Cash: A Dark Romance (Saint and Sinners Book 2)

by Ruby Vincent

  CASH

  Lucky tossed the final guard in the wine cellar with the others. The man tripped over his feet, and went down at the shoes of the hastily dressed cook.

  His lack of gentleness I put down to the wet stain on his mask. The guard clocked him good when we surprised him near the back door. It was to be expected. We weren’t going to catch them all with their pants down.

  Sinjin slammed the cellar shut and broke the lock.

  I checked the time. “One hour forty-five minutes,” I said. “Pistol. Cain, you stay on this door. The rest of you, watch the streets.”

  Ted, Frankie, and Lucky headed upstairs. Sinjin and I followed a beat behind, splitting on the first-floor landing, and continuing up.

  Mercer’s texts led us to the second-floor library. We didn’t need the texts though. We heard him from down the hall.

  Mercer knelt in front of a metal door once hidden behind a fake bookshelf panel. The portable plasma cutter sparked white heat that reflected in his protective goggles. Two hours in, he scored an unfinished semi-circle around the lock.

  “This is taking longer than I thought,” he shouted. “Another twenty minutes. Maybe thirty. Leaves us an hour and a half max to get at what’s inside.”

  “Just get it done,” I said.

  “Bunny will keep Vega there.” Sinjin reclined in the man’s armchair. “If not, she’ll warn us when he leaves, and we’ll still get what we’re after.”

  Beside him was a small, rectangular box. Sinjin flipped the top and unearthed two cigars. He tossed one to me.

  “Relax, C. Our retrieval rate is a hundred percent for a reason. No one gets in the way of what we came for.”

  ADELINE

  I waved out the servers carrying the brie with blueberry compote. Peeking around the swinging door, I sought Sebastian Vega.

  Oh no.

  “—with us, ladies and gentlemen. This is an important cause, and we’re grateful you came out tonight to support us.”

  Emily Chandler was resplendent in a glittery gold gown, shining like a disco ball on the stage. She was the sight to see. The focus of attention for all in the room—except for Vega.

  He spoke in low tones to his daughter. Hands up and placating.

  Kendall flung herself back in the seat. She gave her father a miserable, furious look I knew well. Everyone who had been a kid for more than ten seconds knew that look.

  She was bored, and she wanted to leave now.

  I hugged the wall, slinking around the back to Vega’s table at the right corner of the room, near the stage.

  “Daddy, I feel sick. The pork was bad.”

  “It wasn’t bad, sweetie. Daddy had some and—”

  “Yes, it was!”

  The high-pitched whine drew the attention of half the table. Vega apologized to them.

  “I want to go home.”

  “One more hour, Kendall. Give me a chance to bid on one of the items. Miss Chandler was so nice to invite us.” The poor man sounded like he was asking her permission.

  “No, my stomach hurts.”

  Dammit, Vega, don’t give in. The guys need another hour and a half.

  But I knew that look too. The average woman is a natural grifter. We learn how to manipulate to get what we want, and we start with our dads. My father couldn’t say no to my misery—real or faked—and neither could Vega.

  He was going to break.

  Vega sighed. “All right, Kendall. Get your—”

  I sprang off the wall. “Oh, poor thing.”

  Kendall blinked at my sudden appearance.

  “Are you not feeling well?” I knelt beside her. “We have ginger candies in the kitchen. They’re magic for an upset stomach.”

  She latched on one word. “Candy?”

  “Yep. Why don’t you come with me? I’m setting things on fire in the kitchen,” I said, grinning. “You can watch.”

  “Cool.” Kendall hopped off the chair. She grabbed my hand and led me away. “Bye, Daddy.”

  “Wha— Wait,” he cried.

  “It’s okay, Mr.— sir. We’ll be right in the kitchen.”

  Vega chased after us. He had to at the speed Kendall was tugging me along. “The kitchen? Is it safe? Is she allowed?”

  “Perfectly safe,” I replied, “and she’s allowed as long as she’s with me.”

