Grit & Glamour (Sins & Riches Book 1)

by Cece Rose

  “What about the boy?” the one who was originally kneeling asks.

  “He found us once. He could find us again,” the other points out.

  “Stop it! Stop talking about us like we’re not right here. I didn’t see your stupid face, so relax already. I didn’t try to trick you or set you up or whatever you think I did, and I really don’t know what you think my mum is involved in, but you’re wrong. She’s evil, but she’s behind-closed-doors-evil, not the running the mafia kind.”

  “Behind closed doors evil?” one of them echoes slowly, and I’m not even sure which one anymore.

  “Yes. I had to get rid of her to protect my little brother, so I hired you—that’s all I know,” I plead, praying that by some miracle they’ll believe me and set us free.

  “He doesn’t look that little. Why does he need his older sister to protect him from a tiny, rich woman?” the tall one with the firm voice asks.

  I feel defensiveness rush through me, and a million words want to pour from my mouth to defend my bother. I swallow them, now isn’t the time to be a smart-ass. I need to concentrate on getting us out of here alive. Appealing a little to whatever humanity these men may have can’t hurt.

  “Have you noticed he hasn’t said anything? Not even so much as a shout or scream?” I ask. Not waiting for an answer, I continue, “Caleb doesn’t really talk much around strangers, especially in difficult or stressful situations. He’s shy, okay? And he needs me.” I pause, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm my nerves. “Whoever screwed you guys by ruining the hit or whatever, they screwed me too. They screwed me and my brother out of any chance of a happy escape from this mess. We’re not your enemy here. I hired you guys to kill my mother, for fucks sake! I’m not looking to have you arrested or identify you. Hell, I’d just get arrested right alongside you.”

  I pause after my outburst, staring at each of the masked faces as they seem to deliberate in silence amongst themselves. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice one of them making covert hand signals, hiding his hand behind his leg. Not that seeing it does me much good, I could make more sense out of ancient Latin than I did that.

  “We let them live for now, and then we’ll discuss this in the morning when we’re all thinking straight,” the leader, despite whatever he claims, announces. “We have a camping bed that we can set up in a spare room for your brother to sleep on, you’ll have to take the floor though,” he instructs.

  “Fine, but I want to make sure wherever you’re keeping my brother is okay. He needs access to a bathroom, water, a blanket, and some food,” I demand, not afraid to ask for necessities on his behalf.

  “He’ll get whatever he’s given,” he barks back.

  “Please,” I beg, not having any other cards left to play. “I’m not asking for anything for myself, but my brother, I need to make sure he’s okay. He gets stressed out easily.” I spare a glance at my brother, who is sitting deadly still not speaking. He’s gone into what I refer to as vacant mode. If I didn’t know him and his behaviours, I might even be worried he was dead because of how motionless he’s sitting.

  “We’ll make sure he’s okay,” the newcomer says, drawing my attention with the comfort I hear in his voice. I look up, gazing into his brown eyes through the slits in his mask. “We had a sister, she got stressed out from things easily like he does too. We won’t hurt him. He didn’t see any of our faces up close. No matter what happens, I promise we’ll find a way to let him go and get him to safety.”

  “We?” I question, my brain tripping over that little detail. The guy who knelt in front of me before coughs, and my head turns towards him.

  His height, his body-shape, and even the colour of his eyes through the slits on his mask, they’re all identical to the other man. The two of them are twins. I file the little nugget of information away in my brain, just in case it’s useful later.

  “That’s enough questions.” The taller man grunts, while moving closer towards me. It takes everything I have not to flinch away from his touch as he releases me from the chair, taking his time and untying one knot at a time. My hands stay bound however, and I feel oddly restricted as I stand up under his direction.

  The twins lead my brother from the room without another word, leaving me staring after him even after the door closes. After a few seconds, I realise I’m stuck in here. Trapped in this room alone with the taller man. I feel my body tense all over, preparing to defend myself as the awareness rushes through me.

