16. Chapter 13 - Lauchlan
“ B ellamy, you dodgy prat, how are yeh?”
I held my cell between my shoulder and my cheek like Charlie Sheen in an eighties film as I adjusted my cufflinks, checking myself out in Blondie’s guest bathroom mirror.
Beard trimmed, hair styled, devilish twinkle in the eye at the ready? Check, check, and check.
I was getting pretty comfortable in my new digs; a beautiful rich and powerful woman had kidnapped me, branded me, and was now holding me hostage between her two boyfriends and buying me Christmas presents of my favorite American candy.
Terrible life, that.
I h adn’t heard from Bellamy in a few months, not since he’d handed me this assignment. I’d known him since I was a wee boy, him being one of Da’s dearest friends, and the man always gave me the best jobs.
“How’s the job, Locky-boy? Haven’t heard a word from yeh. Been taken in by the American beauties?”
One American beauty; quite literally taken in.
“Great work takes time, Bellamy, you know I don’t rush perfection.”
His rough laugh bellowed out from the end of the line, years of smoking fags like a chimney barking from his lips.
“Right,” he chortled, the sound suspiciously muffled by a long intake of breath–fags again–before his tone turned unnaturally serious.
“Wanted to warn yeh, son. Someone’s looking into your assignment.”
I stilled my primping and considered my words.
Hillary looking into me wasn’t surprising–expected, really–but I was confident she didn’t know my real identity. She was competent, crafty, and damn well brilliant when it came to busting balls and building empires; if she knew about me, she would have already crushed my tender babies like water balloons in her tiny fists.
My dick swelled in my trousers at the thought–fucking masochist.
But Bellamy hadn’t said ‘me’—he’d said ‘assignment’. Which meant someone knew my real identity, or someone knew someone had targeted Hillary.
“Oh?” I managed, needing more information before I hung myself with it.
“Six got a call a while ago–man looking to target your target and was right disappointed when he couldn’t get what he wanted. The odds of two contracts on the same person? Never happened before.” The hissy sound of smoke blown into the speaker filled my ear.
“ Now, one of our networks was hacked–our guys tell us it was by a hired third party and traced back to an FBI server. Could be nothing, but I’d watch your back.”
“Can you send me all the data? I’ll run it through my own channels.”
Bellamy’s laugh echoed back at me. “Right, all your ‘techy’ stuff.” He emphasized tech as if it were a joke, but his tone turned solemn again.
“Ever think of leavin’ this life?” Another long drag of the fag crackled into the phone. “Since your Da died, I mean. You’ve got some smarts behind yeh, you could start something new when this is all—”
“Bellamy, my boy, I love this life,” I interrupted, not for the first time since this wasn’t a new conversation. “When I’m sent to hell, it’ll be a wall-less office in a room full of accountants. I might as well live the dream while I’m on this side of the dirt.”
I meant it, too. Conning, the thrill of the chase, the subterfuge, the dance of it all? A man in his right mind with the skill sets I had would never choose to leave it for a mainstream job of listening to Barb chatter about her cats or watching Nelson trim his toenails in the break room.
The only way I’d be leaving this life was in a black body bag, and really? What a fitting end to a killer heist.
“Well,” Bellamy said dubiously, “keep me posted on your progress. We’re going to need to wrap this one up soon, Locky. We’re getting pressure from the client for quick results. It’s not like you to take a few months for this kind of job.”
“It’ll be done,” I promised. I adjusted my tie one final time before stepping out of the bathroom to grab my overcoat. “Have faith, Bellamy. I’ve never let you down, yet.”
“No, yeh haven’t.” Bellamy sighed at the admission. “Slan, Locky.”
“ Slan.” I returned the greeting and hung up, eagerly awaiting the files to do my own investigation into whoever was looking into me.
An electric current swept up my spine at the thrill of a little unexpected game of cat-and-mouse. Another ‘pro’ for the old ‘con man as a career’ tally. Couldn’t get this kind of excitement working for Deloitte or some dodgy insurance company.
Glancing at my watch, I hurried down the hall to head to my other special assignment—the bollocks "penetration testing" for the git Xander Manalo.
What kind of name was Xander, anyway? Twat-waffling turd.
It was my last morning for the project—I’d successfully made my way into every weak point of their network, and had issued my professional advice on what to work on to minimize their risk.
Marco Alvarez was taking this shiny Audi for a test drive, and I was just waiting for the real job—the one where he asked me to use my superpowers for something shady. Little did he know, I used my superpowers for shady shyte every day. He hadn’t broached the subject yet, and I was a bit disappointed—I wanted another mark on his coffin to take him down—but it would be any day now; my spidey senses were tingling.