  “But, Kendall, this nice lady must be very busy—”

  “She said it was okay, Daddy, gawwwdd.”

  I stifled a laugh.

  “Come get me when the party’s over.” We pushed in the kitchen, letting the door swing shut on him. “Bye.”

  Vega didn’t follow.

  “You will do great things one day, Kendall.”

  She beamed—though I suspect she only heard the compliment and didn’t connect it to the reason. “Thanks.”

  “But there are some rules.” I drew her to the side by the sheet pan cart. “You stick with me at all times. No running. No cooking unless you’ve got one of these.”

  I tapped my chef’s coat and she laughed.

  “You can hang out with me at my station.”

  “Will you really set the food on fire?”

  “Really, really.”

  “And candy?”

  “You can have as much as you want.” I stuck out my hand. “Deal?”

  She shook. “Deal.”

  I took Kendall to the sink to wash her hands, and then to the back where the venue kept a candy stash. She grabbed a handful, popping them in her mouth as I brought her to my station.

  The entire time I managed to steer clear of or shield her from Ryan’s eye. The man was in the final stretch of culinary revenge against Rivas. He was preoccupied.

  Kendall spied the ingredients taking up my table.

  “What are you making?”

  “Cherries jubilee. Ever had that before?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s pretty tasty, and easy to make.” I got the kitchen stool from the corner for her. She hopped up, leaning on the table to watch. “You can’t help me with this, but every venue my boss works, he leaves food for the cleanup staff. We can cook that together if you want to.”

  “Yeah!”

  Truth was, I liked kids. They were chaos, recklessness, and unbound energy all rolled in one. They said and did what they felt without the bullshit. The only time in a terrible person’s life when they weren’t vile is when they were a child.

  Jocelyn was once sweet and innocent. There had to be a time Angelo Castillo wasn’t a violent psychopath. Somewhere along the way, we grow either into the best or worst version of ourselves. Sometimes a mix of both.

  If you ask me, the only time it’s worth knowing a person is when they’re a child. Once they reach adulthood, they’re iffy.

  Kendall watched me rapt.

  I arranged my plating, got my stovetop going, and melted creamy butter in a pan. Our dessert chef came by a few times to add the lavender coconut macarons to my plates. She, and others, gave us curious looks, but I was the sous chef. They weren’t about to question me.

  “Ready?” I asked. “Watch this.”

  I poured brandy over my vanilla-cherry concoction. It burst into blue flames.

  “Ah!” Kendall clapped, shrieking delight. “That was so cool. Will you give me the recipe, so I can make it with my dad?”

  “Sure thing—”

  “Adeline.” Ryan stopped at my station. The spoon in his hand revealed his intent to taste-test my jubilee. “What’s this?”

  “Hi.” Kendall waved.

  Ryan looked at her like he’d never seen a miniature human before. “What are you doing here?”

  “I told her she could watch me make dessert.”

  “No, she cannot. A kitchen is no place for a child.”

  “Chef,” Stevie broke in. “Table thirty-five is requesting a different dessert. He doesn’t eat cherries or coconut.”

  “Rivas.”

  It was a mystery why Ryan assumed it was Rivas. There were n
ine other people at that table.

  “He said to serve him chocolate mousse with raspberries. We should be able to handle that.”

  Okay, that was Rivas.

  “I’ll take care of this.” Ryan blew past her, marching out the door.

  Turning to Kendall, I swiped imaginary sweat off my brow, winking at her.

  Her giggles ran in my ear as I checked the clock.

  CASH

  “Done.”

  After cutting through the reinforced metal door, the locks put up as much of a fight as melted butter. Two hours and forty-five minutes in, the safe door swung open.

  The four of us fanned inside.

  Yellow marble tile covered from door to wall. Vega’s safe room was circular. You swept the length of the space three-sixty and everywhere were cabinets, weapons, hanging rugs, tapestries, and furniture that’d feed your family for a lifetime.

