The Devil's Bargain

by Kira Sinclair

A huge part of her wanted to trust. Wanted to believe, like with the Star, that there was more to what was going on than met the eye.

  Although one irrefutable fact about the Star was that he had stolen it. By his own admission he’d had it several days before returning it.

  She didn’t trust her own judgment when it came to Finn DeLuca. Was she clinging to hope simply because she wanted to? Was she being blind and stupid, ignoring the evidence in front of her?

  Watching the officer duck Finn’s head down so he could be loaded into the back of the cruiser didn’t help at all. In fact, it made her sick to her stomach.

  The officer obviously thought there was enough evidence to take him in.

  “Genevieve,” Nick said, coming up behind her. Wrapping his arms around her, he gently turned her away from the scene. Urging her into the shelter of his arms, he held her tight. “I’m so sorry.”

  Stroking his hands up and down her back, he murmured, “I watched the feed on my way over. So pissed. Because there was nothing I could do but watch as he popped open the safe like it was nothing and took everything you’d worked so hard for.”

  “You saw the video? Clearly? It was him?”

  “No mistake at all. I’m going to turn it over to the police, although I’m not sure they’ll need it. You saw. They caught him with some of your pieces in his pockets.”

  The sick, hollow sensation spread from her belly to her chest. The show. “I need to see.”

  She needed irrefutable proof.

  Pulling free, Genevieve spun on her heel, heading straight for the front door. A gentleman there attempted to detain her, until she explained the studio was hers.

  Walking inside was like waking up in the middle of a nightmare. The heavy safe doors stood wide open. A couple of her pieces spilled over the edge of the drawers. But she could see where the settings had been snapped.

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, Genevieve refused to cry. It wouldn’t do any good. She needed to assess the damage and see if there was anything salvageable.

  Her equipment had been moved, tables pushed out of place and a couple chairs overturned. Picking her way through the rubble, she pulled open the drawers in the safe, one after the other, devastated at what she found.

  Dropping to a crouch, she pressed the heels of her hands against her stinging eyes.

  Nick’s hand landed on her back. She knew he was trying to give her support, but right now, the last thing she wanted was to be touched.

  But because she knew he meant well, she didn’t shake him off.

  “It’s ruined. Everything,” she finally croaked out. Her mind spun. In a matter of days, she was going to be in breach of contract with Mitchell Brothers. Legitimately, they could come after her for everything she had. They’d sunk a lot of resources into the release of her collection and in anticipation of selling the pieces in all their stores for the Christmas shopping season.

  She had nothing to give them.

  “I’m ruined.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized they’d formed in her mind. “What am I going to do? How am I going to provide for Noah?”

  Goddamn Finn!

  “Why? Why would he do this? He doesn’t need the money. Hell, he doesn’t even need the challenge. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Nick’s fingers squeezed her shoulder. “Who knows how the man thinks? He’s never needed the money from the things he’s stolen. You know that’s not why he does it. He’s sick. He has a compulsion he can’t control.”

  No, that wasn’t true. Although Finn’s words from several days ago rang in her ears. He went to Stone, itchy, he’d said. Stone had provided him a legitimate outlet.

  Maybe it hadn’t been enough?

  But why destroy her pieces? She could understand Finn taking them—no, understand was the wrong word. She could have dealt with him taking them. But ripping her work apart?

  It made no sense. He had nothing to gain from doing that. He’d bought three of her pieces, dammit. What purpose would this serve?

  None that she could think of.

  But the evidence was hard to ignore. And she’d always said Finn DeLuca had a purpose for everything he did. Maybe she just didn’t have all the pieces yet to understand.

  Slowly, Nick folded down so he was crouched beside her. Looking her straight in the eye, a sad expression pulling against the corners of his eyes, he said, “As much as I hate to say it, maybe it’s time you called your grandfather. He could help you.”

  Oh, wouldn’t Lackland simply love that.

  The memory of his sneer and disparaging words from the gala ran through her head. When she’d left to live on her own, she’d promised herself that no circumstance existed where she’d go back. Not only did she deserve better than the toxic, abusive environment her grandfather created, but so did her son.

  Unfortunately, her son also needed to eat and have a roof over his head. And if Mitchell came after her for what they could...even those basic necessities were in jeopardy.

  Once again, she’d been naive. Obviously, there was a circumstance where she would go back to her grandfather.

  Providing for her son would be worth anything, including subjecting herself to that environment.

  Lackland was going to relish not only that she was crawling back, begging. But that she was doing it after Finn had ruined her.

  Again.

  * * *

  Genevieve stared at the phone sitting on the kitchen table in front of her. She’d spent hours at the studio, evaluating exactly where she was and speaking with the officers.

  After viewing the video Nick showed her...it was difficult to remain hopeful that there was an explanation.

  While she hadn’t seen his face—because he wouldn’t be that sloppy—Finn had made one mistake. The shadowy figure had been wearing the same clothes Finn had been when he’d run out the front door of her studio, her jewels stuffed in his pockets.

