One morning when Thea was walking with me to class, I told her about it, and she reminded me that he lost his parents when he was young and emotions work differently with Noah.
He was a broken, damaged boy who grew up to be a callous and merciless man. But underneath that hard shell exterior, I knew there was a man whose heart beat red.
A man who currently stands in the kitchen; bare-chested as he makes us breakfast.
“You’re staring.”
“You want me to stare,” I remind him. If he didn’t want me ogling him, he’d put on a shirt. I watch him as much as he watches me. It’s hard not to when he’s a magnet for my gaze.
We pull to each other, opposite ends of the same string.
He smirks into the pan as I make myself more comfortable on the kitchen stool.
Today has been canceled. Literally. More snow than predicted fell during the night with inches piling up on the streets and roads.
It’s six a.m. and already half the city has lost power. Shut down for the day.
So this is how I’m choosing to spend it. Watching Noah make an elaborate feast for two. Eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, toast, and champagne, I can’t stop myself from thinking he’s trying to butter me up for a snow day sex fest.
And if that’s the case, he’s going to be sorely disappointed. I’m behind on schoolwork so today has to be my catch-up day. And I will not let him distract me.
He’s the reason I’m behind to begin with.
I tear my gaze from Noah, opening my laptop to force myself to work.
As I’m typing away, my body shivers. Maybe I picked the wrong outfit to wear, a stolen button-down from Noah’s floor, and socks. It’s not cozy enough for a snow day. I need to be cozy.
About twenty minutes in and one assignment finished, I decide to check the weather radar before jumping into the next.
When I see what they’re reporting, my eyes widen. God, that’s so much snow predicted.
Why did I move back here again?
A throat clears, startling me.
Noah frowns as he jerks his chin to the two plates on the counter stacked with food.
Ah, we’re back to his native tongue. Caveman.
Too bad for him, I chose French in school.
“Use your words, Noah.” I grin, closing my laptop.
He glares at my teasing tone. “Food. Now.”
Such a caveman. He slides me a plate while standing on the other side of the bar to eat his.
We’re eating our food in companionable silence when the lights to the apartment go off. So do the surrounding lights from the buildings around us. I stiffen as they flicker off.
“Looks like the blackout is spreading.” Noah doesn’t bother to pick his head up from where it hovers above his plate. He’s wolfing his food down while I’ve barely touched mine.
Noah wipes his mouth with a napkin, putting his empty dish in the sink. “You don’t like it?” He frowns at my picked at plate.
“No, it’s delicious,” I reassure him, seeing some tension leave his shoulders. But I set my fork down, anyway. “I’m going to go change, though.”
I need a second, or several, alone. It’s not as bad as when I wake up in the middle of the night, not knowing my surroundings for a second, but it takes me a minute to ease the pain in my lungs. I need to get up. Do something. Change outfits. Something to feel in control again.
“Why do you want to do that?” He takes in my hard nipples that pierce through the shirt’s fabric.
“Because this” —I trace the pert bud and his nostrils flare— “means I’m cold. They’re not for you to stare at.”
“What about suck on?” he prowls toward me.
I knew it! He wants a sexfest. I put my hands out to keep him at a distance. He walks right into my palms, not caring.
I scramble off the chair and dart away. “Oh no you don’t, mister!” I run around the island. “There will be none of that until I get my schoolwork done.”
Noah groans but concedes.
However, I don’t trust him though as I skirt around him and to the stairs, expecting him to reach out and grab me. But he doesn’t. Doesn’t even make a sound until I reach the stairs.
That’s when I hear him mumble, “It better not be that damn penguin onesie.”
I stop mid-step, shooting him a look. “There’s nothing wrong with my onesie.”
“You’re going to come back down in it, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” I can’t fight the grin on my face. “You’re just going to have to be patient and find out.”
“One day I’m going to burn that thing.”
I gasp, leaning over the railing so he sees how serious I am when I say, “You will do no such thing, Noah Kincaid. If I ever find it missing, I will smother you in your sleep and call Thea to help me dispose of your body.”
He raises a brow, not scared but impressed. “I don’t know if I like you hanging out with Thea. She’s putting murderous thoughts into your head.”
“Oh no, Thea didn’t do that,” I correct him, continuing my climb up the stairs. “You did, Noah. A long time ago.”
His laugh follows me up to the second floor and I find myself grinning at the sound. Never did I think this would be us, that it would feel this effortless in our dynamics.
There’s no pushing or pulling.
There’s only Noah and me. Existing, laughing. Thriving together in a way that feels right. Natural and has always been.
What I felt for him back when I was in prep school is on another plane right now. Heightened to the point of him being my first thought of the day and my last at night.
I came back here because I was lost and hollow, but now I hardly remember what that feels like.
Now, I feel weightless and my laughs are more genuine, my shoulders less tense.
And it’s in thanks to that man downstairs. He’s opened my eyes and showed me what I’ve been missing. A world I didn’t see before. He’s shown me that it’s okay to live outside the black and white, finding excitement in the shades of gray.
