Her Gluttony (Her Sins #5)

1. Avery

AVERY

PLAYLIST: A LITTLE LESS CONVERSATION – ELVIS PRESLEY, JUNKIE XL

Awide smirk tugs on my mouth as I walk away from the brownstone with the rolled-up painting under my arm. Not just any painting, but the Storm on the Sea of Galilee, a lost Rembrandt. I can’t fight the broadening of the smirk as sirens draw closer and I slip into Carroll Street.

I picture Hedda’s face right now, as she realizes it has been stolen. I know she will come for me because Hedda is not just a random rich lady who happened to have one of history's long-lost art pieces. No. Hedda is a thief herself, one who thought I’d never dare try and take it.

Well, I did. And I see it as a personal victory to have stolen from the untouchable ghost. I left her a little hint so she knows who to come after. Just for the fun of it. I love a good cat-and-mouse game. It’s the thrill I have been aiming for my entire life.

The life I live is not for the faint-hearted, somewhere between near death, pushed boundaries, and broken rules. Well, not all of them, because there is honor amongst thieves.

I take my phone and call the only number saved on it.

“I got it,” I say, biting my lip as pride washes through my chest.

“Damn, girl!” says Rossi on the other end. “I was certain I had to break you out of detention.”

“You might one day soon,” I say. “I left Hedda a note.”

“Are you fucking mad?” asks Rossi.

“I thought it would spice things up,” I say.

“What did you put on it?”

I chuckle before I answer, because it’s either absolutely brilliant or completely reckless, and it’s exactly what I crave.

“Told her she can have it back when she does the France job with me.”

Silence on the other end.

“You know,” says Rossi. “You’re fucking crazy. But damn, girl, I love you for your balls.”

I grin to myself.

“Wanna bet if she’s in?” I say as I walk around the corner and slip into my car. Well, not mine. But the one I stole for the very purpose of getting me away in silence.

“Dang, of course,” says Rossi. “I say she’s pretending to be in and gets you locked up for it. I’m throwing in 5k.”

“Uhhhh,” I say and chuckle. “I say she’s in, and the job will be fabulous. I know she can’t resist. It’s too tempting. And I don’t want your money, I want that egg.”

“Soray’s egg?”

“How many golden eggs are there that belonged to a mythical Egyptian woman, huh?” I ask.

Rossi laughs. “Okay, deal,” he says, “But if you lose, I’ll take the phoenix vase.”

“Fair,” I say and start the motor. “Come over for a glass of wine,” I add.

“Sure will, give me twenty.”

“Make it forty; I have a tail to ditch,” I say, because I have noticed a man following me for the third turn now, and I get suspicious.

“Have fun,” says Rossi. “Be nicer than with the last one.”

“I’m always nice,” I say, and we both burst out in laughter, because I am not a nice person. Others have described me as arrogant and entitled, not understanding that I simply honor my time more than I value their opinion.

I turn into Lincoln Plaza and stop walking. I am provoking his move and therefore preparing myself. He turns around the corner and bumps into me.

He’s an unobtrusive person, one who blends in. Exactly the type of person needed for surveillance.

I slide my hand into his jacket pocket, pull out his phone, and slip it into mine before I say, “Watch where you go next time.”

His eyes narrow, and I remove myself with anger on my face, walking away in the direction I came from.

He can’t follow me now. If he does, he’d blow everything up.

I turn onto 5th Avenue, walk till I reach the subway station of Bergen Street, and slip into the 4th line at the last possible moment with my heel almost getting caught by the closing doors.

As I walk through the carriage, I monitor the people around me.

I don’t sit, but lean against the door and watch my surroundings with my loot in my hand.

I am going to switch subways several more times and then blend in with the Manhattan night buzz.

I still can’t believe I managed to break into Hedda’s brownstone. The thought alone makes it impossible for me to stop grinning, but what’s even better is the touch of my loot underneath my fingers.

I use the time in the sub to slip the guy’s phone into a Faraday bag to avoid tracking.

Thirty minutes later, I enter the building leading to my apartment in Tribeca. It’s an old warehouse with a really nice studio, which has a rooftop terrace with a phenomenal view of Manhattan, including the Empire State Building.

“That’s it?” asks Rossi as he takes the tube from my hand and opens it to lurk inside.

“It is,” I say as I slip out of my heels. “Here, got you a present,” I say and throw the Faraday bag with the phone I took from the man into her hands.

“Whose is it?” she asks as she feels through the bag

“Belonged to the guy who followed me,” I say. “Figured I’d find out who he is.”

Meanwhile, I slide the canvas out from the tube and unroll it carefully.

“I love you, woman,” says Rossi as he stands next to me.

As far as people go, Rossi is alright. One of the only people I trust. He is as gay as someone can get, and while he is eccentric to the point of visual pain in my eyes, he is a master of transformation.

And because most people overlook him because he’s small and bald, he is the most valuable person I've ever met.

He is extremely well-read and one of the best forgers I know.

He also has knowledge of everything tech.

I am not an idiot, but he is something else.

“She is a beauty,” I say. “She’ll get a special place.”

Rossi leans in on the canvas.

“Hm,” he says.

“Hm, what?” I ask.

“Don’t you think the color here looks a bit off?” he says, and points to a light reflection.

My eyes narrow.

I pull the canvas close and smell it.

“Safflower oil,” I say, holding it for Rossi to smell.

I grab the bag from her hand, pull out the phone, and open the burner.

I crack up in laughter as I read the only message on the phone.

See you in Paris, H.

“Damn, that bitch,” I say, while I am truly impressed by Hedda’s skills.

“She really had you fooled,” says Rossi.

“Apparently,” I say and chuckle. Because I love everything about it. I’m always in for a game.

I throw the canvas in the bin next to my studio table.

My gaze wanders over the desk with the plans for the one thing I have been working on this entire time.

Soon, I say in my mind and look up at the sky.