CHAPTER 35 #2
The auctioneer pointed at each previous bidder, each declining to counter-bid against my new favorite collector.
When the gavel hit the counter, it was like a hammer hitting away the last hardened piece of my heart.
It shattered and fell to the ground, living with the remnants of the champagne glass.
Bee shot out of her chair, dragging me up with her as she jumped up and down, hugging me and shrieking some more. They’d make a huge commission, and the person who initially bought Red was probably pleased with their investment—wherever they were.
I was sure all her excitement was for her family, and for the sale, but a part of me wanted to believe her excitement was for me, too. I let myself believe that. I let myself be a part of this happy and energy-filled moment, smile plastered on my face and tears threatening to fall.
Bee stopped jumping. It was so sudden; it jostled me.
“Shit,” she cursed in my ear, dropping my hand and stumbling back.
“Stop,” she yelled, looking over my shoulder.
Her yell echoed, and the pitch stung. Confused, I turned, not seeing what was happening behind me.
“Nash!” Bee yelled. “Stop him!” She was pointing at the man holding Red. Her face was frantic and full of fear.
The man froze on the top step of the stage, facing us.
“Don’t you dare, asshole!” Bee took a step toward him, a threatening glare in her eye.
To my horror, the man smirked at her in response, gripping my painting as though to show he wasn’t putting it down, ever. Then he winked at her—fucking winked at her—before jumping down the remaining stairs and taking off at a sprint past us.
“Fuck.” Bee launched herself after him, knocking over the champagne bottle on our table as it joined the broken pieces on the floor, spraying liquid all over us and anyone nearby.
I winced, pausing for a moment before taking off after her, Nash catching up behind me.
I could hear Bee screaming ahead of us, “I should have known it was you, dickhead!”
Her ability to run in stilettos was amazing. I could barely keep up as my Dr. Martens and small legs struggled along.
Bee turned a corner. I heard crashing and scuffling before Nash and I rounded behind her, skidding to a stop at the dead end.
Bee was throwing her heels skyward now, and I looked up. The man was halfway up a rope that led to a hatch in the ceiling—there for some kind of upper crawl-space, or ducting.
“What the hell?” Nash was beside me now.
“Get back down here, chicken fucker!” Bee’s shoes were scattered around her, only one seeming to land a blow that did little to stop the man. She was furious, fuming, and terrifying as she paced below him.
I watched, helpless to understand what was happening.
He disappeared through the hatch, turning back for a moment to offer Bee a brief salute before ripping off what must have been a fake mustache and tossing it down to her, followed by a white card.
Both items fluttered, as though in tandem, to the ground.
Bee shot forward, picked up the card, and roared like a caged lion. “Rat asshole!” She stomped her foot like a child.
Nash approached her, snatching the card from her hand. “What is this, Bee?” he asked.
She had her hands on her hips, pacing and breathing hard in her glittering dress. “The Rat Man.” She huffed. “The fucking Rat Man.”
He stopped her pacing as he circled a hand around one of her biceps and looked her in the eye. I feared she might bite his hand off; she looked absolutely feral.
“Do you know him?” he asked. He had a firm and accusatory look on his face.
I approached the two. I wanted to see what was on the card. We all looked at it. There was a stamped logo on the front of a rat that was smudged and also poorly executed. Nash flipped it over, a message scrawled there. “Thanks for Blue, too.”
“Fuck!” Nash yelled, spinning away and crumpling the card in his hand. “Fuck. Bee, we need to get home.” He’d grabbed both her arms, staring her in the eye to make his point.
She nodded with a terrified look on her face. At the same time, their eyes slid to me. Bee rushed forward, sweeping me into a hug. “We’ll get them back, Sybil. I promise,” she whispered in my ear.
I stood frozen, unable to return her embrace. What in the world was she saying?
She pulled back, making eye contact. “I promise,” she repeated.
Her declaration confused me, unsure of her meaning.
Nash approached, lacing an arm around me to offer support. “Come on, we need to go.”
I was wavering back and forth, lost. Voices echoed down the hall now, more staff and guards catching up to us.
Nash led me toward their approach, and he instructed them in the direction the man had escaped, setting them on the trail while we set off in the opposite direction toward the service elevator we’d come in on.
Entering, I flew to one side while the siblings flew to the other, pressing the buttons to get the lift moving. When the doors shut and we started descending, everyone was breathing hard. Both siblings stared at me with similar looks of terror and guilt.
I looked between them, off-kilter and wondering what in the world just happened.
Nash appeared torn, taking a step toward me as the elevator rattled. He put his hands up, as though to placate me, as though I’d attack. “Please, Sybil, let me explain.”