My stepbrother's skin is as naturally pale as my own, but right now he's got this breath of color on his face, the gentlest caramel kiss on his skin that keeps him from being my same shade of alabaster. It takes the dark ink of his tattoos, all of those blacks and grays, and blends them, turning the hard, sculpted muscles of his right arm into an artist's canvas. Gill's already good-looking enough on his own, but add in the tattoos and he's just gone from handsome to tragic, like a broken god with those calloused hands and that rugged wildness. It seeps from his pores, giving him all the marks of a beautiful but deadly beast, one with claws and teeth and the most disarming of smiles.
His hooded eyes look me over and I know he knows I'm analyzing him, studying him; he's doing the same to me. I feel suddenly naked and my breath leaves me in a rush, stolen away in a split second memory of his hands on me, his teeth grazing my skin, his body sliding between my thighs.
I blink it all away in an instant.
“You might not believe me,” Gill says, sliding his whisky glass towards the center of the table, “but it's good to see you, Regina.” He slides out of the booth, turns to me and smiles. The expression on his face makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight. Not sure if that's a good or a bad thing. “I had a rare moment of downtime, so I came here to check on you. I couldn't imagine a more worthy cause.”
And then he winks at me, turns, and walks away.
I'm left behind with a whole host of memories and nobody to reminisce with.
I'm lying in bed the night before the heist, sweat pouring down my forehead and dripping onto the pillows beneath me. I've been over this a million times with Gill, know the plan like the back of my hand, but I can't stop running through every possible scenario.
Just like him.
I know that's what he's doing right now, holed up in some hotel or safe house or hell, maybe he's down in the catacombs beneath the city. I might not know where Gill is, but I know what he's doing. He's a professional, a perfectionist, and there's nothing in his life he's ever loved half as much as a good challenge.
Not even me.
I sit up in bed and swipe a hand across my forehead, drawing moist fingers away to curl in the pale cream, peach and pink of my comforter. Knowing this is the last night I'll ever sleep in this bed, in my apartment with the blue and white tile and the rustic beams, the pain is sudden and intense, taking over me and curling my body into a tight ball. It's an effort to force myself to breathe.
I made this choice, made it by telling myself that I was stuck in a rut, that I needed to move on and let the ghosts of the past be just that, but deep down, I know it's all a lie.
I made my choice for a love lost, for Gill.
The look on his face when he sat down with Cliff and me, started to tell us why he was suddenly there in our kitchen, like a zombie risen from the dead, it told me all I needed to know.
Gill is in trouble.
He'll never admit it, never tell Cliff or especially me why, but I can see it, sense it, feel it.
This heist, it's more than just a job, more than about the money.
And he was going to do it with or without me, that much I know. So I had to help him, even if he betrayed me, left me, walked away without telling me why.
I know doing this job won't heal my wounds, won't bring him back to me (even if I'd want him back, which I don't), but I'm going to do it anyway.
“You're such an idiot, Regina,” I moan, leaning back again, nesting my head in the feather pillows and listening to the soft buzz of the TV I left on in the living room.
After awhile, the mindless sound lulls me to sleep.
When I wake, it's to the sound of a gun being cocked.
I open my eyes slowly, carefully, knowing what I'm going to see but scared nonetheless, my heart pounding and my body quivering as I let my gaze rest on Gill and the impassive blankness of his facial expression.
“Get up,” he says, his voice a monotone, his simple words laced with threat. For this whole scenario to work out the way he wants, the way that'll make my life easiest, we have to play our parts from start to finish.
“Gill,” I whisper, hating how my voice shakes and my throat goes dry. The barrel of the gun is inches from my skull, a gleaming stretch of deadly black that could end my life with a single twitch of his finger. Even though this is all pretend, just an act, I don't doubt that his gun is loaded. “What are you doing here? Why do you have a gun?”
Something flashes in his eyes, a twist of dark shadow that covers the bright blue of his irises for a split second. Before I can even begin to decipher the expression, he's reaching down and yanking the covers back, letting the warm air of my apartment caress my bare legs.
