I have to figure this out.
As I’m sorting through the items, organizing them by value—yes, I’m using the private browsing mode on my phone’s web app—my breath grows shallower and shallower. How am I supposed to sell a thirteenth-century necklace worth six million dollars? Is that a thing people even buy? It’s not like I can just list it on eBay or anything. No, I’ll have to go in person.
Back before my dad died, I went with him to plenty of black-market dealings. Only the minor ones, though. Selling antique comic books—stolen—and original paintings—forged—to private collectors.
Wait, was he using me as a shield? He couldn’t have been, right?
I’m definitely overthinking this. I’ll start with the cheapest items on the list. There are a bunch of items that are just worth a few grand, enough of them that we can keep the building.
That necklace sure would help erase a lot of our debt, though. Maybe we could even get started on the forest property that way.
I shake that idea out of my head. We just need to keep the pack safe. That’s all. Get through the next two weeks.
When the door opens, I jump out of my skin. Literally. I’m so on edge that I leap right into my wolf form, my clothes shredding.
Goddamn it.
A woman who doesn’t look much older than me walks in, but those looks can be deceiving.
“Eve, you seem tense,” Teresa, Anderson’s mom, says.
I shift back into my human form, not bothering to cover up. Wolves are used to seeing each other naked, and she doesn’t so much as bat an eye.
“I’m okay,” I lie, but she clearly sees right through me.
She crosses her arms. “I used to work for your father. My husband and I would help him find new homes for certain goods.” She pricks an eyebrow at me. She couldn’t be more obvious about what she’s talking about.
“It seems like his contacts are all dried up,” I say. “I tried every number in the book, but there’s nothing. It’s been so long, I’m not sure any of them are still in business.” Or alive, I don’t add.
She glances at the items I have splayed out over tables, cabinets, and even the floor. “Just because I wasn’t working for Kenneth doesn’t mean I was out of the business,” she says. “I think you should attend a gala with Steven this weekend. It could be good for you.”
I don’t love the sound of that, but what other options do I have?
“Should I bring things with?” I ask, and she sputters a laugh.
“Absolutely not,” she says. “At least, not anything you aren’t willing to lose.”
So that’s a no on the necklace. However, if I want any buyers to take me seriously, I should bring something to show off.
It’s a risk, but I pick up a diamond ring that’s certified to have belonged to the queen of England. Well, a past queen of England. Its estimated value, from my paltry research, is nearly the amount we need to keep the building. Probably not enough to get attacked over, but enough that I could garner some interest. I slide it onto the ring finger on my left hand.
“Sounds like a good time,” I say.
Chapter Eleven
Anderson
My parents and Eve don’t invite me to this mysterious event they’re attending. It stings a little, I can’t lie. Eve doesn’t have the proper attire for such an event, though, and, for some reason, she asks me to go shopping with her.
“Two grand for a dress you’re gonna wear once?” I ask, balking at the price tag.
Eve is in the dressing room, but I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “It’s just a rental,” she calls back. “I get the deposit back if I don’t ruin the dress.”
The fact that there’s a luxury clothing rental place in town is a shock. I had no idea that was even a niche that needed to be filled.
Half the gowns are wedding dresses, though, so I suppose it makes sense. An attendant watches me carefully, probably afraid that the scruffy guy in not-so-artfully ripped jeans will try stealing something from the store to sell.
I keep my demeanor friendly and professional, though.
“Here’s another one,” the attendant—Janet, according to her name tag—says, passing a navy blue gown through the door. We had to make an appointment to be here, which means we’re the only ones currently in the store other than the two employees.
“Do you have something a little bigger in the hip area?” Eve asks, peeking her head through the door as she takes the dress. I smile, imagining her thick thighs and hips tearing through one of these skin-tight gowns. We probably couldn’t get away with fucking in the changing room, or I might be tempted to try it.
Janet thinks for a moment, then strides away. I glance at the man at the register, a skinny guy with a bouffant hairdo and a gaudy diamond earring. My hackles rise at the whole fancy place, but this is a necessary evil.
Why did she have to bring me, though? Isn’t this more of Freya’s thing?
Another dress is passed, this one in a black bag.
After a few moments of silence, Eve calls, “Can you zip me?”
I open the flimsy wooden door, and she has the front of the gown pulled up to her chest. The zipper is open enough to reveal a plain pair of black cotton panties, and I trace my hands over her skin before pulling the zipper up. It fits her like it was made for her.
“I think this is the one,” I breathe, pressing my lips against the hollow of her throat. Her skin grows hot, the tips of her ears turning pink.
“You think so?”
I run my hands over the forest green sheath of satiny fabric that drapes over one of her shoulders, a slit running all the way up to the waist up front.
“How am I supposed to stay home knowing you’re out wearing this?” I ask, my words gruff as I move my hand up her thigh. Her body presses against mine, and I can smell the lust on her.
“How’s that one look?” the woman asks outside the changing room. We jump apart from each other, and Eve exits the dressing room. I lean against the wall, desperately attempting to quell the hardness in my pants.
Janet oohs and ahhs at the dress, and I breathe slowly through my nose, thinking of anything except Eve’s silky smooth skin, her exposed thigh, her braless chest.
