Chapter Twenty-Three
MARIUS
Mina and I managed a few hours of sleep, but not enough. Intense, emotional sex wasn’t entirely the reason (but okay, partly) because we were too keyed up to sleep even when we tried. Mostly, we’d settled for curling up together and staring off into the darkness.
“One more night after tonight, and we can go home,” Mina whispered at one point. Then she sighed. “Back to stripping paint.”
Ha. Even stripping paint would beat what we were in London for.
A million things could intervene, but I played along in a more upbeat tone. “Don’t forget fixing the roof.”
“And hosting weddings…” Mina said, then rushed to explain. “I mean, for other people. I mean, for money. I mean…”
I chuckled, holding her tighter. If she thought I would bolt at the W word, no. But I needed to be sure she was safe first. So, if she spent the night obsessing about the painting, I spent it worrying about how to keep my past from catching up to us in the worst possible way.
Szabo, my dragon hissed in my mind. Or that son of a bitch Etienne.
They were my top two worries — the vampire and the wolf shifter I’d tangled with a few months ago.
I’d turned a blind eye to most of the illegal activities in Etienne’s bar/fight club, and I’d even picked up a little cash through a string of wins in his subterranean fight pits.
But in the course of hounding him for my prize money, I’d discovered that sex trafficking — of minors — was another keystone of his business, and there was no way I could turn a blind eye to that.
A verbal spat had turned into an all-out fight, and I had been well on my way to ridding the world of one wolf-size packet of evil when his minions intervened.
We’d both ended up before a tribunal of supernaturals who handled such things, all in a hush-hush way that protected the many pies they dipped their dirty fingers in.
All that had led to my involvement with Gordon, but that had also brought me to Mina. So, maybe I owed Etienne in a weird, twisted way.
In my half sleep, I pictured his ruthless, mud-colored eyes. The flash of his bright, long teeth. The nick in his right ear from some long-ago fight…
“What?” Mina asked sleepily.
I forced myself to relax, other than the tight wrap of my arms around her.
“Sorry. Just overthinking,” I murmured.
She brought her lips to mine, whispering, “Try overthinking this instead.”
* * *
At nine the next morning, I jutted my jaw and listened to Gordon drone on about the timeline for the day. He was furious with us — well, me — and it showed in each of his growly, bitter statements.
Last day of this piss-poor mission, Bene murmured into my mind. By this time tomorrow, we should be back at the chateau.
As desperately as I wanted that, I would believe it when I saw it.
Back at the chateau for as long as Mina lets us, Roux added glumly.
There was that too — something she and I hadn’t gotten around to discussing. But I was committed to the one thing at a time plan now, and that item was much, much farther down the list.
Next, Gordon outlined the final details of his plan. Then he checked his watch, muttering something about keeping his pilot waiting.
I rolled my eyes. Of course. The pilot. Of his private jet. Such an inconvenience.
“Mina and Roux will go to Madame Petrova’s and oversee the transportation of the painting to the drop point,” Gordon instructed.
I kept my lips sealed, though my dragon raged inside.
“Afterward,” Gordon continued, “Mina will take the train home.”
She gulped. “Home?”
“Home,” he said firmly.
We all froze. Bad news, because that meant Gordon expected the shit to hit the fan. But good news too, because I wanted her safe.
Her wide, anxious eyes met mine.
Gordon held up a hand. Celeste pressed an envelope into it, which Gordon handed to Mina.
She blinked. “What’s this?”
“Your train ticket,” Celeste snipped.
Mina peeked inside. “I see,” she said, looking up slowly. “Will Szabo get a matching one this time as well?”
Gordon looked genuinely confused, but Celeste…
For the briefest of instants, she flashed an oops, caught-in-the-act expression. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I would have missed it. But I didn’t — and neither did Mina.
“What do you mean?” Gordon demanded, unamused.
It meant we’d been right to suspect Celeste. But why would she hire Szabo to go after us?
Mina held Celeste’s gaze. “Never mind. Back to arrangements.”
Gordon grumbled under his breath and stuck up his hand again. When Celeste didn’t move, he snapped his fingers. “The contracts, dammit.”
Celeste jolted into action and handed him four more envelopes, which he distributed — one each to me, Roux, and Bene, with a fourth for Henrik, which he entrusted to Mina.
Then he begrudgingly pulled a pen from his breast pocket — one of those fancy pens that cost as much as a compact car — and handed it to me.
I stared at the pen, then the envelope. “What’s this?”