  There were two phone calls she needed to make, both of which she was dreading. Mitchell Brothers and her grandfather.

  If there was one thing Lackland had taught her, it was to get the task you were dreading the most out of the way first.

  Snatching up the phone, Genevieve flicked open the screen and quickly scrolled to her contacts. And the number she’d hoped never to need again.

  Hitting the button, she dialed her grandfather, dread and disappointment churning in her belly.

  “Genevieve.”

  Even the sound of his voice made her want to vomit.

  “I hear you’ve had some excitement today.”

  Of course he’d heard. Her grandfather made sure he was aware of everything important that happened in the city.

  “Yes.”

  “Such a shame your collection with Mitchell has been ruined.”

  He didn’t even attempt to hide the pure glee filling his voice.

  Genevieve desperately wished she could tell him that everything was going to be fine. That she had the situation well in hand. But she didn’t. And years of dealing with the man had taught her, it was easier to keep her words simple and short. To let him gloat and believe he’d won. It made the unpleasant experience end faster.

  And right now, that’s what she wanted. To get through this conversation so she could take the next steps forward.

  “I assume you’re contacting me, for the first time in three years, to ask for my assistance.”

  Genevieve gritted her teeth, wishing she could keep the word behind her teeth. Unfortunately, that couldn’t happen. “Yes.”

  “Hmm. I wonder, my dear, if you remember my words when you left, pregnant and disgraced?”

  Of course she remembered his words. He’d been bitter and mean. Telling her that she was destined to fail at any attempt to be self-sufficient because she was stupid, incompetent and untrustworthy.

 
But it wouldn’t matter what she said at this point. Lackland was going to delight in reminding her. No doubt that was part of what he was most looking forward to.

  “I told you that you’d fail on your own. No matter what, you’d manage to screw things up and would need to come crawling back to me.”

  “Yes, Grandfather.”

  “And here we are. Exactly where I said you’d be.”

  Genevieve closed her eyes and waited for him to make his demands, because there was no denying that he would.

  “And if I remember correctly, I promised you that I wouldn’t lift a hand to help you at that point.”

  Of course he had, but Genevieve knew he’d never stick by that statement. Not when he had the perfect opportunity to have her back under his thumb, a puppet he could control.

  Her grandfather liked nothing more than controlling people.

  “However, three years is a long time and perhaps I was a bit hasty back then. I’d welcome you back into the family and at Reilly, but I have a few demands.”

  Of course he did. Genevieve had expected nothing less.

  “I refuse to accept the son of that thief as my great-grandson.”

  Genevieve sat straight up in her chair. What exactly was he saying?

  “However, I recognize that he’s your son. So, I’m willing to accept you back on the condition that your son is sent to boarding school. Your focus should be on Reilly and the designs you’ll be creating for our company, anyway.”

  No, there was no way Genevieve would ever agree to send her toddler to boarding school. “He’s not even three yet,” she ground out.

  “I’m aware. I’m certain I can find a school willing to accept him despite his age. Better he grow up in that environment, anyway. The sooner he realizes that he’s alone in the world and won’t be accepted as part of this family, the better.”

  She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to curse both her grandfather and Finn for putting her in this position.

  Lackland didn’t even wait to hear her response. “Those are my terms. Take them or leave them,” he said, before cutting the connection.

  The dial tone buzzed through Genevieve’s head, along with anger and despair.

  Fourteen

  Genevieve pulled Noah tight into her arms. Her son squirmed, pushing against her, wanting down so he could toddle over to the pile of toys in the corner and play.

  He was completely innocent and oblivious to everything going on around him. To the changes that could potentially rock his world.

  Genevieve set Noah on his feet, and he didn’t even look back at her before tearing across the room. If she did go back to her grandfather—and that was a big if—she’d find some way around her grandfather’s demand.

  She had to.

  Luckily, she didn’t have to make that decision tonight. Or even tomorrow. The Mitchell brothers had generously given her a few days to figure everything out and evaluate what could be salvaged.

  Right now, her focus was Noah. Partly because that was easy.

  “Noah, you want some chicken nuggets?” The thought of food might make her stomach turn, but her son still needed to eat.

  Abandoning his toys, Noah shot back across the room. Bumping into her knees, he wrapped his arms around her legs and looked up at her with a huge smile on his face.

  Chicken nuggets were his favorite.

  “Dinosaws?” he asked.

  “Of course. Go play. I’ll get them ready.”

  Confident she was going to get him what he needed, her son went back to his toys. Genevieve went into the kitchen. Keeping an eye on him, she pulled the bag from the freezer and preheated the oven.

  The moment was normal and domestic. Something she’d done hundreds of times. But right now, it felt wrong. Because she shouldn’t be doing it alone.

  She’d just popped the pan into the oven when there was a loud knock on her door.

  With a sigh, Genevieve dropped her head and squeezed her eyes tight. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone, not even well-meaning friends. She’d already called Nicole to say she wasn’t going into the studio tonight.

