Make Me Shine (Six Silent Sins #1)

by Colt, Elodie

  For one, my sleeping habits have changed. The first night, her taste still lingered on my tongue, and my mind went rogue with questions. Who is she? Where does she come from? What does she look like? What makes her my perfect match?

  A total mind fuck.

  The second night, I had my first ‘wet’ dream since I was a teenager. I jolted awake in the middle of the night with a boner that nearly pierced a hole through the sheets, all because I’d dreamed of a faceless girl with a husky voice. I was hornier than in all my time as a married man, and Aiko was a sex bomb in every way imaginable.

  Last night, I bolted awake in the middle of the night once more. This time, not with a boner, but with a racing heart and an anxiety attack that left me drenched in sweat. My brain had conjured a nasty image of Aiko storming into the Silent Sins room and tomahawking Devon with a sickle—the sickle—its razor-sharp blade still coated in the blood of Vincent’s father.

  There was no way I could go back to sleep with the tremors shaking my body, so instead of embracing the new day with my usual cup of coffee, I wobbled into the bathroom, took an ice-cold shower, and downed a Xanax.

  I arrived at Brighton Beach at five a.m. sharp, eager to chase the sunrise and sweat out the remnants of my nightmare clinging to the edges of my mind.

  Now that I feel somewhat clearer in my head, ready to tackle yet another twelve-hour day of work, I run back to my car to fetch my suit. The faint stains of champagne in the silk remind me of how my brilliant let’s-take-a-drink-to-break-the-ice plan had backfired. Then again, ruining my expensive two-piece was definitely worth Devon’s whole-hearted, throaty laugh.

  Just as I make my way to the cleaners, my eyes fall on a familiar hour-glass figure in a Valentino number, and I falter, my face slackening.

  Aiko.

  She struts down the opposite side of the street with a sexy swagger, her Birkin bag dangling on her elbow and her phone glued to her ear. A gust of wind blows through her glossy black hair, and she jerks her hand in annoyance as a strand entangles with her lashes.

  Fuck me. I haven’t seen her since our last appointment with my lawyer, and let me assure you, that encounter was about as gruesome as her gory appearance in my nightmare. But as I watch her chatting along on the phone, her lips curling into a beautiful smile, I can’t help but reminisce about how she threw that same smile my way when I slid the wedding band on her finger.

  A wedding band that you won’t find a second time on this planet.

  Aiko is a huge Elizabeth Taylor fan, and everyone knows that Taylor was the queen of expensive diamonds. Richard Burton went all out when he presented her a 33-carat diamond ring—worth a measly 8.8 million. It’s been the largest diamond in private ownership ever since.

  Aiko, who never settled for anything less than the best, was over the moon when she saw it, so what did I do? Traveled the entire world to find her a ring with the same 58-facet ‘Asscher cut.’ For the record—no, I didn’t shell out millions, but certainly enough to leave a dent in my bank account.

  Needless to say, it killed me when she yanked off the ring in front of my eyes as if it were nothing more than a cookie-cutter piece of rock.

  But right now, she’s striking me down once more because… she put it back on!

  What the fuck?

  I blink, taking a shaky breath. She turns her head in my direction, our eyes meeting for a brief moment. I expect her to at least acknowledge my presence, but she only gives me a flat stare and then disappears around the next corner.

  “Jesus, how the fuck could you marry that woman?” I mumble to myself, standing there on the sidewalk like an idiot and needing a moment to get my shit back together.

  After dumping my suit at the cleaners, I cruise back to the gallery, my fingers gripping the wheel so hard that, by the time I slip through the back door of Crawford Crescent, I have to flex them to loosen the strain. My cherry on top for this beautiful morning is Brooke who gives me the cold shoulder, torpedoing past as if I’m invisible. She’s still pissed about the epic cluster fuck that was our family dinner. Sure, it was all my fault that it escalated…

  I slam the office door shut behind me, signaling to everyone on the floor to steer clear for now. I’m as combustible as a gallon of liquid nitroglycerin right now, and it’s all I can do not to torch the entire building to ashes.

  She wore my fucking wedding band!

