Maybe I can come with Callum one day.
“If he’s around that long,” I mutter low, grateful that Giannis is too busy hooking up the Bluetooth system to his phone. The last thing I want right now is another lecture. To be told I’m an idiot.
Because I am. I should’ve told him. Asked for his help.
“Are you hungry, Ali?” Giannis asks, pulling me back from my thoughts. “You haven’t eaten much in the last few days.”
“How would you know that?”
“That’s a dumb question, and you know it.”
“Shut it.” And because I’m not ready to get into that conversation, the implications of him watching me because of Callum, I slap his shoulder with a giggle. “By the way, I can’t believe our fathers bought the whole, I’m trying to make sure she doesn’t fuck up, spiel you gave them. It was almost insulting how easily they gave in to you coming with me.”
“Don’t take it personally. They’re both arseholes.” His butchered British accent at the end makes me miss Callum. Even when cursing, he sounds so proper it’s sexy. “My boyfriend, on the other hand…”
“Is he here?”
“Look behind you.” And sure enough, there he is in a mid-sized SUV just one car behind ours. The tall man looks cramped behind the wheel, his posture stiff and aware, but more importantly, he is here for Giannis. In case anything goes wrong.
Why am I so jealous of that? Why didn’t I just speak up when I had the chance?
I’m quiet and lost inside my head for the rest of the ride. I know my friend means well, that his attempts at pointing out landmarks and the beauty around us is an attempt at distracting me, but nothing works. The closer to the house we get, the gloomier I become.
My mood stinks. My body language is one of sulking.
And when we pull into the huge private beachfront property and Giannis parks, getting out to grab our bags and open the front door, I can’t help but shed a tear. Then another. I’m quick to wipe them away, but the evidence is there for anyone who looks my way.
I shouldn’t be here to steal an artifact for my father. I shouldn’t be here and possibly go to jail if anything goes wrong.
But more importantly, Giannis isn’t who I want with me if things get rough.
He’s not who I trust blindly.
He’s not Callum.
He’s not the man I’ve fallen in love with.
The next day, I feel like a zombie. I’m going through the motions while the world around me moves—it shifts and carries on. Giannis tried to talk to me a few times, to get me out of this funk, but nothing works and after a while, he too gives up until it’s time to go.
Which brings me to the present…
The outside of this building is intimidating and highly secured. There are guards everywhere: walking, posted, and a few snipers on the south end with their eyes on the main entrance. Their job is to not let anyone in or out, much less lose one of the pieces inside.
The official who runs this department is smart; the secretary of state or equivalent of, and his job is to keep certain items under lock and key. This could destroy the country’s wealth, and the hold the government has over its citizens.
What my father’s client wants with the artifact, I don’t know, but its black-market price is exuberant. I’ve done my own research. I’m half tempted to run away with it and make a new life for myself, far from all I know.
No family. No restrictions.
What about Callum? “Focus,” I grit out from between clenching teeth and Giannis looks over, nose scrunched up in question. “We need to focus. No mistakes.”
“Got it.”
The plans provided showed me three possible entry points, and I chose the heavily guarded one. Why? Because no one thinks you’ll attempt a crime under the heavy watch of national police. Where the danger lies. A mistake many make, but I’ve learned over the years that the best way to hide is in plain sight while drawing innocent attention.
That’s why I’m stumbling, giggling while walking by the back entrance with my sandals dangling from a finger and phone in the other hand. They see me but think nothing of the gringa taking pictures—selfies with an exaggerated pout and low-cut top.
Then, there’s the man beside me in full military gear.
Their colors. Their medals on the breast pocket.
Some salute and he returns the gesture, giving two a nod before bending to lay a kiss below my ear. My giggles turn louder, I smack his chest, and I hear the chuckle from the guard closest to us.
To them, I’m just another tourist, drunk and out for a good time.
Like so many, we’re curious and looking to live a little dangerously. Like so many, I’m letting my hair down, and they enjoy the show.
We walk past them after a few more pictures, him dragging me away with an arm tight around my waist until their attention goes back to the front. Straight ahead, where we left a present earlier.
The first small explosive goes off after ten minutes, and the heavy footfalls of soldiers are heard. They shout orders in Portuguese, and the snipers change positions, their scopes looking for the slightest movement in the general vicinity of the first bomb.
Not a real one, but the sound is loud and one I hate from every 4th of July celebration my father makes us attend. It doesn’t have rays of colors light up the sky or the blinking of twinkling starburst. No, this one sounds like a machine gun, but ten times as loud.
The second goes off and someone shoots, a man on the ground talking through a walkie-talkie and demanding to know if those on the roof see anything.
This is when I enter through the unlocked door that three soldiers hovered by a few minutes ago.
Giannis is quiet beside me, his steps matching mine, and we duck behind another small building and keep to the shadows until the office I need comes into view. The keypad outside is the sole illumination after pressing the frequency blocker my father provided, a gift from the buyer to ensure our faces aren’t seen.
Not that I trust it, but I warned him I’d talk if caught. If the equipment he gave fails, I’m not protecting anyone.