I remember a time when he'd run his long, strong fingers up the inside of my leg, past the sensitive spot behind my knee, up my inner thigh. Now, whether for show or not, he doesn't even bother to glance down.
“Stand up, get dressed for work. I'm not back in town for a family reunion.”
I swallow hard and do as he says, just as we planned, just as I knew I was going to do. When I drop my nightgown to the floor, I steal a quick look at his face, but there's nothing for me to read in his expression.
I put on the white tank, the orange blouse, the pencil skirt with the pockets, and then I let Gill lead me out the front door, down the stairs and over to the jewelry store where I work.
And then we rob it.
I order dinner in the restaurant and eat alone—something that I'm unfortunately quite used to. I mean, it's not like I don't always have an open invitation to dine with Cliff and Solène, but sometimes that's even worse. I sit there with them and I think about my mom, wonder how she and Cliff might've been as a couple if they'd been married for the past fifteen years instead of the single one they had.
When the waiter stops by with a complimentary martini for me, I carry on a little harmless flirting with him until the restaurant closes and I leave feeling just a little bit better than before. A few drinks, a kind smile just for me. So much better than Gill and his unreadable expressions.
“Fucker.” I toss back a quick drink of the water my friendly waiter friend sent me out with, something to clear my head he'd said. Of course, he also sent me out with an invitation to bring some chocolate cake up to my room for me. Another time, I might've said yes, but the idea that Gill could show up at any moment, virtually anywhere—no thanks. I'll wait to pick up gentleman callers until after this is all over and my stepbrother has moved onto another job, another city.
When I get back to the room, I check the time again. Shouldn't be too much longer before Cliff and Solène arrive. Even though it's barely been two days since I last saw them, the thought of seeing my stepfather and the little girl who's more than just a sister to me, well, it helps clear up the strange feeling of detachment that's creeping up my spine and taking hold of me.
In the span of an instant, my life's taken a drastic turn that I can't undo, will never be able to undo.
And I did it all for Gill.
I grit my teeth and shake out my hands.
No, no, no. I can't let that thought enter my head, not now, not ever again. I'm not normally a big fan of lying to oneself, but shit. This time, I'll make an exception.
“Going to buy a house in Mount Baker,” I snap, slamming my water glass down on the dresser and hitting the bathroom to turn on the shower. Too bad the hotel doesn't have a boutique, some place I could use to grab a new outfit—or at the very least some new underwear. Then I could charge it all to the room, like I did with dinner. Oh well. At least there's one of those fluffy white hotel robes hanging on the back of the bathroom door. There's a card sticking out of the pocket, something about the price if I want to take it home. I toss it in the trash and lay the robe out across the counter before getting undressed and climbing into the hot water.
As soon as the droplets caress my skin, I'm hit with more memories, flooded with them. See, that's the issue of using them to get
by. It's like an addiction, like having a drink when you're stressed or puffing on a cigarette, only memories can come and go as they please, feeding the need even when I try to fight it.
I close my eyes against the spray and hold my breath, drowning myself in the hot water. Doesn't help though, just plasters images of Gilleon's naked body across the backs of my eyelids. He's … matured so much since he left, and in the best ways possible, too. Gill is the epitome of masculinity, but he doesn't have that churlish chauvinism in him that makes my teeth hurt, not even after all this time in what has to be a testosterone driven business. Then again, what do I really know about career criminals? That's right—squat.
I wash up with the hotel toiletries and climb out, wrapping my towel around my hair and slipping into the robe. By the time I open the door to the bedroom, Cliff and Solène are already waiting for me.
“Regina!” Solène shouts, throwing herself off the bed and into my arms. “Dieu merci!” She glances over her shoulder as I smile and ruffle her dark curls with my fingers. “Cette femme,” she growls in her best know-it-all preteen voice, drawing my attention to a woman standing in the corner by the window, “est extrêmement grossière et inculte. Elle ne parle même pas anglais correctement—ne parlons même pas de son français.”