He’s a match and I’m a firework, his spark igniting mine.
In my room, I sort through all the stuff on the floor, looking for my onesie. Because why would it be in the dresser or in the closet? That’s too much work when the floor is readily available.
Oh, if my mother could see this now. She’d have my head.
And I know my messiness bothers Noah and his type A personality, but he takes the mess because it comes with me. Because he accepts me for how I am, not looking to change me.
Aha! Found it! Underneath a pile of schoolbooks.
I zip it on, flipping the hood up so I look like a cute and cuddly penguin. I was serious in my threat to Noah if he ever got rid of this. It’s my favorite.
I’m headed toward the stairs when I noticed the door to Noah’s office is cracked open. I pause outside of it, curiosity hooking me with her claws.
Do I go in or walk away?
The polite thing would be to walk away, but despite Noah’s smothering and my insistent asking, he hasn’t told me much on my sister’s location or the person who buried me alive.
What if the answers are in there? I inch my toe forward. It hits the door, which opens wider.
Well, would you look at that.
I slip inside. I’ll only be a minute. Two tops.
Unlike the rest of Noah’s place, his office looks lived in. Littered with empty scotch glasses and sprinkled with little trinkets. Personal items.
And it’s those items that steal my attention once I’m inside.
I walk to the shelves, looking at the little mementos he’s collected. Mostly knives and bullet casings. There are old, rare, collectible books. First editions from some of the world’s greatest authors. My mouth drops as my eyes run over the titles.
As I’m reading them, my eyes scan past a trinket that mingles with the books, only to dart right back.
Ice spikes my veins as I blink, hoping for an
illusion. Hoping that my tired eyes are playing tricks on me.
It can’t be.
With a shaky hand, I reach up to grab it. Feeling the embossed filigree and cool metal in my palm, I know I’m not imagining things.
This is real.
But how?
Dread rises with my heart rate as confusion clouds my thoughts. I rub my thumb over my granddad’s pocket watch, the chain dangling between my fingers. He used it every day, kept on his person at all times. It was the only thing my granddad cherished as much as his grandkids, his art.
The pocket watch was his father’s, and his father before that.
A family heirloom we couldn’t find after he passed. My mother was in a tizzy. My father fuming, thinking that Granddad got rid of it just out of spite.
If they only knew who had it now.
But why does he have it? How did Noah get it?
The gold is polished while the scratches detailing its age are still there. And it’s still ticking. I hold it up to my ear, listening to the rhythmic tick, tock, tick, tock and feeling the sound deep in my bones. It sounds like my granddad when I used to wrap my arms around him.
It sounds like home.
My hands shake as I click the watch open. Seeing the engraving that’s always stuck with my granddad. Family first in Gaelic.
“Sayer,” Noah calls from the doorway.
I didn’t hear him come up.
I turn around, my fist closed tight around the face. He raises a brow when he sees I’m holding something.
“What do you have there?” he asks like he already knows.
Slowly, I open my fist, the object shaking in my palm. “What is this?”
Noah doesn’t answer and his silence is almost worse.
“What is this, Noah? Why do you have my granddad’s watch?”
Still, he remains silent.
“Answer me!” I scream, my voice cracking at the end.
“He gave it to me.”
Everything stops. My breathing. The watch. The snow outside. It’s silence save for the static in my head.
His words don’t compute. Granddad wouldn’t give it to Noah. He’d give it to me or Harlow. Or my dad. His family.
Not a friend of Harlow’s. Definitely not a friend.
It doesn’t make sense.
“Did you steal it?” Anger is behind my words.
Noah pursed his lips as he locks his jaw. “Want to know the story or are you just going to throw accusations my way?”
He thinks he’s allowed to have attitude right now? I don’t think so.
“I’m going to act however I want until I know why you have my granddad’s watch!” My voice gets louder with every word until I’m yelling.
“I need you to think long and hard about this, Sayer. If you want to know, it’s going to change everything.”
“Stop. Just stop trying to scare me, Noah. I don’t care what you think it’s going to do to me. This is my grandfather’s!” I shake my fist between us. The chain rattles. “I deserve to know.”
His jaw ticks. “Fine. Come downstairs.”
I shake my head. “No, tell me now.”
“Sayer,” he growls like it’s going to intimidate me. Too bad for him I’m far past being intimidated.
“Tell me, Noah.”
He walks over to me, moving to touch my cheek but I jerk away. His eyes flare.
“Get downstairs, Sayer.”
“Why? Why can’t you tell me up here?”
Instead of answering, Noah shakes his head and before I can demand answers, I’m being lifted into the air, thrown over his shoulder.
The watch falls from my hands.
He walks out of the office and down the stairs without paying mind to any of my protesting. I try to kick him, but his arms are locked so tight around my legs I’m immobilized.
He drops me down on the couch and I’m nothing short of fuming.
Anger that only grows as Noah walks over to his bar and pours a generous amount of scotch into a glass. Then pours another.