“Code?” I ask Giannis without looking over, my eyes on the device as I slip on gloves. “Five and counting.”
He understands what I mean and follows suit, latex now covering his hands. The holiday-themed explosives are spread and the next two go off not far from the first, leaving us a short window before all is confirmed and they return to their post.
“1982.” Voice low, he moves a little closer while I punch in the numbers. It pings green and the door disengages, the audible click loud, yet doesn’t draw attention. “Get in.”
“Hit the next explosive.”
“Two minutes.”
For someone who’s never done this before, Giannis is a great help. I don’t feel alone and breathe a little easier while scrambling the signal again, making sure we have no surprises inside. However, nothing takes the pressure off like seeing the jade statue inside of the glass containment, it’s enclosure small and unprotected.
At least, I think so until a small red dot captures my attention. The minuscule circle glints off a metallic rim at the back, its beacon bouncing off and landing on the artifact’s head.
“Second alarm?” he asks, stopping beside me.
“Yeah.”
“Can you undo it?”
“This one has a remote. We just need to find it.” How do I know? Because I’ve seen it before inside of Dad’s office at the Thompson Center. The door to the left of his desk leads to a small room where they file and keep certain documents, things that the public doesn’t need to see, and I was there the day it was installed.
Same small bead of light bouncing off metal. Same two wires poking out of a small hole, an open conduit, meant to deter if touched. The remote that turns it on or off is never far from the receiver, and as I turn my head and look around, I find a small stack of books that seem out of place.
A young adult series based on a vampiric love st
ory doesn’t seem like something the owner of this office reads. Nothing on his dossier—the fifty-page life story with everything from his breakfast routine, the seedy establishments he visits on the regular, or the three mistresses he keeps—hint at him being an avid romance reader.
Walking closer, I ignore Giannis’s questioning look and stop in front of the books. To an outsider, they seem normal, the outside worn down from use. However, not so much when you’re close. From my vantage point a few feet away, I can tell they’re fake but painted to appear realistic.
“Bingo,” I whisper, looking around to detect a secondary alarm, but after finding none, I pick up the small box and find exactly what I want below. The device is small, no bigger than a candy bar and with two buttons at the center.
“How did you—”
“Later,” I cut him off, pressing the right circle while holding my breath. I’m going off of a memory here, what I overheard the installation company explain to a pompous governor who ignored his child being there, and when nothing goes off, I let out a rough exhale. “Christ, I’m going to need a lot of liquor tonight.”
“You and me both, girl. This shit is heart attack inducing.”
A whirling sound fills the room, a low buzz, before the display goes dark and the glass door unlocks. We look at each other, both smiling before rushing across the room and exchanging the pieces.
One jade, the other cheap ceramic painted green.
Within seconds we’ve made the switch and closed the display, re-engaging the lock. The remote is put back, the room given a quick glance over before we try to exit.
Try, because standing outside the room the moment Giannis peeks out is a man dressed in a soldier’s uniform. He’s tall, way over six feet, and the scowl on his face has me nearly stumbling back. He looks at us and the small backpack on my shoulder before stepping aside.
We don’t move, though. Too scared.
“Leave before you are caught,” he hisses, hand on his gun, and it’s the heavy Spanish accent that makes the air catch in my throat. Not that I’m given much time to ask him anything; Giannis all but drags me from the room before I can ask who he is.
Did my father send him?
Why is he helping?
The man moves past us, his weapon drawn high while there seems to be a war zone not far from us. Many shouts, some gunfire, and all while the stranger walks us to the exit and tilts his head at the door.
“No one will follow you. Get out.” That’s the last thing he says before running back in the direction of the chaos, his large body disappearing behind a building. What the hell was that?
“You heard him. Let’s go!”
I nod, my eyes meeting a scared Giannis. “Run.”
26
For the last forty-eight hours, I’ve been on edge.
Worrying. Watching the news.
And nothing.
Not a single news story has broken out, nor has there been sight of the man who helped us escape.
He’s the most predominant thought in my mind. Why did he help? Why not take it for himself?
That statue is worth a lot. By my research, more than the national debt of a small country.
So again, why help?
The only answer that makes sense is that my father hired him. Bought the soldier off to make sure we didn’t screw up.
A knock at the door pulls my attention from those thoughts and I freeze, fear taking over, until I remember that Giannis went out with his boyfriend and left the key behind. Looking through the window beside the door, I catch sight of a white shirt and dark green shorts and smile. Yup, Giannis.
“You should’ve taken the key, doofus!” I call out, bare feet padding over the few remaining steps. The heavy door has a large metal handle on this side, and after turning the lock, I pull it open. My mouth opens as the man turns around and then I’m choking, nervousness settling in deep. “Callum?”
“Aliana.”
One word, and I’m swallowing hard—chest rising rapidly while taking him in. From head to loafers, I watch him through wide eyes and trembling hands. I’m nervous, but happy, and at the same time a heated flash of fear runs down my veins and settles in my chest.
“How? What?” Not the most eloquent response, but my mind and heart have shut down. His presence hits me in the chest like a wrecking ball.
