbols from the men who’d had it forged—members of one of the original Russian assassin’s guilds during the reign of Catherine the Great.”
Suddenly, the blade felt a lot heavier. He handed it back to her.
“According to legend, it was given to the most skilled assassin in the guild,” Arianne said. “A man known only as the Bessmertnym Soldat—Immortal Soldier.”
“Immortal, as in, all of this is no more than a legend? A story told to naughty children at night, to frighten them into behaving?”
Arianne shook her head. “No. Immortal because he lived forever. At least, his persona did. See, upon his death, his greatest apprentice would take up the blade and the identity, continuing the legacy. No one ever knew the true identity of the Immortal Soldier, or for how long each assassin carried the name. The soldier—and this dagger—killed hundreds. Thousands. It vanished during the Second World War, but there were rumors that it was smuggled safely out of Russia, hidden in a piece of art created for just that purpose. As soon as Evan found it, I knew what we were dealing with.”
“The Mother was a fake,” Jared said. He still couldn’t believe it.
“We know that now. And obviously Berezin knows it.” Arianne set the blade on the table and picked up her drink, taking another healthy gulp. “It’s no wonder they’re after it. Whoever possesses this dagger is said to be undefeatable.”
“Just like the Immortal Soldier,” Jared said. “So it’s a piece of some cultural significance, then.”
“Some cultural significance?” Arianne laughed. “Jared, this thing is like the Bratva’s holy grail. The fact that it’s sitting on your coffee table next to yesterday’s New York Times? If any of those men knew it was here…” Arianne let her words trail off. Jared didn’t need her to fill in the blanks on what those men would do.
“Why don’t they know?” Jared asked. “If Davidson is promising to deliver the statue after the Annandale heist, surely they believe it’s in my possession.”
Arianne shook her head. “It’s unlikely they’d press him for those kinds of details. They need to keep a low profile on this, let Davidson think they’re just looking for a statue. And Davidson knows better than to ask clients why they want a particular piece.”
“But why hasn’t this Berezin guy come for it himself, then? What does he need Davidson for, especially since your boss has a penchant for dicking people over.”
“Too risky,” Arianne said. “They don’t want to alert any of the other crime families that they’ve got a lead on this piece. Their best shot is to lie low, let Davidson procure the intact statue, take it quietly, and carry it back to Russia without drama or bloodshed. Once it’s in Moscow, the Bratva can claim whatever authority they want. They’ll have the blade—proof of their legacy and righteousness.”
Jared downed the rest of his drink and leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes. “Nothing is simple with you, is it?”
Arianne didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.
“The Russian mafia? Some imperial immortal blade of legend?” Jared sat up and met her eyes. Just when he’d thought they’d seen the worst of it, along comes another twist in the plot. “Bloody hell, Arianne. What have you gotten into?”
“You’re the one who’s been hiding a priceless Imperial Russian artifact in your office for God knows how long. You’re lucky they still trust Davidson to procure it—and that he still thinks it’s at Annandale.”
“What can I say? I’m a lucky bastard.” Jared picked up their glasses and went to the kitchen to pour another round. While he was slicing the lime for Arianne’s drink, he helped himself to his Scotch, then poured himself a third. The alcohol was finally starting to relax him, the day slipping away in a warm haze.
“On second thought,” he said, returning to the living room with their drinks, “This is actually a good break for us. Like I said, we’ve finally got something to trade. Maybe this Imperial Russian murder weapon is a good omen.”
“Forget it.” Arianne left her drink on the table, untouched. “It’s not going to work.”
“Why not?”
She shook her head. “You couldn’t possibly understand.”
“Because I’m dense? I don’t buy it. Talk to me, Arianne.”
“Because you’re a good man. Too good.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but a tear slid down her cheek, her shoulders slumping forward as if the weight of the day had finally gotten to her. He tried to smooth away her tears with his thumb, but she pulled back at his touch.
“You’re a good man,” she said again, “and these people—my people—are monsters. We’re criminals and liars and killers, and that’s not how the game works. A trade? If Davidson catches you in the house, he’ll kill you. He’ll kill my sister. He’ll kill me. He’s not interested in making any deals, and if you wave that dagger in his face and tell him that it’s what the Russians were after all along, he makes one phone call—one, Jared—and guess who those Russians are going after next?”
“You think I don’t know that, love? That I haven’t considered all of the risks? That I don’t know that every moment I spend with you, I’m risking my life?”
Finally she looked up at him, her cheeks stained with tears, her lush lips puffy, her features weighted with a look of utter despair. In a whisper, she asked, “Then why are you still with me?”
“You need a list, then? Is that it?” Jared set down his drink and moved closer, taking her hand between his. Her palm was warm, even through the bandage, a reminder of all she’d already been through. “You’re beautiful. You make me laugh, every single day. You got inside my head, under my skin, and I can’t get you out—I don’t want to. I look at you, Arianne, and I see the rest of my life. Right there, love. I have never, ever felt this way about a woman before.”