I needed some distance from this Elon Musk wanna be, anyway. Being tied down was as miserable as a thorny dildo, and three weeks was the exact amount of patience I had for that kind of job. I was antsy to say a silent ‘fuck you’ to Xandy and get on to my afternoon meeting.
Blondie was finally introducing me to her hacker. We’d put our heads together, finish the botnet I’d been building. Then finally—finally—I’d crash Marco’s systems and steal every piece of information I could get my greedy little hands on.
I p rincipally wanted access to his bank accounts—the secret ones with private transfers would be best, but I’d take his personal ones and ruin him that way, too. Cut off the head, and all that.
I’d already selected every charity in the country who’d be receiving a sizable anonymous check—with a side cut for me, of course. I wasn’t a bleeding heart; I was getting revenge for Shayna bringing the gobshite down, and revenge for my heartbreak by lining my pockets with his comeuppance.
Shayna . I ignored the twinge in my chest as I saw her smile in my mind; I usually pictured her pouting in some sort of teenage hissy fit to ease the ache, but it was her smile that broke me. Her smile was a brand that still burned to the touch.
Nope, not diving into that pot of piss today. Back to Blondie.
When the holy show with Alvarez was over, I’d buy my Blondie something nice with the windfall. An island, maybe? Never bought a present for a billionaire before. I’d have to think about it.
It was only fair—when I finally found that pretty little painting, it would be traded on the black market for a cool hundred million, at least—and I’d get at least five percent of that. I didn’t know the going rates for tropical islands these days, but I’d see if I could cut a deal with Mr. Roboto to chip in a few million.
The man was as soft for my lass as a pot of pudding. I’d have to work on winning him over a little better. The sexy Colombian could sit on my face and I’d call him Daddy any day of the week, but he looked at me like he’d drown me in a vat of acid the moment Hillary gave him permission.
Challenge accepted, Daddy Roboto. I’m going to get under your skin, and you’re going to love it.
I could drive myself today with Conan and Blondie off doing something important—small luxuries—and I took advant age of the quiet on the short commute to the pompous twit’s office.
Schmoozing and charming the pants off the masses was my strongest skill, but I was mostly a solitary guy. Living in Hillary’s space and having a daily escort was driving me a bit mad.
Sometimes, a man just wanted to sit on the couch in his underwear in peace.
Unbidden, thoughts of Conan, Blondie, and Daddy Roboto popped into my head; the little sandwich show in the dungeon had definitely piqued my interest. I’d tugged my dick in the shower as a little Christmas present to myself, imagining every way I could convince each of them to use me.
As long as I was stuck with the three of them, I needed to get in on that action, or I’d have a chapped dick and a raw fist soon.
Shutting down those thoughts, I arrived and turned on autopilot for my summary meeting with Xander. Once I was given the green light to return to my app project, I hosted a quick team meeting with my merry band of misfits before heading back to the Queen’s palace for our meeting with Blackbird.
I loved the cloak and dagger of it all. “Blackbird.” I wondered if they’d heard of my codename, the one I’d earned as a cocky-as-shyte college grad with a score to prove. Madra Rua —The Red Fox. I’d have to ask.
When I arrived at the condo, my beautiful blonde bombshell was waiting for me in the living room. She looked tempting as a goddess in her plum power suit and four-inch heels. When she rose to greet me, she was exactly my height; I stared into the baby blues I saw in my dreams and grinned like an excited schoolboy.
“Where’s Blackbird?” I clapped my hands together, ready to put these final few pieces in place.
“ She’s not meeting us in person, Lucky.” Hillary’s lips twitched in amusement before she turned on her heel, leading me to her bedroom and into her massive closet.
She placed her palm on a hidden screen behind a rack of coats, and the secret sex room opened up. The panel slid open to reveal a square space, ten by ten by my reckoning, an entire wall of computer screens on one side. I followed her in, impressed by the top-notch hardware and equipment, and plopped myself into the computer chair in front of me.
“Nope.” My queen chastised, popping the ‘p’ as she stared down at me. “That’s my seat. You can stand for this conversation.”
Feck me, she was a bossy brat sometimes. I was tempted to pull her down into my lap, but I thought better of it.
Wasn’t wise to goad a woman in her own cage when she could kick my arse.
“Aye, aye, Captain.” I mock saluted and stood, my gaze scanning around the dimly lit room as she moved into the seat and logged in to her system.
I turned to the rear wall and froze, my eyes catching on the prize.
My prize. The prize.
Blood pounded in my ears. The painting, encased in acrylic plexiglass to protect it from the elements. Its oil-based colors blinded me with their brilliance despite the darkness of the room.