He walks back to me, handing me a glass.
I don’t take it. I sink into the couch with my arms crossed, instead.
Without saying a word, he sits on his coffee table next to the chess set. I stare at the pieces. It’s my move, has been for days, and I haven’t figured out which one would be best. Noah’s currently winning, collecting more of my pieces than me his. He already has all of my pawns.
He’s always several steps ahead of me.
“Tell me,” I whisper.
He takes his time sipping his scotch before talking. “You know we would always hang out at his place with Harlow.”
Slowly, I nod.
“Well, over time, your grandfather started to become a mentor to me. To all of us.”
A mentor? “My grandfather never did anything with real estate or property investments. He was an art consultant.”
The look Noah gives me makes me feel small, naïve.
“Have you ever wondered about the Baron? About his identity?”
“Of course,” I answer. Everyone has. “I wrote a paper about him for one of my classes in undergrad.” The more I talk, the more heavy my lungs feel.
“Sayer.” Noah reaches for my hands, anchoring me to him. “Your grandfather was the Baron.”
“No,” I whisper. Unable to wrap my head around what he’s saying.
“Think about it, Sayer.”
“No,” I repeat, louder this time. “My granddad wasn’t a thief. He was a good man.”
“He was a great man,” Noah agrees. “But he was a thief.”
I don’t want to believe this is true. That my sweet and caring and loving granddad was a hardened criminal but the more I turn the words over, the more I see the signs. The lessons he would always give me and my sister, to observe every room we entered, to find blind spots in cameras and how to pick locks.
Growing up, I thought they were little games. Things I didn’t realize other kids weren’t playing with their grandparents.
How hard my parents molded me into a society accepting girl, of how hard they tried to fit in with other members of the city’s elite. How they didn’t like me spending time with him.
I think back to all the traveling my granddad did, all the places he’d seen. All the paintings he had in his collection, of all the art he’d bring back from his travels.
The constant rotation of art moving through his home.
My home.
Oh God.
I chalked it up to his job. But even as I’m majoring in art conservation and want to be an art consultant, the things I’ve researched haven’t always lined up with what he did.
The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. The more signs are there. My granddad was an art thief. He was the Baron. “I feel so stupid.”
“No,” Noah argues. “He didn’t want you to know, Sayer.”
“Then why did you?” I ask. “Did Harlow know? Did my parents?”
It takes him several seconds before he nods.
“So I was the only one kept in the dark?”
Again, he nods. This time slower.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold. But it’s a cold no blankets or layers can touch. It’s formed on the inside, where the love of my granddad always kept me steady.
He was my best friend, but it turns out I barely knew him. I only knew the lies he fed me.
“You mentioned he was a mentor to you.” I move my hands under my thighs. They tingle with nerves, the feeling of going numb without actually being numb.
“He taught us the tricks of the trade.”
“You’re art thieves?” My mouth parts. A firework goes off in my head. “Those paintings at the art gallery weren’t donated, were they?”
“Some of them. Others were forgeries curtsey of Reeve.”
I stare at him.
I don’t know how to answer.
“We’re a little bit of everything, Sayer. We steal, we con, we kill. Th
ere’s nothing really we don’t do. The casino? It’s a front. The Underground started long before we ever bought that property. It started in prep school with just me, your sister, and the boys. Thea came in shortly after. The Baron was our mentor and we were his students. We’d go to school, but it wasn’t until after that our actual lessons started.”
Another sign I completely ignored, only seeing what I wanted to.
Harlow would always go over to our granddad’s apartment after school and never let me come.
I don’t know what to think anymore. The static I had back in Noah’s office is even louder now. “My grandfather was a thief,” I repeat.
“The best.”
“He created The Underground.”
Noah nods.
“And he left it all to you?”
Again, he nods.
I feel so stupid for saying this. So stupid for never knowing. It was all in my face this entire time and I never knew…
“Why? Why didn’t he tell me?”
Noah shrugs, but it’s almost hesitant. Noah doesn’t hesitate.
“He didn’t think you could handle this life.”
He’s right, I think. This bomb has left me in pieces.
I drain the rest of my drink, welcoming the burn. It helps me pretend I’m whole when all I feel is hollow.
The lights flicker back on, but I still feel like I’m in the dark.
Setting the glass down, I meet Noah’s unwavering stare.
“I want to see it.”
Noah takes me to the casino. The Underground.
I can’t believe it. I can’t freaking believe it. It’s been under my nose—er, rather—right above my head the whole time.
Silently—it’s been quiet between us since we left the apartment—Noah takes out a key and unlocks the only door on the top floor.
I let him pull me inside the dark room, too afraid I’ll run back down the stairs if he doesn’t. Part of me believes that if I don’t see what lays inside this room, it’s not true. That my grandfather is still the man I’ve always thought him to be.
My granddad was a good man.
My granddad was a thief.
The best.
Noah lets go of my hand and walks farther into the room. I hear his steps, slow and methodic. Then there is silence. Silence and darkness.
Under the Lies Page 27