  In the middle of it all, stood three museum pedestals and the items inside their display cases. Glittering rubies, emeralds, and sapphires set in gold. A crystal-blue vase with fine designs etched in the surface. A rather ugly headpiece lined with jewels.

  “The vase, the necklace, and the tiara,” said Sinjin. “Nice of him to put it out in the open for us.”

  “Anyone else thinking this is a test within our test?”

  Mercer’s question hung in the air.

  “We’re running out of time,” I said.

  I walked the length of the room, taking in everything.

  “The rest of the antiques here are too heavy or bulky to be easily removed from this room,” Mercer said. “These three could be slipped into a purse or briefcase.” He pressed his nose almost to the glass. “Vega wouldn’t make it that easy for them.”

  “What do you see?” I asked. I paused in front of a cabinet.

  “Sin, look at this,” he said.

  Sinjin adopted his position, peering up close and personal to the vase. “I see it.”

  I turned away. “What?”

  “There are small, round lights in the perimeter of the case,” Mercer said. “Sensors. If we move it, something will go off.”

  “Diego took care of the alarms,” Sinjin said.

  “We better fucking hope he did. That door may not be wired to the police, but this sure as hell will be. We set this off and they’ll be here in three minutes. The shortened response time that comes with a Leighbridge zip code.”

  “How long will it take you to get in the case?” I asked.

  “Longer than three minutes.”

  “Do it,” Sinjin ordered. “We’ve got our guys watching the streets. If the cops show up, we take the whole damn thing and get out.”

  “Do it,” I confirmed, turning back to the cabinet. “Three minutes is enough time to go out the back and escape over the fence in the neighbor’s yard. Mr. and Mrs. Rumsfield aren’t home. I checked.”

  “Brutal?” Mercer prompted.

  He nodded. We were agreed.

  “All right. Have the boys on standby.”

  Mercer secured his safety goggles, bent before the vase’s case, and pressed the cutter to the plastic. He flipped it on.

  Beep! Beep! Beep!

  A piercing, ear-shattering alarm ripped through the room.

  “Fuck!”

  ADELINE

  “Drizzle that bad boy on just like this.” I poured the cherry sauce over bowls of homemade vanilla ice cream. “Voila.”

  Kendall clapped, hopping on her little stool.

  I should’ve gotten a hype man in the kitchen years ago.

  “Okay, now—”

  “Excuse me?”

  I turned toward the door. Sebastian Vega stuck his head in the kitchen. He lit upon us.

  “There you are.” He ducked around Stevie carrying my finished desserts out. “It was very nice of you to entertain her, but we should get going.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes.” He put his arms around Kendall. “Let’s go, honey.”

  “But, Daddy,” she whined. “Miss Addy was going to show me how to make strawberry fans and roses out of tomatoes.”

  “It’s almost your bedtime.”

  I flicked to the clock. One hour. The boys haven’t texted me that they got it. He can’t leave.

  What are you supposed to say to stop him? Kendall can’t go to bed because she has to play with scraps of fruit?

  I have one job. I have to keep him here.

  “I understand,” I spoke up. “Do you mind waiting while I write up some recipes for Kendall? She was really excited to make them with you.”

  “Yeah, Daddy.”

  “Oh.” He set Kendall on her feet. “Of course. Thank you.”

  “One sec.” I ducked in the back to grab paper and a pen. I returned to find someone else at my station.

  “—can’t be in here,” said Ryan.

  Kendall lifted her chin. “Miss Addy is giving us the recipes.”

  “Here.” Ryan plucked a menu off the table. “Take this. You can look up the inferior versions of my creations at home.”

  Yes, he said that.

  “Have a good evening.”

  “But—”

  “He’s right, Kendall. Time to—”

  His phone went off. Vega fished it out and checked the screen. His eyes widened, and hardened in the same breath.

  “Time to go. Now, Kendall.” This wasn’t the same man who broke under her whining. “Anymore complaining and it’s no television for a week.”

  Vega marched her out the door. I might’ve tried again to stop him if I didn’t share the same sense as Kendall. Dad was not to be argued with.