Anything else. I breathe in slowly through my nose, then out through my mouth. Think about anything else. Literally anything else.
When Eve walks back into the dressing room, though, her eyes flick down to my pants, her nostrils flaring at the sight of my cock sprung for action. She takes a step forward, the fabric shifting on that goddamn dress. If I had—I glance at the tag—eighteen hundred dollars, fuck—I’d just buy it for her so she could wear it all the damn time. I picture it for a moment, her reclining in her leather office chair, the slit of fabric parting.
She closes the door and lays a hand on my chest, hooking her ankle around my calf. God, she feels good against me. I wrap my hands around her ass and squeeze, and she sighs as her body melts into mine.
“We have two minutes while she runs my card,” she breathes. I can’t quite process her words for a moment, and by the time I do, her hands are feeling up my shirt, fingers moving firmly up my muscles.
Are we seriously going to do this?
I pull her tighter against me, and she slips her hand between us to unbutton my pants, my cock eagerly springing forth. It isn’t a moment later that she lifts herself over me, using a finger to move her panties out of the way. The parting of the dress is perfect, and she wraps her legs around me, allowing my cock to push inside her. I don’t groan for fear of being caught.
She rides me hard and fast, much like the day we sealed our mating bond. The space isn’t too much different, honestly. This dressing room is cleaner than a bar bathroom, but not much smaller or more private.
Eve’s hands rake over the skin under my skirt, and I lift her by her ass before slamming her back down onto my cock, the muscles in my arms straining with the repeated movement.
When her body tenses up, I put a
hand over her mouth, our eyes locking on each other as her pussy clenches around me, and her nails dig into my shoulders. She tosses her head back, her teeth clamping down on the edge of my palm where my thumb meets the rest of my hand.
The instant she’s finished, she gets off me and places the gentlest kiss on my jaw. My entire body is on fire, and I’m nowhere near finished, but she changes into her street clothes before I can get a word in edgewise. The dress goes in the bag, perfectly smooth and flawless like nothing ever happened.
When I finally get myself buttoned and exit the room, Janet walks up and passes Eve her card.
“We look forward to doing business with you again,” she says, suddenly far more respectful than she’d been the whole time. Did she not think the card would run?
Knowing the way I look, of course she didn’t. Shame runs through me, the sex half-forgotten as I realize that Eve probably should have brought Thompson. He looks like he belongs in these sorts of places.
Eve weaves her fingers through mine, laying the dress over my other arm. I tuck it against myself like it’s a totally normal thing for me.
“Have a lovely day,” Janet says, showing us out of the store.
“It’s looking up,” Eve says, her eyes on me and filled with something like affection.
Chapter Twelve
Eve
I fucking hate this.
The salon hadn’t been nearly as bad, as Freya had come with to instruct the man on how to do my hair, and she held my hand through all the tugging and spray and million pins I’ll just have to remove at the end of the night. Why did they straighten my hair just to re-curl it anyway? Aren’t my medium ringlets fine? They’re only a little less tight now, a few framing my face as the rest is tied in a bun.
When I look at my phone’s reverse camera on the way to the gala, I barely recognize myself. My eyes have a smoky shadow with wings that could cut a man’s throat, and the fake lashes make my eyes look wide and innocent. My lips are stained a maroon that looks like I dipped them in blood. According to Freya, it’ll probably take an industrial-strength wipe to remove all the shit from my face. At most, I usually wear mascara on my enviable lashes and maybe a subtle stain. This is all too much.
The car slows to an elegant stop, and I twist the gaudy diamond ring on my finger. Steven watches me carefully, his dark brown hair a carefully curated mess over his tuxedo. I’m used to being around immortals, or at least people who outlive humans, but there’s something uncomfortable about the way I know we’ll be perceived. To humans, he would only look a few years older than me, but his son and I were born mere months apart.
“Are you alright, Eve?” he asks, giving me a look of fatherly concern. He was always there for me as a kid, and he and Teresa made sure to have me over a lot after my mom died.
I swallow, then nod, keeping my face flat. Even if I don’t feel it inside, I will look like I know what I’m doing. The black lace garter on my left thigh, the one actually concealed by my dress, has my little hellcat, a tiny black gun just in case I need it.
I wiggle my toes, which are already growing painful in the shoes I also had to rent for this gala. They’re plain black leather with red soles, and I’d balked at the price of the deposit. They’re just shoes, for Christ’s sake.
The Cadillac’s door beside Steven opens, and he steps out before offering me his hand. I glance at Thompson, who’s standing at the door with a black suit and a freaking valet hat, and he gives me the tiniest smile. It’s going to be okay. This is all going to work out. Even though I’m only here with Steven, one of my mates won’t be far away, and the others are standing by at the compound, ready to move in if there’s even an ounce of trouble.
I move my legs together, my knees tucked against each other as I place my feet on the ground. Freya had me practice walking in the heels, and I can almost look sophisticated in them now. Over my dress is a gold chain she lended me. It wraps around my throat, and a thin piece goes down to my waist before wrapping around there as well.
