by Bethany-Kris
Cozen patted a hand against his chest. “It never ends until I win. And I always win.”
Sargon slammed the door of the Mercedes shut a little harder than was necessary. Anything that got too close to him today was on the receiving end of his anger. Usually, he was a little better about hiding this kind of thing, but not today it seemed.
He blamed Cozen.
She wouldn’t listen.
“Hey, Sarg!”
Sargon glanced up at the late May sky, and almost wished it would just fucking fall in on him or something. “It’s Sargon.”
You useless fucking cunt.
Jett’s main man—the one who was in charge of guarding the grounds—took the steps of the mansion two at a time. The guy came close to Sargon, but didn’t act like he had been corrected on the name thing.
Clearly, Sargon was going to have to crush someone’s throat in to get his point across about his name. Fucking idiots.
“The boss wants to see you,” the guy said.
Sargon scowled. “I’m here to check in like I always do. What’s he in a rush for?”
A shrug answered him back. “Listen, I was just told to tell you to hurry the fuck up, Sarg.”
His little control snapped.
Sarg, again.
Sargon let his hand snap out as he walked past the guy. He caught the man’s throat in his grip, and tightened his hold enough to take the man’s breath away, and hurt him. He did it so fast that the guy didn’t even have a chance to react.
By the time he did react—by trying to grab onto Sargon’s wrist—he was already seconds away from having his vocal cords crushed.
“If you call me that again,” Sargon told him, “I will make sure you are never capable of uttering another word in your lifetime. Test me, and I will make sure you eat from a straw until they put you in a grave. Do you fucking understand me?”
He squeezed a bit harder.
The guy nodded.
Sargon let him go, and didn’t even bother to look over his shoulder when the guy dropped to the ground. Useless fools.
All of them.
Sargon took the entrance steps of the mansion quickly. Inside, he found a couple of maids scurrying down the hall as a shout echoed from the living room. A shout belonging to Jett, of course.
The boss was in a bad mood.
Entirely unusual for Jett.
In the entryway of the living room, Sargon leaned against the wood, and waited for a very pissed off Jett to notice him. The man was too busy shouting something mostly unintelligible into his phone.
What happened?
Sargon would soon find out.
Once his boss finally noticed him standing there, Jett slammed the phone down to the receiver, and turned to face Sargon. “You.”
“What about me?”
“You didn’t think to call me today?”
Sargon lifted a brow high. “There was nothing to call about, boss.”
“Nothing at all?”
For a brief moment, Sargon wondered if he had just walked into the lion’s den without even knowing it. Had someone seen his moment with Cozen at the restaurant earlier, and reported back to Jett? Had he been so distracted that he put both of their lives in danger for nothing more than a kiss in the shadows?
“Nothing,” Sargon murmured. “I babysat as I always do, and once she was at home, I was off duty. As has been the—”
“She’s gone,” Jett interjected sharply.
Sargon blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Cozen. She’s left the city.”
No, that wasn’t right.
“I followed her home,” Sargon said. “She went into her building. I waited a while, and when she didn’t come out like usual, I left. She’s—”
“She must have taken off after, then.”
“How do you know she’s gone from the city?”
“Her manager called me. I pay the man to keep me in the loop about her on things that you might not know.”
Well … fuck.
That was good information to know now.
Sargon tucked it away.
“And what did he have to say?” Sargon asked.
“She called in shortly after leaving work to say an emergency came up out of state, and she had to handle it. She wouldn’t be back to work for a while—he gave her the time off.”
Sargon nodded. “So, she’ll be back.”
“Will she?”
A wildness stared back from Jett.
The man was obsessed.
Sargon could see it.
Cozen had no idea what she caused—no clue of how much danger she was likely in all because Jett Griffin suddenly decided that Cozen was his to have.
“I want you to find her,” Jett said, “and report back to me on what she is doing. You’re the one with the information about her. You got all that, right? So, go and find her now. California, I imagine. That’s where she comes from. Do not contact me unless you have something usable.”
Sargon cleared his throat. “I—”
“Go!”
Spinning on his heel, Sargon got the hell out of Jett’s mansion as fast as he fucking could. His first order of business once he got to the hotel room he had been calling home for several months should have been to open up the folder on Cozen, and make a few calls. Maybe even book a plane ticket to follow her.
Instead, Sargon turned off his phone, and went to bed. Jett was clear—he only wanted a call if Sargon had anything to report.
Well, there would be nothing.
He didn’t follow her.
He didn’t need to.
He didn’t want to.
The private terminal at Miami International airport gave Cozen a sense of safety as she stepped off the jet. A jet that had been flown to her in New York from the Astors. She had been expected—without argument—to take the plane ride back to Miami within forty-eight hours.
Their demands, not hers.
Cozen knew better than to deny the Astors. As it was, she had already pushed their hospitality a little too far by ignoring their calls, and never responding to their messages. Whose fault was that, though?