  The annoying sound of my ringtone interrupts my anger-fueled stewing, but I continue to wear holes into the hardwood for a moment longer before I rip out my phone and take the call.

  “Crawford?” I snap.

  “Why is it that you’re always in a bad mood when I’m calling?” Carl’s amused voice resounds through the speaker.

  Huffing out in exhaustion, I sink into my chair. “Women. All the damn women on this planet…”

  Carl barks out a laugh. “Let me tell you, my boy, I can relate. I have my divorce lawyer on speed-dial.”

  A mixture of a snort and a chuckle bursts from me. “Well, I don’t plan on saving a divorce lawyer in my contact list ever again. No offense.”

  “None taken. Speaking of women, how did your Silent Sins meeting go? Devonport, it is, right?”

  Devon…

  Funny how my bad temper seems to dwindle at the sound of her name. And it’s not even a name, but a suburb of Auckland.

  “It was—” I brush a finger over my lip, searching for words. “It was an interesting experience.”

  Carl snickers. “Are you happy with your match?”

  My mind wanders back to when I waited in The Room, engulfed by darkness with the only light coming from behind the milky glass door showing me her tall silhouette. My heart went erratic the moment she finally, finally, swiped her wrist over the scanner, and I nearly groaned in annoyance as she cut the lights with the action before she took her first tentative step. She was so shy and nervous that I needed to remind her to keep breathing.

  “I guess so,” is all I say. “Hard to tell after one hour of conversation.”

  And touches. And kisses. And some more hot kisses until I had her delectable taste branded into my gustatory cortex.

  “Did you agree on a date?”

  “We did.”

  Don’t go there, or you’re going to shoot a load right here and ruin your next suit.

  “Did you already send her an invitation?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  I pluck a pen from the holder on my desk and twirl it between my fingers. “I’ve been busy.”

  “You’re procrastinating,” he points out.

  I tap the pen against my chin, but don’t say anything.

  “Quite unusual for you to be indecisive,” Carl ponders. “Why the reluctance?”

  Is he my fucking Dad now, or what?

  “I thought both parties were equal here. She’s free to send me an invitation, too,” I argue, but I know I’m grasping at straws.

  Carl snorts, and I can practically hear him shaking his head in disbelief. “One might think you’ve never had a date before. Let me enlighten you then. Eighty-seven percent of all women—”

  “Spare me the numbers, Carl,” I interrupt, dragging a hand down my jaw. “I’m going to send her an invitation later. I’ve got a meeting in a few.”

  “Alright. Until next time, Nathan.”

  With a sigh, I toss the phone onto my desk and walk over to the window.

  Actually, I wanted to send her the invitation right after our meeting but decided to give her time to process everything first. Time to think about what we learned about each other so far. And inadvertently, maybe also time for her to have second guesses and reject me.

  Devon is cautious. Slow to trust. Not exactly an introvert but wary and eerily jumpy, as if something happened to her that conjured a perpetual fear of the unknown. She values her privacy and chooses her words with care. People like her find it hard to commit, and I don’t want to scare her off.

  She’s also quite observa
nt and an intent listener. I didn’t want to give away that I was made of money, but she called my bluff without even seeing my face. She, on the other hand, seems to be as humble as they come.

  I mean, cookie pants? I wouldn’t have found anything with the name ‘pants’ in Aiko’s closet, let alone anything with stretchy waistbands. And who’s wearing those at work? Someone who works from home, I guess. A web designer? A scriptwriter? A wedding planner?

  Maybe a yoga teacher. She said she was into yoga. But they usually wear leggings. Well, I guess I will never know…

  I rub my pendant between two fingers as I allow my mind to wander. It doesn’t matter what she does for a living. I know enough about her to paint a picture. A very hot one.

  For starters, she’s Russian. She can feed me a line as much as she wants, but I know with a hundred percent certainty that Devon is from Russia. I’ve spent enough business trips in Eastern Europe to know the difference.

