by Kate Stewart
He had searched my gaze before he answered. “Yeah, I know, baby girl. That’s what scares me.”
I left the building feeling lighter than I had going in. When visiting hours were close to ending, and I still hadn’t managed to assuage my father’s worry, I did the unthinkable and appealed to his guilt.
“I thought going to prison and leaving me alone was the worst you could ever do to me but it’s not… Letting your grandson and I starve is far more fucked up.”
My stomach turned because, even though I was sorry I spoke then, I was even sorrier they were true.
I got what I wanted.
The combination and location of the safe.
The money my father had been after would be long gone after three years, but maybe it’s been replaced with more. I have no idea the condition Art left his only son when he died. Did he take over the business? Did he leave him an inheritance?
The estate my father described might not even be owned by the Knights. What if Bea or Angel sold?
I had no choice but to risk it all to gain in return, so I shook off what ifs and plotted my next step.
“Hey, how did it go?” Joey stood next to his car and pocketed his phone he was just thumbing through.
“Better than expected.”
He grinned and bounced on his toes. “So, did you ask him?”
“No, sorry. Must have forgot.” Joey wanted me to ask my father if he ever caught two buff dudes getting it on. There was no way in hell I would ask my father that. Not that he would discuss it with me anyway, but I agreed for the sake of getting a ride.
“But you were in there for over an hour!”
“We had a lot of catching up to do since it’s been two and a half years.”
“Right. Forgot.” We hopped in, and he cranked up the car. “So where to, Miss?” He tipped his cap and made a goofy face.
“Actually, I need a favor that doesn’t involve you driving me, but does involve your car…”
“Name it.”
Chapter 4
ANGEL
“When are you coming home? I need to get my dick wet.”
I laughed into the phone, not at all surprised at the topic my right hand chose after two weeks of no contact. Lucas Devlin was the male equivalent of a nympho. If it was hot, tight, and wet, he fucked it.
“Why do I need to be home for that? You need me to hold your hand or some shit?”
He snorted and said, “It was a separate question and statement. I just thought I’d save time by getting it all out at once.”
“I’m flying in tonight. I had to tie up some loose ends and knock a few heads together.” That was putting it mildly, actually. The blood I spilled on this job wouldn’t be easily washed away.
“We should do something tonight. Z misses you.”
“It’s true, sunshine!” His shout came from the background rather than another phone line, telling me they were together.
A groan escaped me. If the two of them spent the last week together, I knew I was walking into more bullshit than I cared to handle. Lucas Devlin and Zachariah Ellis were runaways who escaped the system together at the age of fifteen and thirteen. They managed to evade getting caught for six months when my father found them robbing a married couple for their money with stolen guns and no bullets. He admired their brass balls, as he put it, so he hired them. Despite my father’s reservations involving me in the business so soon, the minute the three of us were put in one room, we became inseparable. We stole together, killed together, and even fucked together. The first time someone called us The Three Musketeers, Z literally tried to stick his foot down their throat.
We’re brothers. Simple as that.
“What have you two been up to?”
“Nothing much. Getting shit-faced and fucking,” he answered bluntly. Lucas was usually nonchalant about anything that didn’t directly involve killing and getting paid.
I shook my head, feeling like the cock blocker in a nontraditional sense. I was the leader, but with it came feeling I wasn’t just their friend but their father too. This was all after pops died of course. He had been as much a father to them as he had been to me and his death gave us a common goal.
Each of us wanted the man who killed him dead.
Three years after my father was murdered and my rage was just as strong as the day I received the phone call. My day of birth had taken on a new meaning.
“Angel, you there?”
I sprinted away from the dark reaches of my mind and tucked away the memory of my father’s murder where it belonged. “You two act like horny thirteen-year-olds.”
“But possess the stamina and finesse of a man at least twice that.”
“You’re twenty-seven, genius.”
“Precisely,” he retorted. “Chicks dig me.”
“Whatever. I’m out. I’ll see you tonight.” I ended the call and rubbed my aching shoulder. This job hadn’t been an easy one, but then they never really were. My list of reaps was growing ever long, but what else was I supposed to do when they resisted?
“The job is the only priority. You must be willing to finish it by any means necessary. That includes killing. Are you ready for this life, son?”
Arturo Knight was a known and feared heist lord, and when the occasion called for it, and the money was right, he was a hitman. He gained his wealth by taking what didn’t belong to him. I was only sixteen when my father realized my interest in what he did for a living was more than just innocent curiosity, so he decided to bring me in. Doing the job was the only lesson he had seen necessary to teach me.
“You’re a Knight. Killing and taking shit that doesn’t belong to you will come naturally.”
But I never got to prove to my father that I could be more than his shadow because Theo Ross, the man I called godfather, had betrayed my father.
I considered myself a patient man. There was a spot high on my list of reaps reserved for him, and I was willing to wait twenty-two and a half years to put him in his grave right alongside my father. Justice wasn’t complete until it was dealt by my hand.