  “Relax,” he mutters, sensing my distress. He places a hand on the small of my back and pushes me forward towards the door. “I’m not that kind of bad guy.”

  Chapter Five

  The floor is never an ideal place to sleep, but sleeping on the floor while cuffed to the bottom of a bed with an assassin in it? Even less so. I'd tried to plead with him to untie my hands to sleep, but he'd immediately dismissed the idea and accused me of plotting to escape.

  When I'd complained about the ropes chafing me, he'd laughed and offered to switch them out for handcuffs. I'd accepted, only to soon regret it when I realised, one—how cold it is on my wrist. And two—how much noise its clinking makes every time that I move.

  He's worried I'd escape? I snort. The idea is laughable. How would I be able to get both me and my brother out of here with three, highly-trained, professional killers watching us?

  I roll over on the ground again, the cuffs chinking loudly as I move, before leaning towards the bed with my hands resting on the cold floor. I try to keep the cuffed hand steady to avoid the noise, but it's not exactly comfortable to be handcuffed to a bed. A loud sigh comes from the bed.

  “If I let you sleep without the cuffs, you'll have to sleep on the bed. I'm a light sleeper, so if you try to escape or attack, you'll wake me. Don't even try it.”

  “Wait, you're not really suggesting that I share the bed with you? Are you insane?” I blurt out, convinced the masked man has either lost his mind, or he’s planning to try something.

  “How does the floor feel? Getting your full eight hours in?” he asks, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

  “I'm not getting into a bed with an assassin. Hell, I'm not getting into a bed with any strange man, period,” I retort stubbornly, shifting again on the floor and causing another clang to sound. I glare at the cuffs through the darkness as if it's their fault I'm in this predicament and not my own.

  I mean, hiring assassins to kill my own mother doesn't mean I deserve this, right?

  “Suit yourself, but stop making so much fucking noise. I told you, I'm a very light sleeper,” he orders before lapsing back into silence.

  Staring up above me, I try to stay as still and quiet as possible, but no matter how I adjust my body, it proves uncomfortable or awkward with my hand cuffed. I curse quietly in frustration.

  This is impossible.

  I’m never going to sleep. I’ll be here rattling my cuffs and twisting and turning all night...

  I jerk back suddenly as a hand grabs mine. Before I can blink, my wrist has been released from the cuffs and my hand dropped. I stare for a second at my now-freed hand, then look up at my masked captor. “Why did you do that?” I ask softly, feeling unsure of myself and the situation.

  “Because you're making too much noise. I'm sure it's going to be a long day tomorrow, and I'd like to get some rest.” He grabs my arm and yanks me up onto the bed. Once I'm deposited there, he quickly retreats to the other side of the large bed. The bed is more comfortable than I expected given the state of this place, and I can't help but relax a little into the mattress and sigh from relief.

  “You try to escape, you get cuffed. You move, you get cuffed. You try and touch me or remove my mask, you get cuffed. Do you understand me?” he commands.

  “If I try to touch you?” I echo indignantly. “You're dreaming.”

  “I'd be dreaming if you stopped making so much fucking noise. You get to sleep on a mattress, and I get to sleep. It's a win-win, so long as you don't snore,” he respon
ds.

  I dare a look towards him, noting how much space he's left between the two of us, I assume to make me feel more comfortable. He may be a paid killer, but it seems he’s not an abuser of women. A guy that's happy to abuse a woman wouldn't have cared enough for my comfort, and they especially wouldn’t have cared for my personal space. Figures that I managed to hire the assassins with morals.

  I wonder if those same morals may have interfered in the job? Maybe I hired terrible assassins? It's not as if I have much experience in this sort of thing. They could be inept amateurs, and I would never know.

  “I swear I can practically hear your thoughts churning from that stare. Close your damn eyes and go to sleep,” he mutters.