This woman is extremely rude and uncultured. She doesn't even speak English correctly, let alone French.
“Listen up, Princess,” the redhead says, shoving a cigarette between her full lips, “I have no fucking clue what you just said, and I don't give two shits about it. I'm here for Gill's benefit, not yours.”
I glance over at my stepdad, but he simply shrugs in response, his dark hair, once so like Gill's is thinning and gray, making him look much older than he is, especially in this light. I hope the stress of all this doesn't royally screw up his retirement. With a growing sense of horror, I clutch my sister to my chest and grit my teeth.
His partner in crime, huh? That son of a bitch.
The redhead standing across the room from me lights up, cracking the balcony door like that'll make all the difference in the smell. I guess a two hundred dollar cleaning fee isn't a big deal anymore. Besides, all this is going on Gill's tab anyway. Still …
“Essentially,” Solène says before I get a chance to speak up, “I said that you're an idiot.”
“Solène,” I warn, trying to figure out why there's some curvy babe in ripped jeans and a loose black T-shirt standing in my hotel room. I know it sounds a little sexist, but I was kind of expecting Gill's partner to be a guy. Or hell, maybe it was just wishful thinking. Should've known.
“Écoute, il faut appeler un chat un chat,” Solène sniffs. Listen, I'm just calling a spade, a spade.
“Sorry,” I say to the woman, squinching up my face a little, “she's only nine, but she thinks she's thirty, talks like it, too. I blame Cliff.” I point at my stepdad and a smile slips across my face unbidden. Ever since Mom passed away, Cliff's been my support system, my parent, my confidante. I'm beyond glad to have him here. “Anyway, I'm Regi. And you?”
Badass Redhead Thief Chick clears her throat and moves forward, holding out a hand for me to shake. Her palms are as calloused as Gill's, her arms corded with muscle, but still feminine, like all of that strength and power in her body is cloaked with a soft layer of padding. Tough as nails, but all woman, all curves and perfect lips and gleaming red hair. I'm not self-conscious or anything—I'm a pretty good looking chick—but wow.
“Aveline,” she says, nodding her chin at me as we shake hands. “Thanks for your help in all this,” she begins and my throat tightens. I feel something more beyond her words, something more motivating than diamonds and greed. I knew it; this isn't about the fucking jewelry at all, is it? Rather than explain any further, Aveline waves her hand around dismissively and steps back. “Anyway, Gill's all booked up at the moment, but I'll be in the hotel tonight if you need anything. Think of me like a bodyguard on call or something.” She smiles at me, but her face is tight, hiding that same secret that Gill's carrying around. I wish I could dig beneath the surface and find out what it is. “I've got the room next door.” She hooks her thumb at the wall to her right. “Your Dad and sister are on the other side. If something happens, don't try to be PC about it. Scream bloody freaking murder.”
“What kind of something?” I ask, getting a little chill that has nothing to do with the air conditioning that's inexplicably blasting cool air into the room. It's raining cats and dogs and it's like fifty four degrees outside. “Are we expecting company?” I glance over at Solène, hoping to hell that I didn't get my family into a hole we can't climb out of.
“No, no, not at all,” Aveline says, taking another drag on her cigarette, “I just like to present what-if scenarios. Just ask Gill.” She winks at me, but I'm not sure how to interpret the motion, watching as she moves to the door and grabs the handle. “Sleep tight.”
Her red-lipped grin haunts me well into my dreams that night.
When I wake up the next morning, I find Gilleon asleep in a chair by the window. He's sitting up still, but his face is resting on his fist, his eyes closed tight against the world. The very fact that he got in here without my knowing is terrifying.
“Hey,” I say, sitting up and making damn sure the robe is covering up my breasts.
Gill opens his eyes, but he doesn't startle, smiling at me in that infuriating way of his, like his expression means nothing and everything all at once.
“Why the hell are you in my room?”
“Needed a place to sleep for a few,” he says, and I know without asking that he means minutes and not hours. I don't know how the man functions on so little sleep. Gill's wearing the same outfit he wore yesterday, but it doesn't look any worse for wear. I try to take that as a good sign, like maybe we're in the clear, no trouble on the horizon.