With the help of Lucas and Z, I took over the business. One by one, I gained the trust of my father’s clientele after some of their enemies disappeared, and I fattened the lining of their pockets pro-bono. It took more time and resources than I cared to sacrifice, but eventually, I had them on board. I wasn’t a man to take no for an answer and had no qualms manipulating people in my favor. Most might say I was controlling and obsessive, but then most people didn’t grow up with a father like mine. He would have expected nothing less.
As my father predicted, I had a talent for taking what I wanted and killing when I had to was simply exercise. I was even bringing in more cash than my father had ever seen. Even though I kept Lucas and Z on board, I still took some jobs alone and cut them in on the profit from those jobs. They never asked questions because they already knew the answers. I trusted Lucas and Z with my life, but my father trusted Theo with his and ended up trusting the wrong man.
I packed up my duffle and called a car before making my way to the elevator. I stood in place, waiting for the elevator to arrive, and thinking that maybe I needed a fuck to release the tension I felt in my shoulders. When the elevator doors opened, I froze in place. Inside stood a woman small in stature with dark hair and pouty pink lips. Her beauty was painfully familiar along with her wide, emerald eyes that stared back at me. I was gazing upon a ghost.
My ghost.
Mian.
Innocent, sweet, vulnerable Mian.
But then my ghost batted her lashes and licked her lips invitingly and I knew this woman wasn’t Mian. There was nothing innocent about this woman who maintained eye contact as she extended her arm and pressed the button to stop the doors when they began to close. I’d been staring too long, and now she thought I was interested, and I admitted to myself I had been until I realized she wasn’t who I wanted.
She wasn’t the sixteen-year-old girl I used to lust after.
> Reluctantly, I stepped inside and moved to the far corner, furthest away from her. When the doors shut and the elevator began to descend, she angled her body sideways, facing me just enough to display her breasts in the low cut top.
I pinned her with my cold gaze. “Look, I know what you’re aiming for, and I’m not fucking interested.”
She had the decency to look embarrassed and mumbled an apology as she faced forward once again. I could have laughed at the irony. I was thinking about getting laid only moments before the opportunity presented itself but lost interest when I realized it wouldn’t be some doe-eyed kid I shouldn’t even be thinking about.
When the elevator arrived at the lobby, the woman practically ran out with her tail between her legs. I stepped out after her and took in my surroundings. I had enemies that would take any opportunity to kill me, even in a crowded hotel.
“Mr. Knight, good evening. I hope you enjoyed your stay,” the front desk attendant greeted. I checked out and found a car waiting for me when I stepped outside. With a nod to the driver, I hopped in the back, but as soon as my ass touched the seat, my phone rang.
“Z, what’s up?”
“Someone’s in your house.”
Chapter 5
MIAN
The cylinder turned. The sound of the lock disengaging was music to my ears. Smiling, I pocketed the tension wrench I had borrowed from Joey.
The double doors stood at least seven feet tall and were made of dark wood with several rows of panels from top to bottom. The elegant knobs looked as if they were dipped in a pot of gold. I pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.
Whoa.
The vast entrance alone was a statement of Arturo Knight’s wealth. Above hung two candle chandeliers with dangling crystals to dazzle. The tiled floor was made of marble, and the two staircases flanked the entrance leading up the second-floor balcony. A black metal railing made of intricate designs protected it. The Knights were loaded in an obvious way.
The sudden and frantic beeping of the watch I also borrowed from Joey interrupted my inspection.
Seven minutes.
I reset the timer and made my way up the curved stairs to my right. It was just two days before the fourth. If I were lucky, Bea would be on vacation. So, for the last sixteen hours I watched.
No one came. No one went.
It wasn’t until night had fallen that I made my move.
My father berated me for not planning and called me an amateur for taking too many risks. But our survival was threatened by time I didn’t have. How could he judge me anyway? My father had defied odds on a regular basis, and because of him, following in his footsteps became inevitable. Even though he expected more of me, it never stopped him from sharing his secrets when I was a kid. But it was always about the job. Never about his marks.
It was the same each time.
He’d teach me the trade and then would warn me not to get any ideas.
“You’re going to college, baby girl. One day you’ll be an accountant. You’ll be a square, unlike your old man, but what’s important is that you’ll be better than me. Promise me, Mian.”
“I promise, Daddy.”
This job had been different because it was personal. When the police questioned why he killed his best friend, he said Art had taken something from him. That night, he was only supposed to take back what was his, but instead, my godfather was murdered.
Now it was up to me to finish what he had started.
He never explained what it was, but I assumed it was money. Why else would he go along with my plan to finish the job?
My father was a good man.
He loved us.
He’d want Caylen to have all that he deserved and so I exploited that to break through his reservations.
The greatest challenge was believing the money my father was after was even still there.
But that was what plan B was for.
