Chapter 24
BLIND GREED (HOLDEN)
Disaster dressed in a burgundy blouse and soft grey pants.
It’s a sin that she looks so sexy after she just ripped my heart out and ate it in front of me like a ritual sacrifice to the gods of idiocy.
Fair game, I guess.
I’m the assclown who hurt her, after all.
I should’ve remembered she shares the old man’s blood, and once a Blackthorn makes up their mind, there’s nothing you can do except try to keep up.
That’s why when she storms out of the condo with that briefcase, I have no choice but to follow along like a helpless damned dog, trailing her down to the lobby.
She glances behind her once, her mouth pressed in a thin line. She digs around in her bag for her phone and starts texting one-handed.
I don’t know what the fuck to say.
She wants me to apologize, I’m sure, but how can I?
My regrets could fill a mountain. I’m sorry as hell about the way I handled the breakup, and the aftermath turns my stomach.
I’m sorry she thinks I’d ever step on her inheritance when all I’ve ever wanted is to see her safe and getting paid.
Distrusting Jasper Fairfax, I’ll never apologize for that. He makes me so uncomfortable I could spit.
She pushes the door to the street open. I catch it right before it slams in my face and follow her outside.
The bright sun makes me squint to keep her in full view. The street looks as busy as ever in this pulsing city. Her energy fits today.
“I’ve got my car in the garage,” I say, catching up to her side.
“I called an Uber.” She barely glances at me.
I’m going to fucking lose it.
Only, I grit my teeth against fury in my blood. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. But I thought it was faster.”
Faster so she wouldn’t have to rely on me. She’d rather deal with a hundred new vulnerabilities.
“I don’t blame you for hating me. Still hope you know it’s safer with me than a random driver.” I sigh.
“You’ll be with me,” she snaps coolly, her eyes flicking over me. “Like what would possibly happen? Someone’s going to rush the car with guns? They’d have a far better crack at getting us right now.”
Her comment makes me glance around, but no one’s paying any attention to us. We’re just two more bystanders in the shifting human sands of New York City.
“It would be safer,” I urge.
“Yeah, well, too late. Here he comes.”
“Cleo,” I snarl.
She won’t look at me as a black SUV pulls up. At least she had the sense to order a high-end black car, thank fuck.
I’m damnably tempted to throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the museum myself, kicking and screaming.
Maybe she’s right, though. The sooner we get this done, the quicker this torture ends.
I debate jumping in the front seat next to the driver, but ultimately decide it makes more sense if I ride in the back with her.
As I duck my head to slide in, Clee doesn’t even look at me or smile at my tall guy struggles.
The forced neutral look on her face kills me.
That’s my fault again.
I had to put this thing we had out of its misery since she wouldn’t. Now she’s bitter and angry and thinks she knows better.
Not a good working relationship.
Still, better than feeding delusions.
I wonder when the fuck I’ll finally believe that. I’ve only said it in my mind a hundred times.
The guilt can’t stop my wandering eyes, the regret in everything I don’t see anymore.
I miss the easy looks, the indigo fire she’d beam back, soft and beautifully strange as the Northern Lights.
I miss her smile.
Goddamn, that smile.
And when she’d give it to me, it felt like I fucking deserved it, too, even though I knew deep down I never did. We were the worst combination.
“Ugly traffic jam today,” the driver says, chewing gum that makes the whole vehicle smell like strong peppermint.
Just fucking perfect.
My eyes flick down to the open app on Cleo’s phone. The museum isn’t far, but it might be twenty or thirty minutes in this bumper-to-bumper mess.
A lot of time to think about what we’re walking into. My instincts feel like they’ve been dragged over broken glass.
Something about this meeting doesn’t feel right.
When you’ve been in this business as long as me, you learn to listen to your gut. Your subconscious, your intuition, often pings on threats faster than your conscious mind.
I run back everything I know, sifting for missing pieces.
Yeah, there’s a chance Fairfax was involved in the break-in somehow, and it wasn’t just a leak with his contacts.
The Black Talon boys are professionals, veterans in high-profile heists. Henchmen for all the world’s supervillains.
I lean back in the seat and close my eyes, stewing.
I think she glances at me once, then away again.
I wonder if she’ll ever look at me again without that disgust in her eyes.
She looks at the rearview mirror while the driver grinds on through traffic, chewing his damn gum. His clicking jaw only puts me more on edge.
“Are you going to glare the entire ride?” I whisper when I can’t stand it.
“If I want to, yes.”