Pearl had been the one to tell Cozen not to call back unless she had news worth sharing. Well, she didn’t have anything to tell except the fact she was just trying to get this goddamn job finished.
Unsurprisingly, Cozen found a man dressed in a three-piece black suit waiting for Cozen inside the private terminal. His ice-blue gaze looked her over as she shifted the messenger bag around her shoulders.
“Miss Taylor?” the man asked.
“Just Cozen, thanks. And you are …?”
“Not important.” Again, his gaze took her in. Not in a sexual way—Cozen gave him credit for that—but it still made her uncomfortable. “You don’t look like any thief I have ever met, pardon me for speaking. A little too sweet and innocent, maybe.”
Cozen lifted a single brow, replying, “That’s kind of the point, Mr. Not Important.”
The man laughed, and nodded. Waving a single hand as he turned on his heel, he said, “Come with me, then. I will deliver you to where you need to go.”
“I know where I’m going.”
“Shame you don’t know what will happen once you get there.”
Touché.
Soon, the two were in a black Mercedes, and navigating the busy streets of Miami. Cozen kept her gaze on the road, and her mouth firmly shut in the backseat. The man driving said very little after he realized she was not going to engage him in conversation.
She shouldn’t even be here.
She had a job to do.
Soon, although the drive was just long enough to let Cozen relax, the Mercedes was granted access to the gated, private community of Coral Cables. The sprawling estates they drove past to get to the Astor mansion and property were both large, and beautiful. A sure showcase of wealth if there ever was one. Impeccable grounds protecting massive homes.
All with a view or access to the ocean.
<
br /> Cozen liked Miami, but her fondness for the beach and the ocean hadn’t come from here. It started in California, and it was going to stay there, too. She didn’t think there was enough room in Miami for the Astors, and another criminal.
They didn’t like to share.
The black Mercedes pulled in the long, winding driveway leading to the Astor estate. Eventually the driveway merged into a circular piece of asphalt that showcased several parked, luxury cars sitting in front of the mansion.
Aston Martin.
Lamborghini.
A gray Porsche with pink interior.
These cars had not been parked in front of the mansion the last time Cozen visited. And if they had been there, she didn’t notice them.
To be fair, she had been a little distracted the last time she visited. It was entirely possible that she just missed it.
“Fourth will be waiting for you in the grand entry,” the man behind the wheel said.
“Inside?” Cozen asked.
The guy’s gaze darted to hers in the rearview. “That’s what I said, is it not?”
Apparently, all kinds of new things were going on today. Including allowing Cozen inside the Astor mansion.
Maybe she should have felt unsafe—the Astors were not known for their kindness when it came to people they felt overstepped their boundaries, or otherwise. They were known for their punishments, and violence to make a point.
And yet, she wasn’t all that worried.
After all, she was in. She was their current hope at getting a piece of Astor history—their treasured property—back without causing an entire uproar in the world of the criminal underground. She was their way of showing their power, status, and ability without going to more violent means first.
Essentially, the Astors hiring Cozen to steal from another powerful crime figure was their family saying, “See what we can take from you, and watch how we can do it.”
Should they remove Cozen from the equation, then that meant they would need to start over. Entirely. From ground zero. A new thief—a new plan. More time separated from their precious thing before they would get it back. That was, if they ever did get it returned.
Why would they bother?
She was already in.
The job was almost done.
“You shouldn’t sit there for too long,” the man in the driver’s seat muttered. “Fourth does not like to be left waiting.”
“Sure,” Cozen replied dryly.
She made a move to grab her messenger bag, but the man said, “Leave it.”
Cozen laughed. “Why, for you to dispose of it after?”
She was joking.
Kind of.
The man only smirked before glancing out the driver’s window.
Asshole.
She stepped out of the Mercedes, and shrugged off the thin cardigan. Miami was already hot in late May where New York was bearable, and comfortable. For a few seconds, she simply stared at the marble pillars greeting the guests to the entrance of the large Astor mansion.
The place really was amazing.
And a bit scary.
Or maybe intimidating was the word she was looking for.
Cozen’s thoughts continued to ramble inside her brain as she headed up the steps of the grand entrance. She didn’t even get the chance to reach and knock on the door as someone opened it for her before she could.
A maid, it seemed.
The woman—dressed in gray and white—gave Cozen a polite nod, and tight smile. She took Cozen’s cardigan without as much as a single word, and then disappeared into a connecting room.
Turning, Cozen faced the entry.
Grand was an apt description. The space was the size of a normal home. A crystal chandelier hung from a vaulted ceiling and nearly touched the floor between two winding marble staircases on either side of the entry. The floor—buffed and polished enough to gleam and reflect her staring back at it—was also made up of marble tiles.
Money.
The place reeked of money.
In front of the chandelier stood a man Cozen recognized. Fourth Astor.
“I’m happy to see you can follow directions,” Fourth said quietly.