“But I’m—“
“I’m in deep.” Jared smiled, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t care how irrational it is. How risky. How fucked up your life is. I’ve tried to talk myself out of it eight ways from Sunday, but I just keep banging my head against the same wall. I’m bloody well in love with you, and there’s nothing I won’t do to keep you and your sister safe. To take care of you.”
She opened her mouth, but he silenced her, pressing his fingers against her lips. She winced at his touch, reminding Jared that she was still healing, still hurt. But he didn’t know how else to say it, how else to make her understand.
He kissed her, gently at first, then deeply, slowly devouring her lips. She opened her mouth, moaning as he slid his tongue against hers. Her hands trailed down his chest to the button on his jeans, but he stopped her, pulling away.
He wouldn’t take anything from her; not tonight. Tonight, he needed to make her understand how much she meant to him. How much he wanted and needed her. How he’d do anything to make her happy.
There were so many things he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. So he dropped to his knees, sliding her pants down as he went. She kicked them off, and he pulled her forward, guiding her legs over his shoulders.
“Close your eyes, love,” he whispered, trailing his fingers lightly between her thighs. “Close your eyes and focus everything you’ve got on my touch, right here, right now.”
She did as he asked, and he moved closer, kissing his way from her knee to the soft, delicate skin inside her thigh. Her body twitched at his touch, her skin covered in gooseflesh. But still, she was resisting, denying herself the pleasure he was offering.
“Let go,” he whispered. “It’s just us right now. You and me. Nothing else matters.”
He finall
y felt her relax. She threaded her hands into his hair, and he relished the soft feel of her skin against his lips and tongue. He worshipped her flesh, taking his time as he made love to every inch of her thigh with his mouth, moving from one to the other, denying himself entry behind the silky scrap of her panties. She was wet for him, the silk dark with the evidence of her desire, but Jared took his time, tracing a soft pattern across her belly with his fingers, whispering her name as he continued to kiss her gorgeous inner thighs.
“Please,” she finally whispered, fisting his hair, arching her body to get closer. He wouldn’t deny her tonight; he’d give her everything she asked.
Jared leaned in closer, pressing his mouth to the damp silk of her panties, inhaling the pure, unadulterated scent of her arousal.
“Closer,” she said, wriggling her hips. “I need to feel you.”
He slid the panties off her legs and pulled her forward, sliding his hands beneath her to cup that firm, round ass. She grabbed the back of his head and moaned his name, and Jared pressed his mouth to her glistening pussy, finally indulging in his intense craving. God, the taste of her sweet honey on his tongue made him ache, his cock eager to escape, to drive into her flesh hard and fast.
But tonight wasn’t about him. It was about Arianne, this beautiful goddess who’d found her way into his life, into his bed, into his heart. Jared grabbed her hips and slid his tongue inside her, breathing her name, tasting and sucking, eating that pussy like it was a goddamn gourmet meal. Because to Jared, that’s exactly what it was. Something rare and exquisite, a delicacy he’d never stop craving.
She was still so tight, so wound up. He wanted to make her lose control. To forget all the pain and suffering in her life and just let go.
He sucked her clit between his lips, grazing it with his teeth, and her thighs clamped around his face.
“Jared,” she breathed, and the sound of his name on her lips, desperate and hot, made him even harder. She thrust her hips forward, and he drove his tongue deeper into her pussy, teasing her clit with his thumb, bringing her closer to the brink with every stroke. He was addicted to the taste of her flesh, to the slippery feel of her wet folds as she writhed beneath him, to the gorgeous scent of her body, and he couldn’t imagine his nights without her. He needed to make her come, to taste her arousal, to fill his ears with the sounds of her frantic moans as she fell headlong into the oblivion of pleasure.
Arianne’s thighs tightened again, and Jared thrust two fingers inside, sliding into her flesh—slow at first, then fast and hard, just how she liked it. She grew hotter and more slippery with every stroke, her pussy tightening, her body trembling.
She was right there, desperate, waiting for him to send her over the fucking edge.
“Come for me, Arianne,” he growled, and when he pressed his tongue to that tight bundle of nerves, her flesh clenched hot and tight around his fingers, and her body shuddered as the full strength of the orgasm slammed into her. She tasted like fucking heaven when she came, and Jared felt like a magician, bringing her to ecstasy at his command, controlling her flesh with the eager thrust of his fingers and tongue.
If only he had the power to erase her past. To fix the mess of her life.
You’re a damn fool, Blackwell.
Chapter Nine
The Hudson River was as black as a raven, shimmering in the moonlight as Ari looked out from Jared’s penthouse windows, fifty-nine stories above the earth.
It was two a.m., and in the bedroom down the hall, the man she’d fallen impossibly in love with was sound asleep. But no matter how deeply his kisses had touched her, no matter how much time she’d spent crying alone in the bath, Ari couldn’t sleep. She was wired, thoughts buzzing and colliding in her mind, her muscles as tense as a rubber band, ready to snap.
I look at you and feel like I can see the rest of my life…
God, it would be so easy to just fall into him. To take everything he was offering, give herself over completely, let him make all of her pain and worries go away. To believe that they actually had a future together. Marriage, kids, a beautiful life. She couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.
