by Rebecca Main
It’s nearing two o’clock in the morning. The house has been still for hours, and my back has long since started to ache from my position in the tree I occupy. I eye the garden trellis secured against the side of the house and the flowers that creep up along the lattice work. Climbing the trellis wouldn't be difficult knowing that I wouldn't have to keep my balance attempting to open one of the windows. Thank goodness they were remodeling the room and had left one of the windows cracked.
It was now or never.
I’ve packed light. A small knife, my lock pick kit, and art tube are all that I carry. I wear all black, obviously, and even a dark cap over my tightly braided hair. I land with a light grunt and take off across the great lawn in a low sprint, not anticipating lights to blare so suddenly from the back porch. I dive off into the shadows, heartbeat in my throat as I scamper to the side of the house. The lights click off a minute later, and still I wait, breathing in short, panicked gasps.
Nobody had seen me approaching. I was sure. They were just those lights programmed to turn on at any odd movement. With my luck, if anyone had peeked out a window, they would have assumed it to be some woodland creature. Like a bunny or a deer. Or some other woodland creature.
Once I’ve got my heart rate under control, I tiptoe along the side of the house, positioning myself under the open window. Then up I go. Past the trenches of violets and fuchsias until I reach the window sill. The window, already cracked open, slides up the rest of the way easily enough. It gives no wary cry of disbelief as I slip myself inside.
Adrenaline courses through my veins. Any traces of nervousness departing as I creep towards the Degas. A small shiver runs its way down from the base of my neck. It is stunning. Every portrait he has ever painted is alive with fluidity and movement that dance right off the canvas. It will be the centerpiece of my small collection. I release a slow, steady stream of air and inch forward. My palms feel sweaty in their leather casing, but that is a trivial matter. I only need to undo the framing and remove the canvas. All done quickly enough with items in my lock-picking arsenal.
“Hello, Mary.” My stomach drops at the familiar voice, hands freezing in place as they reach for my prize. Fuck. “Tell me something, was it my bubbly personality or the thought of getting me back in your bed that brought you back to me.”
Just take a deep breath, Quinn, I tell myself. Steady that stupid heart of yours and play along ’til you can make your getaway. Degas or not. Probably not. I cast a look of longing towards the immaculate portrait, a groan of disappointment growing in my throat before I thrust it away. I take one step back and turn to face Kyle.
“Couldn’t get enough of me, could you?” His eyes gleam even in the darkness, the moon, almost at its full, shining down through the window onto him. How the fuck didn’t I see him? I put on my brightest smile, eyes sharp as they adjust to the lighting or lack thereof. His midnight hair gleams in the moonlight, a tragic smirk upon his face that twists my stomach into knots.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” I answer carefully.
“Ah, but I was expecting you, Mary." The ice cubes in his glass rattle as he finishes off his drink. “I’m sorry,” he carries on unperturbed, “Would you prefer I call you Quinn?”
My blood runs cold and my back stiffens. A thousand thoughts run through my head until they settle on one nugget of information. “I suppose I can safely assume it was you who was digging into my past?” My upper lip curls into a sneer. Damn it all to hell; this was a setup. Some kind of payback for stealing the crystal. Or maybe he just wanted to see me again. The thought skirts quickly through my mind, bringing an unusual wave of hope with it. I squash it down like a bug.
“Guilty as charged.”
“Gee, I don’t know whether to be flattered or disgusted by your stalkerish tendencies,” I tell him sweetly. His smile kicks up another notch, and he leans forward until his elbows rest upon his knees.
“You’re trouble, Ms. Montgomery. I have a feeling we’re going to get along famously.”
I scoff, “We're not going to be doing anything together, anytime soon.” I shuffle back a step, but still when his eyes narrow.
“You took something that belonged to me. It was very important. I’m going to need it back.”
“I don’t exactly have it on me,” I snap, “Besides, finders keepers and all that.”
He matches my wry smirk with one of his own, the chair he sits in letting out a whine as he shifts his weight. I swallow discreetly.
“What an interesting code you keep. Any others I should be made aware of?”
I mull over his question for a moment. “Never leave your drink unattended in a bar?”
His smirk tightens just barely around the edges. “Funny too—be still my heart. Why don’t you take a seat, Quinn, so that we can have a little chat?”
My feet stay firmly planted beneath me as our gazes wage war. He leans back. I cock a hip and cross my arms.
“I’m afraid I can’t stay and chat,” I finally reply, batting my eyelashes.
“I’m sorry,” he says with a good-natured laugh, “let me rephrase. Sit here,” his finger stabs at the footstool next to his chair, “and have a bit of a chat with me. If all goes well, I see no reason why you can’t leave unscratched.”
