East End

by Nana Malone

  "Eyes on the prize, mate."

  I snapped back to attention at the sound of Bridge's voice.

  When our gazes met, he grinned at me. “My eyes are on the damn prize. I got caught up with the old man. Where’s Middleton?”

  “You can relax. I tagged him already. Ben will collect that device too.”

  “Shit.” I hated being the weak link.

  “All good.” He nodded his head in the direction of the brunette. “You got distracted, mate.”

  “Shut it. I can do more than one thing at a time.”

  He smirked as he sipped his scotch. “Sure you can. That's why you're staring after that woman with your tongue hanging out of your mouth."

  In a perfect world, he would have withered under the look I shot him. "I am not. It's part of the facade."

  My best mate grinned at me. "Sure. I get it. You're just getting into character."

  "Exactly. Matter of fact—” Another beautiful brunette approaching us made me stop in mid-thought. “Emma! What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be somewhere having fun?”

  She gave me a warm smile, and I enveloped her in a tight hug. Emma Varma was sort of our adopted little sister. Her brother Toby had been part of the squad. Back in the day, the five of us had big plans to take over the world.

  But then he’d died.

  No, he was killed. There’s a difference.

  There was in fact a difference, and Toby’s death was why we were here tonight. For vengeance. For blood. For justice.

  She pulled back. “Well, don’t you look nice in a tux?”

  “I look good in anything.” I said, winking at her.

  She rolled her eyes at me. “Of course you do.”

  She turned her attention to Bridge, but there was no welcoming smile for him. I couldn’t quite explain it, but the two of them looked like they were sending heat lasers at each other, daring one another to eviscerate.

  “Bridge.” Her voice was tight as she addressed him.

  “I thought you went back to the States for your new job.”

  I watched with rapt attention as she squared her shoulders and pushed out her chest. What in the ever-loving-Prada fuck was going on here? It was like I was watching some weird praying mantis mating dance. I wanted to shout at Bridge that he was out of his depth and that he’d get his head bitten off. But for the two of them in that moment, I didn't exist.

  They were locked in this weird hate/eye-fuck situation.

  “Thank you so much for taking interest in my job, but after the Van Linsted thing, Mum just wanted me close to home. So I put in for a transfer. I’m home now. Guess you’d better get used to seeing me around.”

  “You should go back. I’ll look after your mum.”

  Emma laughed at that. “You’re ridiculous. Still playing power broker. It must really burn that you have zero power over me.”

  He took a step toward her, but she’d already tuned him out. “So what are you lot up to? I know it’s not to write a fat check. I saw you sniffing around Jameson and Middleton, and I want in.”

  The hell? No way, no how. “Don’t know what you’re on about,” I muttered then took a sip of scotch.

  “You can’t bullshit me, East. I can see it in your eyes. You trust me and want me to know. And let’s not forget that I got you the video that was the catalyst that set us all on this path. Don't shut me out.”

  She wasn’t wrong. “There’s nothing to tell, Ems. Bridge and I have something to do. We’ll catch you later, yeah?”

  She blocked our path of escape. Bridge’s body went tight and rigid as he came into contact with her. When he spoke, his voice was pure ice. “Stay out of it, Emma.”

  “Or what? You’re going to toss me over your shoulder and drag me out of here? Let’s not forget one simple thing; you need me. I’ll be around when you finally figure out you can’t leave me out of this.” Then she stepped aside and stalked into the crowd.

  Bridge glowered after her, looking very much like he was considering clubbing her over the head.

  “Well, I’m empty. Join me at the bar?”

  He was still looking toward the direction Emma had sauntered when he mumbled, “I’m going to go check on Mina.”

  And by check on, he meant shag out his frustrations. But Bridge’s fucked-up relationship was none of my business unless Mina forced my hand. She claimed to love him, so it was better to leave well enough alone.

  Suddenly my phone chimed. So did Bridge's. We both pulled them out of our inside pockets, and I frowned as I stared at the text lighting my screen.