  My eyes slam shut in alarm, and I turn my head away before opening them again, staring at the wall instead. I expect to feel panic, fear, adrenaline, but it's as if the second I'm resting on a comfortable bed, even above the covers, my body calms and begins to relax. All of my turbulent emotions ease, whooshing out like an exhale, and I melt into the mattress, finding myself cuddling my pillow like a life preserver.

  Thoughts of terrible assassins with Stormtrooper-like aim whirl around in my head as I slowly drift off, losing myself to the blackness of sleep.

  Chapter Six

  The warm aroma of bitter coffee tickles my nose, and I wriggle under the covers as I unconsciously turn towards the scent. The smell of coffee, any coffee, seems to soothe my soul; the scent triggering pleasant thoughts and memories for me whenever I breathe it in.

  “Morning, Scarlett. If you get up, I'll give you the coffee,” a strange voice entices me to awaken further. I breathe in the smell and debate the offer. The blankets are warm and soft, but the promise of coffee wins out.

  As I open my eyes, I'm faced with a masked man. A scream catches in my throat, and I choke, staring at him with bug eyes. “You forgot for a minute, huh?” he asks, and I focus in on the only part of his face I can see, his brown eyes through the slits in his mask.

  I wonder which of the twins this is?

  “Yeah, I did,” I grumble, gaining some composure as I sit up. I look down at the covers I’m now underneath of. I must have crawled underneath them, half-asleep, during the night. The taller man has thankfully vacated the bed, leaving me alone with the brown-eyed killer presenting coffee like we’re just two civilised people hanging out.

  I take the offered coffee nervously, as I'm worried refusing will offend him. I stare at it, my scepticism causing an internal debate. Would he really go to the effort of poisoning me when a gun to the head would be much quicker and more efficient?

  “It's okay, it happens,” he remarks.

  The taller man strides into the room, still masked as he approaches. “Why didn't you tell me Scarlett was awake?” he asks, directing the question at his accomplice.

  “She's only just woken up, and it's not like you've made a decision yet anyway,” the brown-eyed one retorts, not seeming overly concerned with the other man's frustration.

  “You called me Scarlett. Both of you.” The realisation hits me a little late. “What happened to not naming your chickens?” I demand, turning to look up and glare directly at the taller man while awaiting his answer, not that an answer actually comes from him.

  “If we don't name our chickens, we certainly don't share a bed with them,” the brown-eyed man answers instead, taking us both by surprise as we turn to him. “Come on, as if you'd be considerate enough to get on the floor and let her have the bed.” He turns in the direction of his cohort. “Please tell me you snuggled?” he asks in a sarcastic tone.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. But you’re right, we’re not killing her—for now, at least.” He turns to me, and even through the mask on his face, I can feel the intensity of his stare. “You get a name, for now.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter sarcastically, not sure what else to say. Although not getting killed sounds pretty great. The ‘for now’ part however I’m going to need to work on.

  “Your brother is still sleeping, so I figured we’d leave him to rest while you and I talk,” the taller man begins. “I want—

  “Is he okay?” I interrupt, not caring what he wants. “I have to see him. I need to make sure… just make sure he’s okay,” I ramble, scrambling up, coffee still in hand. With the news that they’re not planning to kill me still fresh in my mind, I take a sip of the coffee, which thankfully isn’t as bitter as it smells. It could use a shot of vanilla though.

  “He’s perfectly fine. You can see him as soon as we’re done talking,” he counters in a strict tone.

  “I want to see him now,” I insist. He wants something, but what I want from him is far more important to me. Keeping my brother safe is all that matters.

  “Not happening. Not a chance.”

  “Well, either that happens, or you’re going to be listening to a whole lot of silence, so why don’t you decide,” I snap.

  “You can lose your name just as easily as you got it, Scarlett.” He pauses before adding, “Please don’t make that the last time I use it.”

  We stare at each other, both determined to stick to our guns. The absolute resolution in his gaze makes me want to look away, but I’ve stared down worse than this man and lived. True evil hides in homes, and my home is where evil loves to throw its most lavish affairs.