My eyes steal towards the window, but Kyle makes a disapproving noise from his seat. Swallowing, I steel my nerves and look back towards him. A dark promise hovers at the edge of his expression.
“Sit.”
I hold back my huff of indignation and, head held high, stride towards the footstool, dusting off its surface before I sit upon it.
“Isn’t this nice,” he drawls, “a little midnight rendezvous to spice up a rather dull Thursday evening.”
“It’s Friday,” I correct. “Technically.”
“Technically.” He agrees.
The room fills itself with the most awkward silence imaginable. His eyes drilling into the side of my face as I look anywhere but him. M was going to kill me; that is, if I didn’t kill her first. Had she known about the setup? Had she been a part of Kyle’s plan? I cast him a sidelong glance and catch his eye. A rush of blood floods my cheeks, but I turn it to my advantage.
“Did she say why she did it?” I ask, letting a quiver of uncertainty hedge my words. Kyle’s brows pull towards each other in confusion.
“Who?”
I swallow and duck my head, hear the hammer of my heart beat out in my ears. “Stephanie.” My eyes dart to him as I speak the false name, hope and distress dashed across my face.
He raises a brow quizzically before leaning towards me. “I can assure you that the path that led you here was made entirely by me. Your little Stephanie was merely a pawn moved so that the lure made it in front of you.” I can’t help the way my shoulders sag in relief. She didn’t sell me out, but I had still been played. I straighten and cut Kyle a grim smile.
“I hope you’re not waiting for congratulations.”
Kyle grins once more. “I would never be so presumptuous, but one can hope.”
Before I have a chance to protest he snatches the hand I have curled anxiously around the edge of the footstool. He brings it to his lips in a chaste kiss, eyes never leaving mine. A flutter erupts in my stomach. Some strange kindling of feeling stealing over my nerves. His touch inspires thoughts of him and I together, laughing over inside jokes and stealing kisses in darkened corners. But most of all it triggers an almost immediate heat to tumble through me. I press my thighs together sharply with a gasp and attempt to yank back my hand, but to no avail. I glower at him in response.
“No touching, Kyle,” I spit, yanking once more. He releases me unexpectedly, and I careen backward, footstool and all. My screech cuts short when the stool beneath me is caught, and a hand placed possessively on my waist. Kyle's face is suddenly inches from my own.
“It’s Ryatt,” he breathes, all traces of jest gone from his voice.
“Excuse me?” comes my somewhat breathless r
esponse, eyes comically wide at our nearness. My seat is gently righted, and Ryatt kneels before me on one knee, maintaining his close proximity.
“My name is Ryatt. Your name,” he says softly, “is Quinn ‘no middle name’ Montgomery.”
There is something about this claustrophobic space that numbs my mind and stalls my heart. The warmth of his hand creeps past the layer of my black leggings and soaks into my skin. Unable to help myself, my eyes flutter nervously as they lock on his lips. In the next instant they lock back upon his eyes. Don’t go there, Quinn.
He must see the uncertainty behind them as I try to take control of my frenzied nerves. There is something about the way his smile softens. A touch of vulnerability slipping through it like an offering. He does not move closer, but he does sink lower onto his heel.
“Why did you come looking for me?”
His gaze tightens, his eyes sinking deeply into my own to hold me hostage. “I’ve told you,” he says slowly, “you took something from me. I need it back, Quinn.” I shift uneasily in my seat.
“I told you. I don’t have it.”
Ryatt: such a fitting name for this bundle of mayhem. He doesn’t look pleased with my answer. Not one bit. And yet…and yet, he does not sharpen his gaze upon me as others might have. Yell and bash at me with words or fists. He simply bows his head in thought for a moment, grip tightening on my waistline just a fraction.
“Well now, that’s a problem, sweetheart. I’ll be needing you to get that back for me.”
My eyes widen in alarm. “What?”
He tilts his face back up. Licks his lips and smiles. “I’ll need you to fetch the crystal back for me.”
My cheeks flame, “One, I’m not some dog. I don’t fetch. And two, I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both,” I snarl. “It’s impossible. I can’t just go back and steal from the guy that paid me to steal it from you. That’s just…wrong.” He gives me an incredulous look.
“You steal things for a living. What does it matter if you steal something back for a better payout? I’ll double his price,” Ryatt reasons.
M’s words echo in my head. How I shouldn’t be tempted to cross a man like Mr. Vrana. How there would be consequences. I was already halfway through his second job proposal, having gotten it with the invitation for his gallery opening. My head shakes firmly side-to-side.