Steven offers his hand, and I take it so I can get some help standing without spreading my legs and embarrassing myself the moment we arrive.
It’s not like a party on TV. There isn’t a line of people outside, nor is there a bouncer.
“Are we late?” I ask, worriedly glancing at Thompson, who keeps his face stoic. I’m itching to go to him instead of my father-in-law, but we don’t want to blow this whole thing.
Steven gives a little shake of his head before offering his arm, which I loop mine through. “Not in a way that matters.”
Right. People don’t show up on time for these types of parties.
The building is unassuming, another warehouse downtown. When we walk in, though, my feet land on a plush woven rug that probably cost more than the ring on my finger. In here, there are a few people, and I avoid gawking at the marble floors and towering pillars and gold-encrusted details.
What the hell is this place? When Steven filled me in on this black market gala, he didn’t mention we’d be going through a door into freaking Narnia for rich people. How is this downtown?
“This is an exclusive hotel. We just got here through the back entrance. It’s how the others know we truly belong,” Steven mumbles into my ear. I search for any sign that there’s another entrance, but the winding hallway is massive and doesn’t lead to a lobby anywhere I can see.
We go into the main hall, where there are round tables covered with elegant cloths and perfect centerpieces. Steven stops us at a small square table and smiles at the woman attending the desk. Without a word, she passes him a card with a number on it. He passes it to me.
“What a lovely woman you have on your arm tonight,” a man says, his voice loud and haughty. I look up from the table, and Steven’s arm tenses in mine. The man in question is in the upper end of middle-aged, his hair slick with what is clearly a toupée resting on top.
Before I can speak for myself, Steven gives a huge grin. “Of course. This is my cousin, Evelyn. She thought it would be fun. She’s from Boston.”
The stranger barely gives me a glance before talking right back to Steven. “Boston. I think I’ve heard of an Evelyn there, but I had no idea she could be so stunning.” The fact that he won’t even look at me pisses me off, but I don’t say a word. I have more important things to care about tonight.
I take a glass of champagne off a tray as a waiter passes, sipping it gently when really I want to take the whole thing in one swig. The fake nails Freya had insisted on feel heavy on my hands, unnatural and awful.
“Would you like the paddle?” Steven asks, and it’s clear that what I thought was a plain card is really an embellished piece of finished wood inlaid with pearl for the number. We can’t possibly buy anything, can we?
Right. I looked this up. At auctions—even legal ones—some people bid on things they have no intention of buying so they look richer. I suppose that, combined with the ring, will lend us an air of authenticity.
“I think we should take our seats,” I say, trying to sound elegant when really I just feel like a kid playing dress-up.
Anderson had really liked the way I looked in this dress, though. I smirk as I think of it, and the annoying man trains his eyes back on me, flicking down to my left hand on the champagne glass.
“Lovely ring you’ve got there,” he says, holding his hand out. Without so much as a glance at Steven, I switch my glass to the other hand and extend my arm so that he can inspect the jewelry.
The stone is an oval cut and a pale green, which matches my dress perfectly. According to the place card, it’s a rare green diamond, which is part of the reason it’s so valuable.
“Absolutely delectable. Real, I assume?” the man, who still hasn’t introduced himself, asks.
I widen my eyes to give the perfect sheen of innocence. It’s clear that, as a woman, I will be underestimated in this environment. I may as well use that to my advantage. “Oh, I hope so,” I say. “Otherwise the jeweler absolutely robbed
me.”
The man laughs, and Steven and I join in with subdued chuckles. Only subtle emotion here. I can’t help but grit my teeth at just how fake all this is. Based on what Steven briefed me on, most of these people are criminals. Those who aren’t simply work for the hotel or are freelance contractors.
“It was lovely meeting you,” I say with the easiest smile I can manage, “But there’s a vase coming up that I absolutely must win.” I pronounce vase the fancy way, like vaaahhhhz. According to the time on Steven’s watch, the one listed on the website is going up soon. The fact that there’s even a website for an illegal antique auction is astounding. You need a password to get in, but still. This world is dizzyingly complex, yet somehow simple.
When we sit at one of the tables, a woman two tables over catches my eye. She has pale skin and brown hair in a tight bun, but there’s something drawn about her features that tells me she doesn’t belong here. Or it could just be the hundred dollar dress that I recognize from an Amazon ad I keep getting. For just a moment, her eyes meet mine, but she quickly skims right over. Underestimated again, I suppose. Even though paying for these rental clothes had sickened me, I blend in with all these other rich fucks perfectly.
I wait until the third person bids on the vase, and then I lift my paddle. Every time the other person raises theirs, I go again, watching their expression carefully. When they lift theirs with tight eyes, I lower my own slowly, giving the most apologetic look and chuckling under my breath with a shake of my head when they win. Perfect.
The woman glances at me again, interest suddenly piquing in her expression. I wanted to be noticed, but something about her sends a crawl up my spine. I act like I don’t notice, turning my attention back to the auctioneer and keeping a carefully placid expression on my face.
Leaning over to Steven, I whisper, “I’m going to use the ladies’ room.” Then, I stand, and I can feel her presence as she gets up to follow me.
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