“Your new contract,” he spat. “Take it or leave it.”
Roux’s eyebrows jumped up. New what?
I glanced at Mina, but her gaze aimed steadfastly out the window.
Roux tore open his envelope and began reading, moving his lips silently. Bene’s eyes went wide as he skimmed his. Gordon crossed his arms and tapped his foot. I started reading, then trailed off in shock.
Bene flipped between the front and back of his document several times, gaping. “Is this for real?”
Gordon huffed. “Of course it’s real.” He checked his watch. “You have three minutes to accept the new terms — or not.”
Bene snatched the pen out of my hand. Roux’s brow knotted as he reread his carefully. I did the same, looking for a catch, but couldn’t find one.
Why would Gordon grant us our pardons early? Roux asked into my mind. Why offer us new contracts on more favorable terms?
I stared at him blankly. Then we both turned to Mina, remembering the message Roux had relayed the previous night.
Gordon says to tell Mina he accepts her terms.
My mouth dropped open, and Roux muttered an expletive.
I read mine again.
The above pardon takes effect immediately.
Penalties for prior offenses have been deemed sufficiently met, and the signee has no further obligations to Monsieur Clervaud, nor to any other party, now or at any time hereafter, in perpetuity.
This contract supersedes all previous contracts, which are hereby declared null and void.
By signing below, you agree to the following new terms…
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. What had Mina risked, traded, or promised to gift me my freedom?
“Mina,” I murmured.
“Just sign,” she growled, keeping her eyes away from Gordon.
No I’ll explain later, no private message whispered into my mind. Just a dogged determination that scared me. So much, I considered not signing to spare her whatever she’d promised Gordon.
But something told me it was too late. Plus, she would be furious.
Roux took the pen from Bene, signed, and handed it to me. I scribbled my name at the bottom of my contract, and Roux snapped pictures of each before handing them over. That prompted Gordon to make outraged sounds, which we ignored, because for the first time ever, we could.
I tried organizing my thoughts, but they flopped around like slippery fish.
“What about Henrik?” Mina held up his envelope.
Gordon grimaced while countersigning the others. “He can hand his copy to Celeste later today.”
Right. Later. When I would drag an explanation out of Mina and do my damnedest to protect her from the fallout of all this.
Gordon stepped toward the door with an ominous, “I expect everything to run smoothly.”
Another veiled threat, but that was nothing new.
“Celeste will, as usual, report to me on your progress,” he went on.
She smiled, baring her teeth.
“Yes, sir,” Roux barked in an effort to hurry him out the door.
Gordon stopped to glower at me, then glance at Mina, who averted her eyes. To his credit, he genuinely looked sad.
Still, I kept my guard up, fully expecting Gordon to try to off me in a tragic “accident.” So far, he hadn’t. No shove out the window, no poisoned drink, no stab in the back…yet.
He was sure to try at some point, though. That, I was sure of. Anything to get me out of the picture so Mina could end up with a more suitable partner.
I thought of Clement, that ass of a wolf shifter. I hated the cop, but talk about poetic justice — if I got offed, Mina could end up with him, and wouldn’t Gordon just love having a nosy police officer in the family?
I had to chuckle at the idea.
Everyone exhaled when he exited, letting the door slam behind him.
Then Celeste’s heels clicked over the floor, and we all tensed again.
“Well, isn’t that nice,” she cooed dangerously. “New contracts for everyone.”
Except me, her tone said, as if she’d ever worked by the letter of the law.
No one said a word, and no one moved.
“Well, don’t just sit there,” she snipped. “Get to work. As Gordon said…I’ll be watching.”
* * *
We had hours before the eight-p.m. handover, but time flew. We were that busy making arrangements and reconnoitering the location Jensen had named — a Docklands warehouse — according to the schedule Gordon had outlined.
“Convenient that he’ll be out of the country by the time the trade is made, isn’t it?” Roux observed as we climbed the stairs to Anastasia’s apartment.
I didn’t comment. I didn’t need to.
Then again, Gordon’s absence made it easy for us to adjust his arrangements, such as who accompanied Mina to Anastasia’s. Henrik and I had come along with Roux, while Bene remained in the vicinity of Jensen’s warehouse.
Boxing up the painting went more or less to plan, especially since the plan anticipated delays in getting Anastasia to part with her masterpiece.
And boy, did she delay, touching and weeping over it. She’d donned black clothing for the occasion and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief — a white one with the red teddy bear logo of the 1980 Moscow Olympics.