But at the end of the day, that’s all they were—imaginings. Every one of those perfect daydreams ended in exactly the same way: Jared’s life falling apart. Everything he’d ever worked for, gone. Destroyed.
Because of Ari.
It didn’t matter what he said—Ari couldn’t see it working out any other way. Jared was a kind, intelligent, amazing man—one who’d give everything to the woman he loved. He’d make an incredible husband one day, a doting father who’d give his family the world on a silver platter, with laughter and kindness and compassion to spare.
But what was Ari? Who was Ari? One look at the bandages on her hands, the dagger on Jared’s desk, the hole in her heart where her sister belonged… Ari had her answer.
She was a criminal. Dirty. Filthy. A thief who’d been ordered to case Jared’s home during a fundraiser, and in the time since, had brought nothing but pain and danger into his life—danger that now included the Russian mob. Learning about the dagger’s origins had nearly sent him over the edge for the very last time, and Ari couldn’t blame him. He was a business owner, a gamer, a somewhat mysterious billionaire art collector. Navigating the criminal underworld, dealing with kidnappers and money launderers, trying to protect his assets from thieves that now included some of the most notorious members of the Russian mob… none of that should’ve been part of Jared’s reality. But Ari had brought all of that to his doorstep, wrapped up in a neat little package of hot sex and innuendo, a make-believe fairytale that she should’ve closed the book on right from the start.
Every day she—and the dagger—lingered here was another day she put Jared at risk. She was so, so grateful for his kindness. His compassion. His love. His touch. But now she was only prolonging the inevitable goodbye.
There’s no other way this ends.
Absently, Ari collapsed into Jared’s desk chair and flipped open the laptop, skimming through the Errington files. She’d gone over them a hundred times already, but they still didn’t have a solid case against Davidson, and if she tried to use the dagger as a bargaining chip—and the Russians found out—game over.
No matter how desperate things got, Ari wasn’t about to play Russian Roulette—pun intended—with her sister’s life.
Maybe she’d missed something. Another account number, another link, a piece of evidence damaging enough that if she brought it to Davidson’s attention, she could convince him to cancel the Annandale job, release Tasha, and get the hell out of their lives once and for all.
Ari had thought Trick believed her today, and she knew he wouldn’t rat her out to Davidson—not after Jared’s convincing threats. But she hadn’t heard a word from Lilah or Keens. She had no idea whether Trick had shown them the evidence, or whether any of it would make a damn bit of difference in the end.
She looked through the files, but nothing new jumped out at her. On the computer desktop, there was one more folder—probably from the second drive that Jared hadn’t been able to crack. Ari double-clicked it anyway, surprised when it didn’t lock her out. Instead, it revealed two files—a video, and another spreadsheet.
Jared must’ve cracked it. But when? He hadn’t mentioned it to her, and they’d left together right after breakfast.
She opened the spreadsheet first. It was shorter than the others, containing only one list of artwork, followed by sales dates, customer initials, dollar amounts, and the same type of bank account details she’d seen on the other spreadsheets.
But this one wasn’t just a list of random works of art.
It was the list from the One Night Stand score. The Hermes statue. The LaPorte painting. The Egyptian pieces. Every last item.
Holy shit.
Her hands shook as she paged down through the list. From the looks of it, Davidson had gotten his hands on the score just one day after it—and her father—had gone missing. Er
rington had been releasing it into the market slowly, just a few pieces at a time, every year for the last five.
So I wouldn’t track it down and figure it out.
And the beneficiaries of those sales? According to the evidence, Davidson and Vincent pocketed all the proceeds.
Vincent, who—as far as Ari had always been told—didn’t even exist for Davidson until he’d shown up one day, about a year after her father’s murder, wondering if the crew had any use for a master forger.
The pieces were starting to click into place, but Ari didn’t want to believe it. Her stomach rolled, her mouth dry, hands shaking, but she pressed on. She had to know the truth.
Ari slipped on Jared’s headphones, launched the video, and held her breath as the images and sounds came to life on the screen.
It looked like some sort of surveillance video—black-and-white, slightly out of focus. There were two men in the frame, but their heads were cut off.
Hidden camera, she realized. A third man was wearing it somewhere on his body, probably in a shirt button or tie tack. The others were unaware of it.
Errington’s insurance policy.
“He trusts me,” one man said. “It’s not even on his radar.”
Vincent. She’d recognize the snake’s voice anywhere. The other man was Davidson. Which meant the guy filming had to be Errington.
“Once you get through the tunnel, take I-80 West, and find a good, out-of-the-way place to pull off.” Davidson said. “Play it cool, and he won’t suspect you.”
“That fuckface won’t have time to suspect me.” Vincent laughed, a sound that made Ari want to take a shower.
“Just make it look good,” Davidson said. At his nod, Errington passed Vincent a padded yellow envelope. “We need this to look like a mob hit, not an inside job.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Vincent said. “What about your crew? You need to keep them in check. Last thing I need is one of them asking too many questions about this.”
Bared to the Billionaire: The Complete Series Page 43