  Standing in the middle of her kitchen, Genevieve contemplated ignoring the knock. Everything inside her balked at the idea of being impolite, but she really didn’t have the energy to deal.

  Honestly, she was afraid that at the first well-meaning word from anyone’s mouth she was going to lose it. Right now, she was holding it together for Noah.

  But when the polite knock morphed into an insistent pounding that rattled her front door, Genevieve decided it would be easier to open the door and pointedly tell whoever was there to go the hell away.

  Whether she would have actually said that or not was a moot point because when she opened the door, she was shocked silent.

  Anderson Stone asked, “Can we come in?” but didn’t bother waiting for her answer before scooting by her into the foyer.

  The man with him followed silently behind, pausing long enough to shut her front door with a quiet click. It didn’t take a genius to figure out this was probably Gray Lockwood, the third musketeer.

  Shaken from her stupor, her words dripped with sarcasm as she swept an arm wide indicating her den. “Make yourselves at home.”

  Stone gave her a long look before the corner of his mouth quirked up into a little grin. “Look at that, the mild-mannered thing has teeth.”

  “I don’t know what you want or why you’re here, but I’m really not in the mood right now.”

  For the first time, Gray spoke. “You’re going to want to see this, I promise.”

  His voice was smooth and deep. For some reason it made her think of smoke-filled rooms with brocade wallpaper and filigreed sconces. A twenties speakeasy with gangsters, beautiful women and rich Scotch.

  Blond and polished, he was the contrast to Finn’s swarthy, mischievous demeanor. He was also quieter and less assuming than Stone, who always seemed to be up front and in charge.

  Not that she particularly cared, but staring at the two men standing in her den, she wondered how the prison they’d been in had survived all three of them. At once. They were gorgeous, cunning and autocratic. Together, she had no doubt they’d been a force to be reckoned with.

  They still were.

  Turning her attention to Gray, she asked, “What do I need to see?”

  Walking into the kitchen and over to the table, Gray set down a laptop she hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding. Popping it open, he clicked a few buttons and began playing a video. Stepping back, he waved her forward so she could get a better look.

  A frown pulling at her mouth, she did as he’d indicated. It took her several moments to orient herself to what she was watching. Some context might have been helpful, but probably would have blunted the impact of the images on the screen.

  The video was perfectly clear, no doubt because the men standing behind her could afford to buy state-of-the-art equipment. But that didn’t negate the fact that it had obviously been dark whenever the footage was taken.

  Despite that, it was easy to identify Nick and her grandfather leaning close and engaging in an intense conversation.

  She didn’t need to hear the words being spoken to know that Lackland Reilly was pissed. Mostly because she’d been the recipient of the expression on numerous occasions.

  Nick wasn’t exactly happy, either, but he was clearly deferring to her grandfather.

  Genevieve understood what she was looking at, but not the implications Gray and Stone were obviously trying to make. She needed more information. Turning, her gaze bounced between the two men as she asked, “What is this? When was it taken? What are they talking about?”

  Before they could answer, Noah came bouncing into the kitchen. He gave both men a cursory glance before making a beeline for Genevieve.

  “�
��Saws?”

  She’d completely forgotten about the nuggets in the oven. “Yes, baby. I’ll get them out.”

  Making a move around the men, she started into the kitchen, but Stone stopped her. A hand on her arm, he said, “I’ll get it. Let Gray explain.”

  She watched as one of the wealthiest men in the South scooped her son up, lifted Noah over his head and plopped him down onto his shoulders. Noah squealed, wrapping his chubby fingers in Stone’s hair.

  She watched Stone’s tight grip around her son’s back, holding him securely in place. Twisting his head so he could talk up at her son, he said, “Your daddy asked me to keep an eye on you while he’s gone for a little bit. Let’s get you those nuggets, little man.”

  Watching the scene before her, it was difficult to reconcile the elegant man in the expensive suit she’d met just a few days ago with the one letting her toddler’s diaper-clad rear bounce up and down against his shoulders as they went to get chicken nuggets out of her oven.

  “Cut them up into little pieces and make sure they’re not hot enough to burn his mouth,” Genevieve said, a little bemused.

  Stone tossed her a big grin. “We got this, Momma. Listen to Gray.”

  Gray took that as his cue. Tapping a few keys on the computer, he pulled up another video feed and pressed Play. A man of few words, he again didn’t bother to tell her what she was about to watch.

  The screen was split between two feeds, both of which were of her studio. One camera was clearly pointed directly at her safe, although she’d never seen footage from this angle. The other had a wide view of her back door and the hallway leading into the workroom.

  “Finn asked us to set up a couple additional cameras that he didn’t mention to you or Nick.”

  “Why?”

  Why would he do that? So he could have access to watch the studio that no one else was aware of? But, obviously, someone had been aware of it since Gray was showing her the feed.

  His friends had been in on the plan the entire time. That was surely the more logical explanation. However, that didn’t explain why they were both in her house right now.