  Unknown: If you want Garreth Jameson to pay, be out on the balcony in 5 minutes.

  Bridge held up his phone as I met his gaze. "Same tosser? Is it Theroux?"

  I scowled at his phone. "Looks that way," I muttered as I searched the crowd for Ben. "Let's get to the balcony."

  He lifted a brow. “It’s unlike you to be so trusting.”

  He was right. Outside of my mates, I trusted no one, let alone a couple of random texts. But I wanted information. Any scrap of information offered was a clue to better understanding.

  I didn't even have time to formulate my thoughts before Ben headed in our direction, his long stride rapidly eating up the distance. He held up his phone face out and gave it a little shake. "You get the same one?"

  Bridge and I nodded, surreptitiously scanning our surroundings. The message directed us out to the balcony, so I looked up at Ben. "We’re doing this?"

  He frowned then gave us a curt nod. "Let's go see what this arsehole wants. And then maybe ask how he knows us or what we’re looking for."

  Bridge rubbed his jaw. "I don’t like it.”

  “But do you have a better plan?"

  Bridge said nothing, so we headed around the bar to the stairwell that led to the balcony.

  Once on the balcony, only Ben received a text with a video.

  The video zoomed in on the profile of a man in shadow. He was seated next to a painting that caught my breath. If I were a betting man, I’d have said that it was a Miles Kruger.

  But my family had all known Krugers in our collection. My great-grandmother, Ruth Du Mont, had been a wealthy Jewish heiress married to a German businessman. At the start of the war, he smuggled her to safety in America, then did what he could to secure her inheritance. He bought art and safeguarded the pieces her family had handed down. He didn’t survive, but when the war was over, unlike so many, she had the things he’d been able to safeguard for her.

  She eventually remarried a British doctor, and she and her new husband had spent years completing the collection her first husband had started for her.

  Over the years, my mother’s trust had been able to acquire every original piece of art that had belonged to her family, including the Miles Kruger pieces.

  But it was said there was a missing one. One that hadn’t been seen since the war.

  I let out a long breath. "Is that fucking time-stamped?"

  Ben nodded, pointing at the corner. "The newspaper, when you zoom in on it, that’s today's date."

  "That has to be a forgery," I mumbled. No fucking way did he have the lost Kruger.

  Ben shrugged. "I mean, your family has the definitive collection of Krugers. You would know—or your mother would."

  I shook my head. "My sister would, because she's the curator of the collection. But the collection’s in a museum in Monaco. It has been for the last fifteen years."

  Christ. If that was a genuine Kruger…

  The man leaned forward, partially obscured in shadows. From what I could tell, he was apparently white, older, as he had some sagging in the jaw area. But it was still a strong chin with a slight cleft.

  "I'm sure you're wondering who I am,” he began in a strong voice laced with a touch of a French accent. “But that's not important. What’s important is what I’m offering. You and I have a common interest. And we can help each other.”

  The man shifted in his seat, and my eyes stayed glued to the pai
nting behind him. That couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t.

  He continued. “As I said when I reached out to Mr. Hale, I am aware of your Garreth Jameson problem. And I’m willing to assist. Given the need for secrecy, I’ll need to secure your full cooperation before we can move on.”

  Bridge lifted a brow. “What, he thinks we work for him now?”

  The man’s lips lifted into a smile. “I know what you're thinking, Covington. Or perhaps Edgerton. You hate to be controlled most of all. No, you don’t work for me. But we can help each other if you are amenable. We’ll draw up terms.” He paused. “However, if you are not amenable, unfortunately, this video will go out to the authorities.”

  The screen went dark for a second, and then I could see motion. The building was familiar. We’d robbed it a couple of months ago. Suddenly I could see men scurrying like ants out of the building, heading to different exit points.

  What the fuck was this? I’d scrubbed all CCTV feeds from the surrounding buildings that night. All security. Everything.

  This is a drone.