“Fairfax, he’s bad news, Clee. No good reason for him to show up. I wish you’d see that.”
But she won’t. She wants this over and done.
She can’t fathom a harmless art dealer acting against her interests.
It’s not even that I think he’s there, armed and waiting. If he tries to undercut her deal or get between her new one, that’s almost as bad.
He has no fucking right.
“We’re wrapping this up today, Holden. No more delays and no more worries.” Her little hand balls into a fist on her knee. She stretches her fingers out, like she doesn’t want me to know how stressed she’s feeling.
Futile for both of us.
I want to put my hand over hers and it’s ridiculous that I can’t.
One more sick consequence of making this so complicated.
My previous love life was never this protective. Just two people trying to figure out if they could share a life, and one of them deciding she wouldn’t.
With Charli, I tried to press her into my family’s mold when she wasn’t having it. Not even because I wanted her that bad. Because we had Kit and it felt right.
The same reason I held water to her dying lips.
The same reason I wiped her cold, pale face when she was too drugged out to even know who I was anymore.
By guilt, by moral duty, by the sheer twisted fuckery of life, I never had a choice.
Until Clee, I never fucking wanted.
The soft line of her jaw sharpens as she pretends she’s not paying any attention to me. I know she’s probably still trapped in angry words over the past week, in everything we meant before that.
“It’s not paranoia to be careful,” I say.
She ignores me, turning to the window. I adjust the seat belt so it’s not cutting into my neck.
Fuck it, maybe I am being paranoid.
We’ve taken one too many hits and I’m not seeing things objectively anymore. Because hell, nothing is objective when it comes to Cleo Blackthorn.
I’ve stopped counting the seconds by the time we turn down the street to the museum and I see the museum’s Grecian-style columns out front. Leonidas would’ve loved this place.
Logically, it would be insanely bold for Fairfax to try anything weird in public in a building rigged with cameras and a direct line to the local police precinct.
This place has both. I verified it with their security team before we set out.
So maybe Fairfax is just coming here to see it off and plead his case one more time.
Annoying, yet hardly the end of the world.
After all, if he wanted to take it by force, surely he wouldn’t implicate himself in their dirty work. Given the history behind the Hera Egg, it’s going to be a big moment, so maybe it’s just some goofy academic professional honor thing I’ll never understand.
I just can’t get his frustration out of my head. He wanted the egg, and he lost. He lowballed her, and she turned him down.
This feels like a bad fucking idea, and I can’t believe I’m letting Cleo walk into it.
“Go around the back. We’re meeting there,” I tell the driver, my knuckles white against my knees. That dull ache has started up and I’m not even straining.
“Right-o,” he mutters.
Cleo grips the briefcase between us, ready to dive out the instant we roll to a stop.
“Clee, it’s not too late,” I say softly. “We could reschedule for later today, even. I could call them and tell them you’ll meet Fairfax separately, after it’s handed off.”
“No.” Her nostrils flare as she inhales sharply.
“But—”
“Holden, will you—just respect my fucking decisions for once.” Daggers. Her eyes are full of them, pointed and gleaming. “It shouldn’t be this hard, dude.”
I’m about to break my teeth, clenched together like a vise as we finally reach the back entrance. Cleo opens the door the second the car stops and throws herself out, clutching the bag to her chest.
I sit there for a few strained seconds until the driver clears his throat. Then I’m moving.
At least there are cameras. I notice them behind black half globes bolted to the ceiling.
By my guess, they’re covering the whole service entrance, which looks secure.
Cleo presses the intercom next to the door. “Hi, Cleo Blackthorn here for a meeting with Mr. Talbot.”
“Yes, one moment,” a voice says back.
There’s a loud click as the tall door unlocks. She doesn’t look back as she walks inside and I hurry in after her.
“Clee,” I say, catching up and grabbing her arm.
She shakes me off. “How many times do I need to say it, Holden? I know what I’m doing. We’re all here in one piece. Thanks.”
I never thought that word could hold so much acid.
We’re both exhausted.
It’s been a long day, a long season.
“I did this for you. To help you. Everything.”
For a split second, her anger fades into sadness.
“I said thanks, didn’t I?” She sighs. “Look, I’ve had enough of other people deciding what should happen. I’m good now. You don’t have to wait up for me, unless you really want to.”
“I will,” I mutter.
Reluctantly, I step back.
She brushes past me again, and this time I don’t stop her.
Fuck.
My chest itches. I scratch it like I can wipe away the burning scars she’s left behind.
