Chapter 2
“Oh my God,” Reed’s voice came through Will’s earpiece. “There are hitmen here!”
Will scoffed as he switched his glass of champagne to his other hand. “No there aren’t.”
“Yes, there are.”
He resisted the urge to rub his brow. It was hard enough navigating a party like this without an escort; he didn’t need his backup to go off into the weeds. “Reed. Focus.”
“I am focusing. Focusing on the hitmen chatting it up in the corner by the melting clocks.”
Reluctantly, Will glanced over to the corner.
He bit back a laugh. “That’s not a hitman, just another billionaire and his plus-one.
” The blonde with the wire-rimmed glasses was saying something to the dark-haired man next to him that made him roll his eyes.
“Or billionaire-adjacent, I guess. His sister runs some big company, right?”
“Yeah, but rumor has it that the reason he didn’t go into the family business was because he got trained as his family’s personal assassin to help them rise in the ranks and—”
“Jesus Christ, Reed.”
“And the other guy is another hitman who was sent to kill him, only they fell in love all Mr. and Mr. Smith style, and—”
“Reed.”
“And now they live in a fortress on some island in Europe most of the time because so many people are after them, and—”
“I am not paying you for gossip, bubba,” Will snapped. “I’m paying you to watch my back and help me win this fuckin’ game, so get your head on straight or fuck off.” There was a long silence, and Will immediately felt guilty for snapping, but he held firm.
“Copy that,” Reed said, voice flat and unaffected, no hint of the friendly relationship that was usual between the two of them.
Which, fine. If that was what it took to get his backup to focus, Will would throw their friendship onto the fire.
He’d pull it out again later. “You’re clear for a closer look. ”
“Good.” He took a cautious sip of the champagne, biting back the grimace that wanted to emerge at the taste. Shit, why did no one ever serve tequila at these things? Even bourbon would do, but no, it had to be fucking champagne every time.
Rich bitch taste.
Will began to move through the crowd, sliding along as slick as a snake in the grass.
He could vaguely hear the tiny clicks in the glasses he was wearing, purely ornamental when it came to his vision—no, these were all about enhancing Reed’s vision, studded with micro-cameras that the other man could use to get a wider view of the room.
“—referring to cubism, of course, which in my opinion is one of the finest forms of post-impressionistic artwork in—”
“Mother of God,” Will muttered. Mrs. Dalton had been opining about cubism where he could unfortunately hear her for the past hour. “If that’s where things are headin’, I’m getting out of the art world for good.”
Reed snickered, and Will counted it as a win.
He stopped and held back for a moment as the older woman’s escort left her side, and—ah.
It was Cole. As pretty as ever, even though he had to be pushing forty now.
And really, what was four measly decades to the rich?
They were all biohacking their way to eternal life, weren’t they?
Regardless, he looked good enough to eat in his tailored tux, dark hair slicked back and expression appropriately apologetic as he veered away from his hellion of a mother.
He was by far the most attractive man in this room tonight.
Too bad he was as crazy as a bucket of possums and had twice the attitude.
“Hold back a bit,” Reed said. “We don’t want you to get into talking range of Dalton unless you absolutely have to, or this whole thing could go up in flames.”
“I can talk to Cole Dalton just fine,” Will retorted around the rim of his champagne glass.
“Yeah. Sure.”
He could. Just because it didn’t go well last time, or the time before that, or the time before that, which admittedly was the time Cole had barged in on Marcus and Will banging over the side of the couch, but how was Will to know Cole and Marcus were still together?
That wasn’t what Marcus had said when he’d come on to Will like a cat in heat.
And sue Will for being interested in a hot guy that liked to have fun, and seemed to especially like having fun with Will.
Not so fun when he was using Will as a meat shield against his furious boyfriend, though.
So over, we’re totally exes—bullshit.
Whatever, it was in the past. At least Cole had a legitimate reason to be here, being one of the wealthy elite himself.
Will had picked out two more thieves apart from them so far, which—it was to be expected.
Chances to fleece billionaires of their piles of exquisite art didn’t come along every day.
In particular, bonehead billionaires who flaunted their originals.
Will started moving again, brushing in and amongst the pockets of people with an ease that spoke of belonging.