  Fuck. I’d cocked it up.

  How were you supposed to check for a private drone?

  The video sped up until it showed Ben and Bridge at the van, and Ben ripped off his balaclava.

  “Shit.” Ben’s muttered curse was soft.

  The man continued. “I know Mr. Hale is thinking that he was lax on security. I assure you, you were not. I’m just very good. And I like knowing who I’m doing business with. If you assist me, I will give you what you want by using this.” He pointed at the painting. “Mr. Hale knows that Garreth Jameson and his family would do anything to get their hands on this. I’m willing to use it to give you what you want.”

  Ben ran his hands through his hair. “Who the fuck is he, and how does he know so much?”

  The man leaned forward then. “Forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is Francois Theroux. You have one week to give me an answer.”

  I was trying to figure out how much of a hoax this was. Who had that kind of access? Who could listen in on our conversations? Then the man sat forward and allowed us to see him clear as day.

  A thick shock of white hair, well-tamed and styled, swirled atop his head. His face, though years older, was classically handsome. Strong jaw. Cleft chin. Roman nose that looked like it had been broken at some point in his past. There was an air of refinement to him.

  Then the video went black.

  Ben asked, "Any of you know this arsehole and why he thinks he’ll get away with blackmail?"

  I shook my head. "The photos I have of Theroux are of him as a younger man. But it’s a close enough match. That’s definitely him."

  Bridge frowned. "Are we supposed to know him?"

  Ben scowled down at his phone. “Alright then. We are going to find out everything there is to know about Francois Theroux.”

  “On it,” I muttered. I trusted nobody as a general rule, so a helping hand was going to be met with suspicion. One that was trying to blackmail us was even more reason to be cautious.

  East

  An hour later, I found the woman in the red dress leaning against the bar. The red silk of her dress showed off strong back muscles and a fantastic ass, leaving me to speculate if she had any knickers on.

  The approach was easy. Familiar. I knew this dance and knew it well. Approach, banter, shag in the first semiprivate place we could find, walk away. As I approached, anticipation danced over my skin. As I drew nearer, I hesitated a moment. That scent. Honeysuckle? Her dress screamed sex, but her scent was pure tempting intoxication.

  Why was it so damn familiar? “You make a hell of a statement in that dress.”

  She turned slowly, hazel eyes landing on mine as she shifted her shawl and clutch to the bar. “I certainly hope so. It’s bait.”

  I momentarily choked on my last breath as I stared at her. “Agent Nyla Kincade.” Just saying her name had my cock going rock hard. Flashes of our last encounter made me want to drag her out of the gala to check for fucking bruises… and then kiss them all away.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Listen, you tosser. She is the enemy and will happily stick you and your mates in the nick.

  Her grin went wide. "Mr. Hale. Fancy running into you again.”

  Think, you knob. I needed to play this delicately. What the hell was she doing here? And why, instead of me unsettling her, was she here in my sandbox unsettling me?

  I needed to be careful, tread lightly. After all, she was coming after me and my friends. “I’ve never seen you at one of these charity galas before. I didn’t think they were your speed, Agent Kincade. But now that I know they are, they will be infinitely more entertaining.”

  “Of course, you’d be aware of every single woman who comes to these things. Your reputation precedes you.” Her gaze swept over me and I felt like my skin was on fire. Was she playing with me? Did she think it was a good idea to poke the rock-hard bull right now?

  “So, you’ve been asking about me? Should I be worried you’ll get out your cuffs? Though that might be all manner of fun.” I went for one of the most charming smiles in my arsenal. One that was a guaranteed ice-melter. But still, all I got back from her was some bemusement.

  Her gaze narrowed as it slid over me from head to toe. “I do love my cuffs. And I don’t doubt you’d enjoy the feel of the cold steel against your skin.” She sipped her champagne then. “But I’m not here for you. I happen to love a good cause.”

  She wanted to play games. She was here to tempt me, but for what reason? Into making a mistake? I wasn’t going to play.