Down a short hall off the east wing, I found a small balcony at the end and two doors. Taking the one on the left first, I pushed inside and found a guest room. Across the hall was the same deal.
I moved back down the short hall and turned left down another hall—this one shorter but wider. At the very end were double doors. I walked through them and found another bedroom. This one was at least twice the size of the others and dominating the center was an enormous bed. The headboard was painted black and reached high over the wide mattress. The silk sheets were also black, adding to the intimidation. It wasn’t exactly a woman’s touch.
A shiver passed through me, but then something caught my eye.
Against my better judgment, I moved to the foot of the bed for a closer look and found a dark gray tie curled on the bedding. I picked it up before I could rethink and wondered about the man it belonged to.
After twenty-three years of friendship, Art betrayed my father, and my father killed him. Maybe there was a clue hidden somewhere in this castle that would tell me why.
My stolen watch beeped, breaking my train of thought.
Seven minutes.
I was wasting time.
I looked around the room for something valuable. There was too much space to decorate every inch. Art and Bea must have thought the same and chose to keep it simple. A loveseat faced the bed, aligned directly with the center.
I wonder…
A few years ago, Erin was curious about threesomes so she convinced me to watch a video with her. The first two videos were nothing special. I forced myself through them since Erin thought they were hot. But then we stumbled upon one that I’d never forgotten. For his anniversary, a woman gifted her husband his fantasy—to watch her with another man. I watched him watch his best friend and wife make love from a love seat very much like this.
Would Art enjoy seeing his wife make love to another man? Or maybe he just liked to watch her…
Beep beep! Beep beep! Beep beep!
Getting caught in a fantasy allowed another seven minutes to pass by. I tore my gaze away from the love seat and reset my watch. I looked around and finally found what I was looking for. There were two doors adjacent to the bed. The door on the far left was open so I could clearly see it was a bathroom. The other was closed. I quickly moved toward it and pushed open the door.
Bingo.
This time, I didn’t waste time admiring the grandeur. I ventured deeper inside the closet with my eye on the island at the center. I ripped open the first drawer. Inside were an array of watches and rings.
Jackpot.
Snatching up the watch with the most bling, I stuffed it in my pocket, shoved the drawer closed, and ran from the room.
The safe my father was after three years ago is hidden behind a painting in the second-floor study. At the time, I didn’t think the hiding spot was very original, but now I just found it convenient.
The main hallway curved past the balcony and led to the west wing. Off to the right was another short hallway that led to the study. The doors were locked when I twisted the doorknob, so I fished the torque and tension wrench from my back pocket and knelt. After much poking and prodding, I felt the pins give.
My watch went off again and the end of another seven minutes broke through my victory.
Shit.
The doors to the study matched the front doors but weren’t as heavy. When I walked through them, I was half expecting the ghost of Arturo Knight to be waiting on the other side, but all I found was a massive desk in front of oversized windows. Parallel to the desk was a brown leather couch that spanned the length of the desk. On the left wall, a bookcase was built into the length of the wall, and on the opposite wall were paintings decorating the space.
Thinking I’d miscounted, I counted the frames again and found six, perfectly spaced paintings. Daddy had said there would only be five. The paintings were large and probably weighed at least half my body weight.
I slumped against the door.
My father had been right.
I had no skill to move on
a job like this without a plan. Naively, I’d given myself ten minutes to get in and out. Thirty minutes had gone by, and I was no closer to getting in that safe than I was when I started.
I straightened from the door and moved until I was standing in front of the first painting of a man I didn’t recognize. The hook holding up the painting was too high for me to reach. I moved to the second and then the third and so on until I came to the fifth painting. The familiar features of a man I hadn’t seen in years were captured with skillful accuracy.
Arturo Knight.
A chill passed through me at the same time the watch beeped again. I reset it and frantically searched for leverage and found a single seat chair decorating the corner to my right. The elegantly carved legs and back and a decorated cushion of the chair weren’t meant to be besmirched as a ladder, but it would have to do. I dragged it to the painting of my dead godfather and planted my dirty, torn chucks on the cushion. Stretching to the tips of my toes, my fingers were able to reach the top of the frame where the hook sunk in.
Lifting the heavy painting was harder than I originally judged but with a grunt and sheer will power, I removed it.
Holding it, however, while I stared at the empty space was impossible. The painting slipped from my fingers and crashed to the wooden floor.
There was no safe.
Or at least there had been.
I ran shaking fingers over the obvious patch in the wall in disbelief. It had been my only chance. Leaning forward, I touched my sweaty forehead to the lump in the wall and rolled my head back and forth.
Three years…
I waited too long.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d stayed in that position until my watch beeped again. Slowly, I lifted my head from the wall and stepped down.
I should have left. Instead, I reset my watch and then stared down at the painting of my godfather. The piece didn’t seem to suffer any trauma from the fall.
Art stared back at me with an expression carved in stone. He might have been a ruthless criminal, but he had always been good to me. After five generations of bandits, it ended with him.