  Second, she’s a biker, and that tells you a lot about a girl. I once borrowed Carl’s bike to take Aiko on a ride, but she came up with a long list of reasons why she would never ‘get on that thing’—ruining her hairstyle, getting her clothes dirty, reeking of gasoline, breaking her nails, toppling over…

  The fact that Devon doesn’t give a shit tells me she’s got bigger problems than manicured nails or stained clothes. A refreshing thought. And the loose top she wore underneath her leather jacket was definitely not from Valentino.

  I wonder if my biker chick also has tattoos? Maybe she’s branded from head to toe, her skin covered in skulls and roses.

  ‘So, you’re that kind of guy…’ she had said in that damn, husky voice, the rough vocals a low timbre of temptation that seeped into my stomach like hot wax. Her voice doesn’t consist of high pitches. Even her laughter was five tones deeper than Aiko sounded when she growled.

  And that rosebud mouth. No lipstick, no gloss—just plump, soft lips begging to be sucked. And suck them I did the moment she offered me the chance, transforming her from a timid fawn to a feisty lioness in a heartbeat.

  After my stupid only-six-percent slip, I already thought I’d fucked it all up, so it was quite a shocker when she plastered her palms on my face and attacked me like a wild animal, smothering me in a fervent kiss that nearly swept me off my feet.

  A soft knock resounds, startling me from my dirty daydreams, and I tear my gaze from the Manhattan skyline.

  “Since when do you knock?” I ask Nick as he waltzes in with a frown on his face.

  “Since when do you stand here and not there?” He jabs a finger to the sixth nook in the wall.

  Huh, interesting. My mind was so occupied, I didn’t even waste a thought on that damn ring, for a change.

  “And why are you smiling like that?” Stopping in front of me, he gives me a quizzical look. “Your smiles are as frequent as snow in the Sahara, so either you found the Hope Diamond or this is about a girl.”

  I evade the question with a glance at the clock.

  “We’re running late for our meeting with Susan,” I say, motioning for him to get going.

  Nick hesitates, as if to push the issue, but then follows me out of my office.

  “I saw Aiko today,” I mumble as we step into the elevator to make our way down to the gallery.

  “Where?”

  “Brighton Beach. And do you know what she wore?”

  “Ralph Lauren, a plastic smile, and some shiny rocks.”

  “Not just some,” I say with a growl. “Mine.”

  Nick looks appalled as the elevator stops on the first floor. “Are you talking about the wedding band you gave her? The one with the Asscher cut?”

  I smack my lips. “The one and only.”

  He utters a sardonic laugh as we cross the brightly lit gallery, the aroma of Chanel No. 5 heavy in the air.

  “I didn’t even know she kept it,” he muses. “Didn’t she make one hell of a scene yanking it off her finger and throwing it on the floor?”

  We pass the reception desk where a well-dressed sales associate opens a display case to fish out an engagement ring for a couple that looks just like Aiko and me that day—on cloud nine.

  “Oh, she yanked it off to put on a show, but she kept it,” I say.

  “Why didn’t you demand she give it back?” Nick asks as we leave all the gold and glitter behind to head for my car.

  “I had other things on my mind than that stupid ring,” is my reply as I open the door of my BMW 6 Series Gran Tourismo.

  In the passenger seat, Nick rakes a hand through his hair as I start the engine and join the early afternoon traffic.

  “Wow, all these horror stories about marriage make me really look forward to mine,” he huffs sarcastically.

  “Janice is an angel,” I say. “She grew up from rags to riches. She knows life outside the world of the rich and shady. Aiko has no clue that world even exists. She only knows how to swipe an American Express card.”

  “Yeah, speaking of money, I heard that Mom wants to get me a car as a present for my degree.” I can feel his eyes on me as he gauges my expression, checking my face for signs of envy, but he won’t find any. “Any idea what she’s looking for?”

  “Sure. We chatted about it when we shared breakfast this morning.”

  Nick shoots me an annoyed look.

  “Come on, there has been radio silence between Brooke and me for nearly fourteen years now. She only tolerates me because I’m good for business. In her eyes, it’s my fault that Vincent is in jail.”

  Nick shakes his head. “You didn’t conduct the heist, did you?”