Oh, God. Does he know?
“Are you going to let me into my home, Venus?”
“Your what?” I wave a hand between us back and forth a few times before it drops, and I tilt my head to the side. I’m lost. So unsure of everything. And to make it worse, he’s looking at me as if I’m the most amusing thing he’s ever seen.
Hip jutting out, I put a hand there and narrow my eyes. Something isn’t right.
Gem-colored orbs drop from my face to my hip; he bites his bottom lip. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
“How did you find me?” I ask instead, although my cheeks stain pink.
Callum doesn’t answer, but he does hold a finger up and turns it in a silent demand for me to twirl. When I don’t move, he gives me a little grin. “Please.”
The short, white cotton dress I’m wearing clings to me, molds to my every curve and when I turn for him, it rises just a little higher on my thighs. With a halter-style top, I didn’t bother to wear a bra. A mistake now.
My breasts spill a little over the edge while my nipples are hard, pebbled tight and pushing against the soft fabric of the dress. His hooded eyes linger there for a minute before going lower and down the flat of my stomach to the width of my hips and then bare legs.
He even watches the way my white-painted toes wiggle against the travertine flooring with hunger.
How he watches me—devours me where I stand—makes me nervous. Fills me with anxiety, but more than that, it creates a palpable need in me. Those few seconds of silence make me shiver where I stand, and the thick outline of his cock becomes more pronounced. It jerks, and his name slips through my lips on a little moan.
Callum takes another step in my direction and lifts his hand to my cheek, cupping it while his thumb rubs my cheek. “I’d like to enter my home, please.”
“Oh!” That snaps me out of it, and I scramble back, nearly tripping, and his hands shoot out to catch me. One hard yank, and I’m against his every muscle, can feel them move, holding me tight as his arm goes around my waist and I’m lifted off the ground. “What’re you—”
“Let’s head inside first.”
“Okay.” What else can I say when he’s looking at me like I’m everything? Like he revolves around me, and it’s more than likely wishful thinking on my part, but I indulge in the feeling and let him. I settle my head in the crook of his neck and breathe him in as the door closes behind us and his loafer-covered feet walk past the foyer and straight to the back deck with views of the ocean a short distance from the sliding glass door.
The view is pristine. His hold is the sweetest torture, but all I can focus on is the happiness seeing him brings.
My earlier concerns over getting caught are gone. I know he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. He’ll protect us.
Callum takes a seat at the edge of a large hammock while balancing me in his hold, hoisting me a little higher on his hip so he can lay back with my body over his. It’s a little awkward at first, I’m gripping him hard and afraid we’re going to fall, but a low relax and another short shift and I find myself nestled against his warm body.
We stay like that for a while.
Lying in silence with the soft breeze off the ocean flowing around us, my body slowly gives in to the fatigue that’s been building since before this trip. I know we need to talk, all the questions I need to ask, but as his hand sweeps up and down my back and his lips press against my forehead, I close my eyes.
Each slow swing settles me. His earthy scent soothes me.
“You’re in so much trouble, love.” That’s the last thing I hear before going under, but I’m too tired to fight the heavy
blanket of sleep knocking me unconscious.
I’m pulled from sleep by the scent of food. I don’t know what time it is or how I got on the hammock, until Callum’s low timbre greets my ears from somewhere to my left. He’s not beside me anymore and I peek out carefully, barely opening my eyes, but he sees.
Standing at the large outdoor kitchen and without a shirt is Callum with a phone between his ear and neck while holding a pair of grilling tongs. The sizzling of meat permeates the air with a delicious aroma, just like the view of him flipping what looks to be steak before stepping back.
Wide awake and biting my lip, I look away just long enough to catch the setting sun. Jesus, how long was I asleep? It was barely midday when Callum took me by surprise, but now it looks to be easily six in the evening.
“You’ve been out for a little over five hours,” he says from beside the hammock, and I jump, almost falling down. Callum rights me, gripping my arm with one hand and the fabric with the other and pulls me in close. “Careful. The dismount can be tricky for a first timer.”
“Thank you.”
He nods, bending a bit at the knees once he’s sure I won’t fall. “Let me help you out.”
“Please.” Not because I can’t get out by myself, but I want his touch. Crave it.
“Arm over my shoulder, love.” I do as he asks and strong hands lift me out, turning with me in his hold to walk back toward the outdoor kitchen/dining area. The table there is set for two—plates and silverware with a small crystal vase holding a delicate white flower inside. I’ve seen that flower around the property; his garden is full of them.
His garden. His house.
He has to know.
“Thank you for letting me sleep for so long. I’ve been exhausted.”
“I bet.” There’s a slight hardening to his eyes, but it doesn’t last long and he doesn’t elaborate. And I’m glad. I’m not ready to have the who, what, when, and how the hell conversation. “There’s also a bit of selfishness in why I let you sleep for so long.”
“There is?” I squeak a bit and he laughs, full on and loud before settling back with that smirk that does things to me. “Why?”
Risqué: Mafia Romance (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 5) Page 20