Another door off to the side opens as she reaches for it, and a nervous-looking man with thin dark hair above his upper lip greets us.
“Thrilled you could make it, Miss Blackthorn,” he says with a polite nod for me.
I recognize him from my research. Eric Talbot might look unassuming, but his résumé is exemplary. He’s overseen plenty of precious objects coming through this museum without ever having a serious crime happen on his watch.
That should be reassuring, yet I’m still twitchier than a live wire.
Predictably, that bite in my knees deepens, and I ignore it.
“Mr. Talbot, it’s a pleasure.” Cleo shakes his hand. The briefcase hangs in her other hand now, and I keep my eye on it as I glance behind at the street through the glass.
Nothing looks out of place here, inside or out.
Maybe I really am too worried, keyed up by mistakes with Cleo instead.
“Please come to my office,” the curator says warmly. Over his shoulder, I get a glimpse of marble hallways with regal red carpet, people milling around behind velvet ropes, the area where the public museum exhibits start. “Is it in there?”
Talbot’s eyes stop on the briefcase.
“It is,” Cleo says.
“Marvelous.” He speaks like he’s right out of some Dickens play. “It’s so thrilling to have something so precious. I’m delighted you’ve given us the opportunity to display it.”
His hand twitches, like he wants to reach out and take it.
No, not a fucking chance.
“Shouldn’t you wait for the office?” I ask, glancing back at the street through the glass doors. Nothing suspicious, but his urgency rankles me.
“Oh, yes, of course.” Mr. Talbot gives us both an easy smile. “I got a touch carried away. I’m sure you can understand why. Please, right this way!”
“Has Fairfax arrived?” I ask as I follow them. I don’t want anyone following us in if I can help it.
“He has.” The curator’s expression doesn’t change as he leads us into what looks like a large reception room. “He’s waiting for us now, right through here.”
My feet sink into the carpet, and I glance into a few other back rooms as we pass by. Open doors lead to enormous storage rooms where items are being studied and unpacked. If I wanted to steal, this place is a goldmine.
It should be impossible.
More black half globes on the ceiling conceal cameras at regular intervals. Unobtrusive, subtle, and spaced out to cover everything.
So far, so good.
But it doesn’t stop that lead churn in my gut.
When we reach a pair of gold detailed double doors leading to what must be Talbot’s office, he stops and gives me a tight smile.
“We won’t be long, if you’d like to wait out here, Mr. Verity.” He gestures to a couple chairs and a small table in the hall.
And leave her alone? Hell no.
That lead turns to lava.
Before I can utter a word, Cleo steps back, holding up a hand, her eyes bright and pleading.
“You heard him. End of the line. We made it,” she says, her voice clear and carrying over to where Talbot waits at the door.
“You can’t be serious.” I keep my voice quiet, not wanting him—or worse, Fairfax—to hear what’s going on. “You can’t just walk in there alone.”
“I can and I will. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Please. Please don’t make this messy.
Please don’t hurt me again.
Her eyes glitter with determination—and behind it, hurt.
A brutal pain I don’t know how to fix stops years of stone-cold professionalism in its tracks. I feel my mind splinter.
“Clee—” I clear my throat roughly.
“Just one little meeting, Holden, and we’re done. I’ll be right back.” She glances at Talbot, who’s staring at the wall impatiently with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “I’ve got this.” She sticks her hand out at me. “For real, thank you for everything.”
I stare at her hand, paralyzed.
“It’s my job to stay with you.” Hollow words spoken by soulless lips.
She drops the hand and scowls. “Whatever, I tried. Just wait here.”
Talbot jumps into action like she called him. “If you’d like, I can have a few additional security staff wait outside with him,” he says, flashing me a look as he reaches for a radio by his belt.
Fucking unbelievable.
And she turns away, her cinnamon hair slashing down her shoulders like a curtain call, right before that gold door opens and they step into the unknown.
Every instinct howls at me to charge in, don’t leave her alone.
But she begged me to let her have her moment. She pleaded to let this end with a little goddamned grace, and we both want that, don’t we?
As a couple buff guards appear at the end of the hall with their shoulders squared, staring me down, I throw myself into one of the small padded red-and-white chairs.
I stare at my phone, idly scrolling. A few short clips from Kit showing off a visit to a gardening store with my mother.
I countdown, mentally tracking every second.
Twenty minutes.
That’s all I have in me.
I’ll either see Cleo Blackthorn for the last time as she walks out, safe and sound, or else I’ll tear this place down to its studs.