“I'll be labeled a double-crosser. I can’t. I’m—” I grimace “—sorry.”
“I’m afraid sorry isn’t good enough. My brother and our pack are counting on me to deliver. Not only them, but our allies as well.”
I frown. “Your pack? You mean your gang?”
Ryatt’s hand slips from my waist to the back of his neck as he lets out a heavy sigh. “Not gang. Pack, but I can explain.”
“Don’t,” comes my rushed reply. “Let’s just put all this behind us and move forward.” A sour expression crosses his features: lips thinning, cheeks hollowing, brow going cross.
“I’m afraid I can’t quite let this one go.”
“Well, I’m afraid you have no say in the matter. I’m not stealing back the crystal. End of story.” I move to stand, but he is quick to tug me back into my seat. His hand a sudden vice around my wrist.
“What was it you said earlier?” he inquires smoothly. “Finders keepers?” His grip tightens to emphasize his point.
My breathing comes in shallow pants. “You can’t ‘finders keepers’ people, you creep,” I hiss, though a thrill of unexpected excitement races up my spine.
“Ah, I dare to disagree Ms. Mont—oomph!” I thrust myself upward, knee driving into Ryatt’s chin with my momentum. He topples down, arms flailing to catch his fall and check his injury simultaneously. I dash towards the window; the Degas left sadly behind.
I barely make it down the garden trellis fast enough. It shakes unsteadily with my jerky movements, and by the time I’ve made it down Ryatt is leaning halfway out the window, a smear of red down his chin.
“There’s no use in running, Quinn,” he calls down as I take hasty steps back. “I’ve men out front waiting to retrieve you, and you wouldn’t make it out in the—”
I don’t bother to wait for his unnecessary warning. If there were men in the front, my only chance was the forest. I would just have to loop around and make it back to my car a few blocks away. There’s no time to turn back to see if he follows. I must focus all my attention on escaping and outrunning him. My lungs are burning by the time I reach the edge of the forest, and only then do I dare chance a glance over my shoulder. A cry of disbelief catches halfway past my lips. He has nearly halved the distance between us.
I feel a sudden panic flood my system. It pushes me faster, until I feel the pounding of my heart streaming through my outstretched legs and pumping arms. A violent shudder rages past my lips as I hear his excited breath near. Before I can blink, before I can process just how the fuck this all went wrong, I am hurtling towards the ground, a steely arm wrapped tightly around my middle.
We tumble into the ground, skidding to a painful halt.
“Get off me!” I shriek, pushing and struggling against him. He grunts with the effort to keep me still, working my hands above my head and trapping my legs down with his knees. “Get off!” I cry, trembling from both fear and pain. I can feel the warm flow of blood at the back of my head and feel my energy depleting fast.
“Just calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Like hell, you aren’t!” I screech.
“Calm down,” he snarls down at me, shoving his face right into mine. I gasp in horror as I watch his eyes dilate and bleed gold.
“What the fuck?” I gasp. Tears blur my vision, but not enough to hide what I have seen. “What the fuck!” Ryatt stares at me in a panic, his eyes rapidly dissolving into blue, then back to gold again as he quakes above me.
“Just…calm down,” he pleads. Except I can’t. There is blood rushing to my head too quickly, and spilling out the back of it much too fast. Black spots appear briefly and then I drift into darkness.
Chapter 4
Quinn
I am incensed.
Practically foaming at the mouth, having awoken to find myself in a prison cell. Except this wasn't your ordinary prison cell. The bars were thicker and cleaner looking than any dingy cell you might actually find in a prison or police station. No. This was some high-grade shit. The door to my cage had no lock and key mechanism but instead relied on some magnetic or electronic signature to open it. Not that it would matter if it were the former instead of the latter. My lock pick kit had been taken, along with anything else that might have aided me.
I desperately wanted to hit something but didn’t particularly feel like splitting my knuckles in the process. Ugh. How I had slept through the night was a mystery to me. Did that normally happen when a person fainted? I had never fainted before.
I had also never been caught before, minus that first time with M.
“Fuck. Me.” I groan, resting my head against the cold metal bars.
I shoot a nasty glare at the camera and its annoying red light, set high in the corner across from my cell. My middle finger raises in salute before I turn away from it with a scoff. Not only had I been played, but I had been caught. I wasn't sure which was more bruised: my head or my ego. I tried to comfort myself with the fact that they couldn’t keep me down here forever. Wherever “here” was. Probably a closed-off portion of the basement meant for gang business or some weird, dirty sex exploits. If I were lucky, it would be the gang business.