It was so, so hard to resist picking pockets while he worked his way through the crowd, but he had to remind himself there were much bigger fish to fry here.
Just one of the pieces from Harry James Alders’ collection would be enough to set the seller up for life.
Sure, they were all so unique as to be impossible to sell via a reputable auction house, but there was a thriving black market for notable art amongst the ultra-rich of the world.
Plenty of them would pay more because they knew a piece was stolen from Alders, who was exceptionally grotesque in his conspicuous consumption.
There was a lot to like about what was up on the walls and in the cases, but one piece stood out to Will—the Iberian Puffin.
It was one of the most gorgeous and understated statues he’d ever seen, or would have been if not for the enormous pink diamond in the middle of the bird’s chest. Taste giving way to excess yet again, but there was something oddly compelling about it too.
“It’s the best piece in the entire collection,” Marcus had airily informed Will the last time they’d spoken.
They hadn’t fucked for years now, but every so often one or the other of them reached out with information—kept the pipes unblocked, as it were.
“Not just for the raw materials that went into its creation or the style, but because it’s got the best story. ”
It did have a good story, full of pathos and adventure and mystery.
It was the story that caught Will; the Iberian Puffin had been created with good intentions, then passed from person to person via money, violence, and neglect.
There was something about it that felt a little similar to Will’s own history.
Not to mention, if he could get the Puffin out of here—and he could—before anyone else, he’d up his personal legend in the community.
Will paused beside a pair of Kahlo paintings. “How’re we looking for our distraction?”
“It’s still on,” Reed said into his earpiece, “but you should know that someone has accessed the sprinkler system in the past twelve hours, and I think they tapped the fire alarm too.”
Of course they did.
That meant Will was working on someone else’s schedule, which—fuck it, he could deal with that. “Any other surprises in the works?”
“Hmm.” Reed sounded thoughtful. “Just… there are a number of guests who don’t align with the approved list. And it wasn’t that hard to get on the list. I mean, we got you on it, so…”
“Ouch.”
“I’m just saying, it’s weird. I’d expect Alders to be more cautious about who he let in to see all his treasures.”
Will frowned. “Reporters?”
“No, those are official; I already clocked them. Almost ten people… listen, I need to double-check some things. Don’t go until I tell you.”
“Time’s a-wastin’, Reed.”
“Yeah, and your brother will hunt me down and murder me if I let you go down in flames, so calm down and let me work.”
Aw. “Baby Boy would never murder you,” Will cooed. “You were his buddy first, after all.”
“Yeah. That’s how I know he’d kill me, throw my body into a woodchipper, and feed me to his pigs if you get hurt. Just hold off.”
Sure. Hold off. Will could do that. But…
there was nothing wrong with getting a closer look at the Puffin in the meantime, right?
He sidled into the next gallery, this one lit with more purpose, each display in its own little circle of light.
Every piece was gorgeous, the sort of thing millions of people might come to gaze at in a museum.
Instead, fewer than a hundred people got to see them before they were locked up again.
Well, not tonight. Will stepped around an awkward couple in surprisingly cheap clothes—country cousins like him, maybe—and glanced over at the Puffin. Damn, it was pretty. Heavy too, from what he’d been told.
All he needed to do now was deploy his direction. Just a few more minutes and…
“Oh shit,” Reed hissed. “Mayday, mayday!”
Uh-oh. Will turned just in time to come face-to-face with Cole. The urge to take a step back was profound, but he picked his spine up from where it had dropped down to his feet and grinned instead. “Well hey there, darlin’. Miss me?”
“Like a shark misses a remora.” His expression was completely flat, but Will could see the irritation lurking in the back of those ice blue eyes. That was the equivalent of a red cape to a bull for Will; he had to have more.
He slid his free arm around Cole’s waist and leaned in. “Aw, baby, you know I didn’t go to a fancy finishing school like you did. I don’t know them big words.”
Cole looked about half a second away from pulling a knife on Will. Ha, wouldn’t be the first time. “How about parasite. Do you know that word?” he asked as he began to steer them away from the Puffin.
Shit.
“You know, I think I might have heard that one before. Hard not to know it, when you’re surrounded by ‘em.”
Cole rolled his eyes, but Will knew that was the equivalent of touché, motherfucker.
“Um… Will… you’re going the wrong way,” Reed whispered.