  “No, but Brooke thinks he would have never wasted a thought on it if it weren’t for me. I was a bad influence and stirred his addiction.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “No, it’s not,” I deadpan. “Without me, Vincent would have given her the attention she deserved. Instead, he devoted his life to raising a non-biological son who would follow in his footsteps someday. I stole the limelight from her. I know it, Nick. She regrets my adoption.”

  Vincent had seen the potential in me. The part that was like him. The part that had an eye for the detail. The part that loved the shiny things and hidden treasures.

  Instead of taking a family trip to the Hamptons, he took me on a gallery tour through Europe. Instead of playing baseball with Nick, he played art quizzes with me. Instead of showing Nick how to shave his baby face, he showed me how to cut a diamond.

  From the day I fell into Brooke’s hands, he whipped me into shape. And from the day Nick was born, he turned his back on them both.

  Vincent’s heart is even smaller than Brooke’s, I guess—there was only ever space for one, and that was me. Sounds like a perfect father-son-relationship, but unfortunately, his love for me tore our family apart.

  I park the car in front of Susan’s Treasures, and Nick heaves a sigh before he grumbles, “And yet you hate Dad’s guts and couldn’t even stoop to pay him a visit in prison.”

  I grit my teeth as I step out. I didn’t show up because I wanted to cut him as deep as he’d cut me. Vincent Crawford has always been a kleptomaniac. God only knows how many times he got away with shoplifting. I didn’t give a fuck until things got serious with the Feds, so I wanted his promise that he would never steal again. A promise he’d already broken when he gave it.

  The notorious Ben Gurion Airport Diamond Heist.

  It dominated the headline for months. Israel is one of the world’s largest diamond wholesalers, so Vincent came up with the great idea to conduct the heist right at the Ben Gurion airport. He knew a guy who knew a guy who worked as a cargo loader, allowing the ‘four masked gunmen’ to hide in the bag room, drive straight to the airplane where the diamonds were being transferred from a van, and stop the pilots and whole security to pinch 150 million dollars’ worth of rocks.

  I mean, planning the heist of the century takes years. He was already neck-deep into that shit when he gave me his word.

  And ho
w much did it bring in? Fourteen years of imprisonment from the correctional tribunal of Brussels for conducting a heist, money laundering, being part of a criminal organization, armed robbery, and murder. For the record, Vincent didn’t kill anyone, but one of the guys lost his patience, fired a bullet, and the whole thing got out of hand. Vincent would have gotten away with it, but that guy fucked it up.

  He lost fourteen years of his life. Brooke lost her husband. I lost my father.

  He cut his family from his life.

  So, I cut him from mine.

  ~~~

  Nick opens the door to Susan’s Treasures, and immediately, the aroma of incense and something spicy fills my nostrils—herbs? Pot? Pot. Definitely pot.

  Exotic chimes above the door announce our entry, and hurried footsteps shuffle in our direction.

  “Ah, the Crawford boys are here,” Susan hollers as she snakes her way through an arrangement of porcelain vases.

  “Hello, Susan,” I say as the small woman scurries closer.

  “Nathan, darling,” she drawls, and I lean down to kiss her rosy cheek, nudging her cat-eye glasses in the process. She turns to my brother. “And Nick, how are you doing, my son?”

  “Great, thanks,” he says.

  Susan gets a kiss from him, too.

  “Nathan told me about the fundraiser next year.”

  Susan bobs her head, the steel-gray ringlets in her funny up-do bouncing against her bandanna.

  “Oh, it will be amazing,” she says. “Come on, I’ll show you around. I’ve found a few old pieces that I’d like to—”

  I watch them head to one of the adjoining rooms, and the picture of Nick in his full-blown suit next to Susan’s three head shorter frame clad in a baggy jumpsuit is hilarious.

  While they discuss the upcoming fundraiser, I kill time strolling through Susan’s gigantic ensemble of gold, moonstones, and chalcedonies. She’s a quirky little lady with a soft spot for weird jewelry, but her hoarding and globe-trotting made her a notable woman in this business since she owns one of the biggest fashion and art nouveau jewelry collections in the world. Only the wrinkles on her leathery skin show that she’s already in her seventies, but otherwise, she’s as fit as she was twenty years ago.