  But you want to.

  I had already had a chat with her section chief, so she was walking on thin ice. Playing a game she didn’t know the rules of and one I was quite looking forward to. Turning my smile into a smirk, I lowered my voice and leaned forward. “I must say, you’re an excellent fighter and surprisingly quick. Well done with the Taser. I still have the taste of metal in my mouth. The next time we tussle though, I dare hope there will be significantly less clothing.”

  I spent a good deal of time watching people. Nyla Kincade was a pro. Her expression remained cool and placid, save a quick blink and slight purse of her lips. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re on about."

  I leaned close, inhaling deep. “Oh, but I know you do. I tracked you as you darted through the South Bank.” The bartender slid a scotch across the bar to me, and I lifted my glass to take a sip. “The quick change, the prosthetics. You are very, very good. But I think I was most impressed with your hand-to-hand skills. I have to tell you, Agent Kincade, you left some bruises. I should probably discuss with my therapist just how arousing I found that, but that’s neither here nor there.”

  “Your kinks are none of my business.”

  “Oh, but they could be.” My blood hummed, even though I should be afraid, worried. At the very least wary. She met my gaze and lifted her chin. Christ, I wanted to taste her. “I should be worried about you, Agent Kincade. How’s the eye? The make-up job is excellent. It’s hard to see the bruising. I am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Again. Not me. You’re mistaking me for some kind of badass. I wish I could meet this woman and have her teach me her ways. But alas, I’m not who you think I am.”

  The humming had found its way to my brain, short circuiting it. Because instead of trying to get answers, all I wanted was to take another deep whiff. Find out if she smelled like sweet honeysuckle all over her body. My guess was yes.

  “I think you're very naughty and have found yourself in way over your head. All you have to do is tell me what you were hoping to achieve, and I’ll give you back your SD card, unwiped. Honestly, there wasn’t anything good on it, but you worked so hard to sneak in and disguise yourself. Hell, I might even give it to you if you say please just right.”

  She leaned into me and the last remaining ability I had to think vanished in favor of my cock acting all kinds of inappropriately.

&nb
sp; “Mr. Hale.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Feel free to hold your breath. See how long you can last. I dare you. You might as well, because I’m never going to give you what you want.”

  Nyla

  First of all, up close and personal East Hale was make-you-stupid handsome. He smelled like something piney and clean. And it was debilitating. I was lucky I had functioning brain cells around him. The other times we’d met had been fleeting, and he hadn’t been so… close. And well, the last time I was focused on not getting caught. But now, with his low voice and sandalwood cologne helping to amplify his potent masculine swagger, it was a wonder I could speak.

  He also has you dead to rights.

  How the fuck had he tracked my movements? I’d had that route mapped out. There were very few cameras. And how did he have access to CCTV? He wasn’t law enforcement or intelligence services.

  I’d come here play nice and back off like I’d been ordered to.

  You came to pretend.

  Okay, fine. I’d come to pretend. I’d also come to tag him with a listening device. I had zero intention of walking away from the London Lords, despite my father’s direct orders. I would get my proof, and then my father would have no choice but to listen to what I had to show him about East Hale. Well, him or one of his friends. He was just the first one who took notice. I hadn’t been lying when I said the dress was bait. He had me. He knew he had me. The question was how I was going to play this. I could continue to deny it, or I could own it. Then we would be two warriors facing off.

  With a deep breath I met his gaze. “How’s your shoulder? Did I hurt you?”

  His eyes went wide, and his broad smile lit his face. “You’re certainly ballsy. I really thought you would continue to deny it.”

  I sighed and polished off my champagne. “What’s the point? You saw me.”

  “That I did.” His gaze narrowed on me as he watched me warily. “You are a naughty little thing.” His heat was like a caress. “So what are you doing here?”

  I sidled up to him, patting his jacket with my right hand. “Well, I was instructed to apologize. So I came here to do that.”