That was a direct reference to me running from DC.
I knew I should never have agreed to this date withJesse. I could make an argument that this was his fault. His idea. Only I’dgone along with it willingly. Like a stupid lemming. Or a suicidal sheep. Ijust needed someone to blame. Resisting the urge to bang my head against thebrick wall, I ignored Sayer’s punishing squeeze and followed after Gus. If forno other reason than to escape Sayer’s touch.
He was the same as before.But sodifferent.
The Sayer I knew before was long and lean, the wayrunners were built. His shoulders had been narrow and his waist tapered. Andeven at twenty-three, his face had held onto some of the boyishness of hisyouth.
Now he was all muscle. His green hooded sweater didlittle to hide his ripped physique beneath the expensive material. Hisshoulders had broadened, with all this new strength of course, but with agetoo. He had stepped into manhood and gripped it with two fists.
All traces of boy and teenager and young man weregone. In their place was a deliciouslystubbledjawand raw, untamed power. He towered over me, taller, stronger, meaner. Andunlike before when his body had been a shelter for me to run to, the safe havenI counted on for protection, it was only cruel distance now. There was aninvisible space between us that stretched across oceans. Continents.
Worlds.
Sayer Wesley had gone to prison as the person Itrusted most in this world and come out a stranger.
He wore his five years in prison like new skin,flexing the hard-fought years with bared teeth and shredded muscle. There wasno softness left in him, no gentle touch or understanding ear. Only anger. Onlyhatred.
He was at once utterly beautiful and every nightmare Ihad ever had come to life.
I decided not to look at him again tonight. Not evenif his plan was to kill me. It hurt too much.
At the bottom of the steps, there was a short hallwaythat led to a supply room that had the door propped open and another door thatwas closed. This was it. This was the empty room where they were going to killus. The people upstairs would pause at the sound of gun shots, but the loud popmusic would disguise the gunfire to make them think they were hearing things.Gus and Sayer would shove our dead bodies into barrels of acid and then closethe door behind them before rejoining the party like nothing had happened.
And I would never be heard from again. My dead bodywould eventually be dumped, but nobody would be able to identify the bodybecause I’d be turned into human soup. Caroline Valero would just fade awayinto oblivion, another unsolved homicide that nobody cared enough about todemand justice.
Or something along those lines.
It was possible I’d been binging too muchLutherlately.
When Gus put his hand on the doorknob, a sudden surgeof panic gripped me and I latched onto Jesse’s hand, squeezing so tightly myfingers went numb.
“You’re going to love this, Caro,” Gus exclaimed, someof his familiar optimism slipping into his tone. He pushed open the door and wewere led into an office.
I breathed with instant relief. Having expected anempty room with soundproof walls and a drain in the middle of the floor, modern,efficient desks and filing cabinets and plush leather chairs were a welcomesight.
My gaze fell on the safe in the corner of the roomimmediately. Old habits and all that. Thick, heavy and a brand I was unfamiliarwith, I couldn’t help but be intrigued. Instantly, I wanted to find out whatwas in it. The dormant thief in me itched to know what secrets they had lockedinside that impossible box. It was big enough for me to walk inside and standup in, so it must be filled with useful trinkets and titillating information.
But it was also too obvious. And since Gus wasinvolved, there would be cameras and security and measures taken to keep alltheir dirty little secrets secret.
Scanning the ceiling, looking for cameras, I finallyfigured out why they brought me here.
“Son of a bitch,” I hissed under my breath. I feltJesse’s surprised gaze on me so I gave a halfhearted effort to cover up myreaction. “That’s quite a painting.” Then hated myself for drawing attention toit.
“Oh, yeah? You like that?” Gus asked with a smug grin.“That’s one of our older pieces. We’ve been hanging onto it for a while. Youknow, waiting for the right opportunity to display it.”
“Are those diamonds?” Jesse blurted, checking out along counter of displayed jewelry.
I spun around while Gus explained something aboutbeing a collector of fine things. The room backed up his claim. There was anantique cigar box worth thousands. A Rembrandt and Leighton worth so much morethan that. There was a little black journal that was absolutely priceless,containing an accomplished job ledger from a notorious hitman. Extravagantjewelry and a priceless sculpture and all of my sins stockpiled in one recklessroom.
The Leighton especially, the Fisherman and the Siren,which I’d managed to steal on a dare after a night of vodka and bad decisions whenit was on temporary display at a gallery in DC, had my name written all over it.I doubted Jesse was up on his FBI lists, but to me it felt like my name wassplashed in red paint all over it. That’s the painting that would send me toprison.
That’s the one that would upend everything.
Hell, everything in this room would just add years tomy sentence.
This was like my own personal dragon’s cave. Whileworking for the syndicate I was given jobs, assignments in which I would steal,con and coerce my way through. And while working for the syndicate my moralcompass had swung a little too freely. I was good at my job. Really good. Whichmight have led to my hobby. Over the seven years I worked for theVolkovfamily, I was able to amass quite the collection.
All of which I entrusted to a certain associate ofmine to keep hidden—away from my father’s sticky fingers.