“Reclining Nude,” by Amedeo Modigliani, over a hundred years old, and one of the most celebrated Italian paintings. I could paint a nude woman with her breasts hanging out and it would be considered “lewd’” but my Blondie had purchased the artwork from a private owner after it had been a featured exhibition at the MET a few years ago—for a cool $150 million. American.
“ Ah, Blondie?” I schooled my voice to a smooth, curious tone. “Why do you have a priceless painting in a broom closet?”
She spun around in her chair, and her eyes flitted between my own and the naked girl. They appraised me with indifference, like priceless artwork in secret spy closets was a normal thing. “It was an investment, Lucky. I protect my investments.”
“Don’t rich people hoard these things in vaults like dragons?” I joked, unable to rip my eyes away from my goldmine. After months of searching, it was really fucking here, and I was about to become a very rich man.
“I prefer to keep it close by,” she responded airily, turning back to the monitor to input yet another password. “No sunlight, temperature and humidity controlled. Seeing as it’s my most valuable possession—money-wise,” she amended, with one last click on the keyboard before turning back to face me.
“So, you didn’t pay a literal fortune to put it in a shrine in your sitting room, to show off your riches to all your friends?” I kept my voice light and mildly interested, despite the wild horses racing through my heart.
Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, she scoffed dismissively, but I saw the quirk of her lips as she hid her smile. “Lucky, everyone in the world knows I’m rich. I don’t need a painting to prove it.” She eyed the monitor, which was apparently still loading, before folding her arms and turning her attention back to me.
“Empires fall every day. Stock markets crash. I am one critical decision away from financial ruin—we all are. So, investing cash into an appreciating asset is an investment strategy. If I ever need to sell it quickly, I know I’ll quickly double my money, which is a much better return than if I ever put the same amount in the market.”
Letting out a low whistle, I had to appreciate the reasoning behind it, even if only a billionaire could say such things with a straight face and mean them. I couldn’t even make a joke about it; before I could respond, a blurred-out face appeared on the screen, some masking software in place to hide their identity.
“Blackbird,” Hillary started, apparently not in the mood for polite pleasantries today, “meet Lucky. We need your help on a project that’s top priority, and he’s going to explain it to you. Before we go further, though, you need to know that it’s extremely under the radar and could come with some severe consequences. Are you in?”
“Fuck, yeah.” Despite the voice modification software they were using to make their voice sound like Darth Vader, her enthusiasm bled through the line. Drug-like euphoria filled my limbs; every little dream of mine was about to come true.
I figured I’d be here a few more months with the way my search was going. Now, I had an elite hacker willing to finish what I’d started, and my prize was literally within reach of my fingertips.
Within a few weeks, I could be on a boat in the Mediterranean, my enemy destroyed, Shayna’s body laid to rest, and one hell of a richer man.
For the first time in my fuckin’ life, I felt a small tug of guilt in my gut. I wasn’t the sorry sap who got tied up with feelings. Hillary Lane could afford the loss; I had a job to do. My help with Alvarez would take down her enemy, so surely, we could work out a deal where she’d forgive me— after I bought her that island.
While she explained the plan to Blackbird, I searched Hillary’s face; the calm control and steely determination of a competent Queen in action.
I was lying to myself–she’d never forgive me. She valued loyalty more than anything else; I’d seen it in action with every action, and no amount of groveling or pina coladas would change my Blondie’s mind.
I ’d put off thinking about the inevitable, but now I had to face it head on. Was I willing to risk making an enemy out of Hillary Lane?
The more honest question was a wee bit harder to ask. Was I willing to walk away from my Blondie, who had captured every bit of my waking attention? Enemies I had aplenty—but beautiful, fierce, intelligent women who sat on my side of the insanity bench with the balls to follow through?
The answer made my life a hell of a lot more complicated.
My thoughts raced to Bellamy. Someone was investigating my assignment because they’d wanted to target Hillary, which brought about a bunch of loaded questions.
How many enemies did this woman have?
Who’d targeted her in the first place?
Was it personal, or was it just some horny prick who loved semi-accurate nude paintings and wasn’t willing to sell all his organs on the black market for it?
And why the fuck hadn’t I questioned any of this before? Hell of a time to develop a conscience.
The room had gone silent; I looked up to see Hillary and the blobbed out face of the new girl staring at me expectantly.
Blowing out a breath to clear my head, I flashed my most charming smile. I had some questions I needed answers to before I could scamper off like a handsome fox, which meant I’d be sticking out the job a little while longer.
“Sorry about that.” I spoke cheerfully, moving into my Blondie’s personal space to face Blackbird head-on. “Here’s what I’m going to need from you to destroy this fucker…”
I had some bloody decisions to make. But first… sweet, sweet revenge.