His gaze is sharp and penetrating, and it's too damn early for me to deal with that, so I drag my eyes away and focus on the skull tattoo that decorates his bicep, the raven standing atop it so realistic that I feel as if I could brush my fingers over its feathers. Thieves of the animal world. They see something shiny, they pick it up. And if it's a challenge to get? Even better. Gill told me that once, his words dancing in my skull like they're being said even now.
“We need to move hotels today,” he tells me, and I nod. I don't ask why or demand an explanation—Gill won't tell me any of that unless he wants to. I don't really care either way, so long as we're not going to get arrested or murdered by some rival jewelry thieves or something.
I am going to have a beautiful day today, I tell myself, letting my eyes trail down my stepbrother's arm, over the black and gray tattoos that wrap his muscles. Might as well start off with a good heaping of positive self-talk. Otherwise, I won't make it past breakfast with this man. I am going to learn something new today, something useful. I'm going to do this because I'm a smart person and I make good choices.
“You're still doing that?” Gill asks, and I narrow my eyes at him, adjusting my legs and rustling the white comforter on the bed. He looks so ridiculous stuck in this hotel room with its navy blue walls and tasteful but boring accent pieces. Gill is … he's too big to be contained, too explosive, too unpredictable. He's a lion that can't be kept in a cage. I want him to go away, want this to be over with. Can't start a new life with cobwebs clinging to my face. That's what Gill is—cobwebs complete with spider. Complete with poisonous spider.
“Doing what?” I ask, shoving back the covers and standing up. I run my fingers through my hair and bump into a snarl. A second later, there's a comb landing on the mattress next to me. It's just a small, cheap plastic thing, but … I look back at Gilleon.
“Picked it up at the front desk. Thought you might need it.”
“Thanks?” I say. It's almost a question.
“You're still doing the self-talk thing?” he asks, turning the conversation back to its original course. “Has it worked well for you?”
“I don't know,�
�� I tell him, rising to my feet and moving into the bathroom. I flick on the lights and stare at myself in the mirror, at my eyes, the color of a good café au lait. Coffee. Oh God, coffee. I need a cup and I need it now. I glance over at Gill. “You tell me. Here I am.” I lift my arms out to either side and the robe slips down my bare shoulder.
Gill's breath catches, but he composes himself so quickly that by the time I blink, it's like nothing at all has happened. He's sitting there staring at me with such a blank expression in those bright blue eyes of his that I wonder if I might've imagined his reaction in the first place. Huh. I fix my robe and turn back to the mirror to brush my hair.
“Do you think Aveline has any eyeliner that I could borrow?” I ask, tossing the question out there as casually as I can. Of course, nothing gets past Gill, but I might as well make a show of it. Without answering, he rises to his feet and moves around the bed, coming to stand a scant few inches from the bathroom door.
Trapped.
I try not to think of it like that, but I can't help it. I don't know how he feels, but to me, being around Gill is still surreal, like standing on a platform that isn't quite straight. The world tilts and shifts around me while I struggle to right myself, but every correction I make feels like an overcorrection. It's infuriating.
“I can ask her, if you want,” he says, checking his watch. “We have a few minutes to spare if you want to do your makeup.” I glance over at Gill and find him smiling at me again, always with that damn smiling. When he was a teenager, it was charming, a light to blot out some of the darkness that I always knew was crouching deep down inside of his soul. Now … it's a little scary. “Oh,” he says, like he's just remembered something. I know that's not true though—Gill can't remember anything because he never, ever forgets. “Aveline sent me a very bizarre series of texts this morning, something about how getting out of a clean shower into dirty panties was the worst feeling in the world. Here.” My blood goes hot and the words I was going to say sear into my throat like burns as Gill digs into his front pocket and pulls out a pair of white lacy panties, complete with tags, tossing them at me without changing a single thing about his facial expression. “I figured you still wear the same size, so I hope they fit alright.”
Stepbrother Thief Page 3