There was a lilt in his tone that couldn’t be missed—a threat, maybe. Just the way his tone stayed level and calm, and yet managed to also be entirely cold told her all she needed to know. This family was not pleased with her at the moment.
No surprise there.
“I came within forty-eight hours,” Cozen returned. “As Pearl wanted.”
“As I wanted,” Fourth said. “I am the one who called you back here, not my great-grandmother. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
Cozen nodded. “And why is that?”
Fourth checked his watch, and then brushed a piece of invisible lint from his suit jacket. A black Armani number, it looked like. It likely cost more than most people’s salaries for a month, if she were being honest.
“Well, I am here,” Cozen said. “So, what do you want?”
“Where is the ring?”
Right to the point.
“With the man I still need to steal it from, I assume.”
Fourth’s gaze darkened. “You assume?”
“I haven’t taken it yet. I haven’t gotten the chance.”
“You have been working this job for almost five months, and you don’t have it yet?”
“First, I haven’t been working Jett for five months, Fourth. I have only been in his sights for half of that time. The first three were dedicated to getting my shit together for this heist.”
“And—”
“Second,” she interjected, not giving a shit if it was rude to interrupt him, “if your great-grandmother wanted to make a show of stealing the ring back from Jett Griffin, then she should have hired a team who would do exactly that, Fourth. Instead, she hired me.”
“Yes, and I am still not sure why she bothered.”
Jesus.
This man was something else.
“She hired me because I am a thief who integrates into the lives of their mark, and then leaves as quietly as she came. I try—if at all possible—not to draw attention to the heist until I am already gone. There was a reason why I was contracted for this job. I assume you will know the details for that reason better than I will, but that’s your business.”
Fourth stiffened, and Cozen didn’t miss how his jaw tightened. “You were given six months, and already, that time is nearly up.”
“Except it isn’t up yet.”
“Your time has gotten shortened,” Fourth said coolly. “Two weeks—that’s all you have left. Two weeks to return our property, or you can expect to answer for your failure, Cozen.”
A cold chill slipped down Cozen’s spine, but she refused to acknowledge it.
“Why?” she asked. “Why the change?”
“Your job is to steal a fucking ring. Not some big affair that should take this long. It is a ring. Get it done.”
Cozen sucked air through her teeth. She tried not to let the irritation overwhelm her, but it was goddamn hard to do. “And yet, you called me away from the job. You took precious, valuable time away from the work I have to do to call me here and threaten me. You’re risking my cover, and the job with this bullshit, Fourth.”
“Nothing the Astors do is ever bullshit.”
“So says you.”
“So says anyone who wants to live or be paid,” Fourth returned. “Make of that whatever the fuck you want, Cozen.”
Point taken.
“Be that as it may,” Cozen said, “I was still put in a job that has no visible mark.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The ring. The thing you think should be so fucking easy to steal, Fourth. My mark, next to Jett. You tell me the ring is with Jett—it has to be with him because of your aunt, or whoever the fuck.”
“It is with Jett,” Fourth replied, cocking a brow. “We’ve had eyes on the ring before we contacted you—he has it, no q
uestion.”
“Then where?” Cozen shot back. “Because my mark is invisible. I have been through that man’s house, in his life for a while now, and not once have I seen it, and he’s never brought it up. The Astors put me in an impossible job. You want me to steal something that I can’t see, haven’t found, and don’t even know if it actually exists!”
Fourth straightened a bit, and his jaw tightened. She could see in his dark eyes how her words pissed him off, but like all men in his position and of his standing, he was a force to be reckoned with. A pillar of strength, calm, and violence … but only when provoked.
Cozen knew better.
Still, she held her ground.
“You’re telling me that you haven’t even gotten eyes on the ring yet?” Fourth asked.
“I am trying.”
“Try harder.”
Fuck him.
Cozen knew how people like the Astors could be. Excuses were not wanted, appreciated, or accepted in any form. All they needed was for their jobs to be done, and done well. They wanted what they wanted, and nothing less would do.
It didn’t matter how many times Cozen explained that this job was not simple. This heist was not like almost every other job she had taken on as a thief. With an invisible mark, a man far too enamored with her, and no real chance yet to steal something she couldn’t even fucking see … this job was entirely abnormal.
Everything that should make her take a wide step back, and say it was impossible. Never going to be done, at least not her way.
She knew just by looking at Fourth Astor that no matter what she said, there was no way in hell the Astors would release her from this job. They wanted their ruby back—they figured she was already in, and now it was just time to ramp up the heat on her a little bit.
More pressure, so to speak.
Pressure worked for everyone.
“Pearl doesn’t want to speak with me, I assume?” she asked.
“My great-grandmother is not well lately. Pneumonia, it seems. Usually she bounces right back from illness, but this time, it’s hanging on strong. At her age, that can be a very dangerous thing. As you should know.”
Finally, Cozen got it.
A light switch went off. All of this made much more sense, now. This whole show could be summed up in Pearl Astor’s sickness, and her family’s concern about it.