  “What if,” begins the brown-eyed man, who’d remained oddly quiet until now. “If we’re not done in an hour, you can check in on your brother before we continue. He’s sleeping right now anyway. Give him an extra hour to rest, answer our questions, and then you’ll get to see your well-rested brother soon.”

  I pause, thinking over his suggestion as I watch for the taller man’s reaction to his accomplice’s intervention into our discussion. His reaction is a little underwhelming, considering if he has any, he doesn’t show it outwardly. Smart. It’s probably best not to let your captive know if there is disagreement amongst you all.

  “Do you agree to that?” I ask the taller man, raising a sceptical eyebrow in his direction as I try to bait a reaction out of him.

  “Of course,” he answers evenly, not biting.

  “Well, I want something else as well,” I demand on a whim.

  “What do you want now?” he questions through gritted teeth.

  “Names. Three of them, one for each of you. I don’t care if they’re real or not, but I need something to call you all, as Killer A, B, and C, just doesn’t sound right,” I answer, straight faced as ever.

  “Names,” he echoes in utter disbelief.

  “Names,” I agree with what I hope to be a truly annoying smile.

  “One, Two, and Three work better than ABC,” the brown-eyed man interrupts again.

  “You want me to call you Killer One, Two, and Three?” I give him a quizzical look.

  “No, I want you to call us One, Two, and Three,” he corrects me, as if that should have been obvious.

  “You want me to call you numbers?”

  “Why not? You said you didn’t care if they were real names or not.” He shrugs, and I can’t help but think this isn’t how is a kidnapping is supposed to go.

  Just who the hell did I hire to kill my mother?

  “Fine, what number do you want to be?” I mock him, smirking before adding, “You can’t all be number one.”

  “Screw number one. I want to be Three,” he announces.

  “Three?”

  “That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he teases sarcastically. I roll my eyes. I guess they’ve done what I asked. Albeit in the most ridiculous way possible.

  “So what do you want to know?” I ask, turning my focus back to One.

  “Who knew about the hit on your end? Who did you tell, Scarlett? I know you must have slipped up somewhere.” He begins his interrogation at once, firing off questions at me.

  “Nobody knew. Maybe it was someone on your end, One,” I retort, sitting back down on the edge of the bed.

  “One?” he questions.

&n
bsp; “Yeah. You’re the first ‘One’ I saw after all,” I mutter, feeling oddly self-conscious at him questioning my choice.

  “I was the third as well,” Three cuts in, his voice sounding a little amused.

  “Perfect.” I wonder if it’s possible for my eyes to roll right around in my head?

  “Can we please focus? The mistake is not on our end. You are the inexperienced little girl here. Now, think about it for a second, and tell me who the hell fucked us over and why?” One insists rudely.

  I grit my teeth over the little girl comment, taking a few deep breaths as I consider what he’s saying. Who knew what I was doing? Nobody. Nobody knows anything except from…

  “Theo,” I whisper, his name escaping from my lips before I can stop it.

  “Theo? Who’s he… a boyfriend? I didn’t see any guys around your house during our surveillance,” One presses.

  “Theo is a friend, sort of. Well, he’s actually, sort of…” I trail off into unintelligible grumbles.

  “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t quite catch that,” One prompts me to repeat myself.

  “He’s...he’s my sixth-form’s preferred drug dealer,” I finally push out. Not that he does much of the actual dealing himself these days, but before he left school, he was the guy for anything like that people needed.

  My friendship with Theo is a weird and somewhat distant one, with moments of intense connection, mixed with ignoring each other for months, or even years at a time. I don’t think he’s capable of real friendships, and honestly neither am I, which is probably why ours works. In whatever distant form it takes. He’s older than me by a few years, but mentally he’s even older than that after what happened with his father.

  “You have a drug dealer?”

  “The idiots at my sixth-form have a drug dealer,” I correct. It’s not like he needs to know about the three times I’d bought stuff from him. An angel, I’m not, but I’d rather not listen to judgement on my actions from a freaking assassin. Talk about hypocrisy.