  I trailed them out, stopping short just outside the door to watch him snatch up their things, and leave the hall.

  Me: Something’s wrong. Vega’s leaving. Get out now.

  CASH

  “Frankie and Lucky are on both ends of the street,” said Sinjin. “No sirens. Diego cut the signal for this alarm too. Don’t stop, Mercer.”

  “Didn’t come this far to stop,” he shouted over the noise.

  “Cain can hear the fucking thing downstairs.”

  Sinjin closed us in. Better we lose our hearing than the neighbors call the cops.

  “Cash, what the hell are you looking at?”

  This.

  I circled the cabinet, peering around the back. Antiques weren’t my specialty. My early days were in art. Still, I brushed up on different topics to fool the moneybags I was trying to fleece. To the casual eye, this cabinet was no different from the other priceless pieces in this room. I was certain it was expensive—

  But it’s not an antique.

  The molding. Stain. Design. And finish. It couldn’t be more than fifty years old.

  Why lock this away when the cabinet in your sitting room is twice as old and three times the cost?

  I threw open the doors. Feeling around, I ran my hands over the wood, pressed the back wall, lifted the shelf.

  I felt something give away. Releasing the wood, I stepped away as the back of the cabinet swung open, revealing another room. I ducked under the shelf and went inside.

  I was not a man easily surprised. A point of contention for my nieces and nephews, who took great delight in jumping off and popping out from behind things to scare me.

  None of them earned the look that came over me as I stood inside that room within a room.

  My lips parted—eyes widening at the metals, helmets, daggers, statuettes, busts, flags, and carvings. Resting on a small pillow, the centerpiece of the table’s collection, was an ugly, gold ring. It couldn’t be more than a few thousand dollars. Maybe tens of thousands to the right person.

  I snapped pictures of the room. A message popped up midway on the screen.

  Adeline: Something’s wrong. Vega’s leaving. Get out now.

  I moved faster. On my way out, I pocketed the ring.

  Crouching down, I ducked out.

  Mercer turned off the cutter. Carefully, he reached inside the hole and
removed the vase. He passed it to Sinjin who grinned like a man looking down at his newborn.

  My phone in hand, I felt the second buzz.

  Lucky: Cops.

  “Time to go,” I barked. “Sinjin, drop the vase.”

  He did. Opening his hands, he let the priceless artifact slip through his fingers, smashing to pieces on the floor.

  Mercer gaped at the mess. “What the fuck, Cash?”

  “No time. Cops are on the way.”

  That cut off the argument at its knees.

  Mercer snatched up his shit, and we bolted, leaving the remains of our prize behind. We ran into Cain and Pistol on the first floor.

  “Out the back!” Sinjin ordered.

  We heard the safe room alarm blaring away upstairs. The only sound louder was the oncoming police sirens.

  Running through the halls, we burst out the back doors and didn’t stop. Past the pool and hot tub. Trampling the garden. Climbing the deck chair to vault over the fence.

  As blue, red, and purple lit the sky, the Merchants ran through the Rumsfields’ yard, and were gone.

  “HELP ME UNDERSTAND this,” Adeline carried on.

  She paced the length of the carpet. Her chef’s jacket had been abandoned for the tank top underneath, leaving just the baggy checkered pants to go.

  Sinjin must have felt the same because he was making an effort to snag them as she went past.

  “You broke into the safe room.”

  “Yes,” I confirmed.

  “You had the vase in your hands.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you dropped it?!”

  “Correct,” Sinjin added.

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Why, C?”

  “You didn’t even ask?!”

  Sinjin finally got her. He gave one firm tug, yanking her yelping on his lap.

  “Relax, Redgrave,” I said. “When I was in there, I realized what Richard La Roche truly wanted and it wasn’t a vase or tiara.”

  I held up the ring. She squinted at the gaudy little thing.

  “What is that?”

  “Gold ring.”

  “How much is it worth?”

  “A couple hundred dollars.”

  She blinked at me. “Cash, I don’t think you know what La Roche wanted.”