22. Chapter 19 - Lauchlan
W hat a feckin’ day.
Working for Marco Alvarez, even fake-working for him, was a soul-sucking lot of drivel. After successfully completing the app assignment, he’d sold me to Xandy Analo, and now he wanted to send me off on another special assignment to California for a few weeks.
Blondie’s Blackbird had almost completed the final steps to break into Marco’s most incriminating files—or at least, what we suspected were his most incriminating files—so I was just twiddling my thumbs waiting for the last shoe to drop to unleash chaos into little Marky Mark’s world .
I was working on the FBI angle, too. My software couldn’t unravel the e-signature, so I took a different approach. Something ludicrous, with a two percent chance of coming through, but it was worth a shot. I was trolling the FBI employee database; siphoning through all active agents in Sequoia and the ones who were on assignment within 200 miles of Carlisle. It was a complete goose chase—there wasn’t a clear connection that the FBI had requested Hillary as their target, and the likelihood the request came through someone local? Almost batshit crazy.
Been called worse, and it was a good excuse to use my latest creation. The software was so illegal I’d be sent to prison for a much harder sentence than I would for stealing Hillary’s naked chick, so I was taking a risk to use it. But I was a dog with a T-bone with loose ends, and this one was one puzzle I was determined to chew the marrow out of.
Especially since the whole nature of my assignment was giving me heartburn.
Younger me had loved the chase of a good con. Pulling the wool over arseholes’ eyes, taking something from right out under their noses—the game was a good bit of fun and I always walked away with a pile of loot for my troubles.
I wasn’t used to this odd crisis of conscience. After Hillary Lane’s monumental confession in the dungeon, I could admit I was feeling a little… hesitant about stealing her painting and never seeing her again.
Fat chance of that happening, really. She’d hunt me down to the ends of the earth; I was sure of it. Theft surely wasn’t up there on the same scale as raping and murdering your best friend right in front of you, but I’d just witnessed what lengths the woman would go to get revenge on the men who’d wronged her; I wasn’t eager to stick my neck out just so she could plunge a knife into it.
Still, I had a job to do—The Six had spared Ma for failing her con with the Cascade Falls bloke because of extenuating circumstances, but they wouldn’t spare me if I fucked this one up. Too much lay on the line—for the pot of cash at the end of the rainbow, and for the high-value client who’d hired us. Reputation was all one had in this business; I wouldn’t be getting a free pass on account of my feelings .
Wasn’t sure what those were exactly. My dick knew it liked her, and my head enjoyed that snappy wit and sharp mind even more. She was fucking terrifying in an exhilarating sort of way, and now I knew she was capable of murder—well, I was a lot less afraid and a whole lot more intrigued by my Billionaire Blondie.
As long as I wasn’t the one she was murdering, of course. Stealing a painting might put me in that category, though…
My life was a hell of a lot easier without an angel on my shoulder. My pal, the Devil, seemed to have disappeared from his comfortable perch, leaving me with annoying chatter from the ‘good guy.’
And I was about to get more annoying chatter; Ma was insistent she needed to see me—Today.
I flashed the electronic card on the keypad and the elevator took me up to her suite. “Family chat”, she said, always code for ‘we need to talk.’
What about, I hadn’t a clue. My job was progressing. She was working an angle with some rich guy in town, since she no longer did any work for The Six, and we still had dinner once a week to check in. I hadn’t lived most of my life near my mother, so she was still a bit of a mystery.
When I walked into the apartment, she stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows, looking down, sipping on a glass of wine.
“Oy, Ma,” I said in greeting, and leaned in to kiss her cheek before settling myself on the couch. “I can’t stay long. I’ve got a few meetings today with the cover job. What’s the craic?”
She shifted her weight and slowly turned around to face me, a pinched look of distaste on her lips.
“ How are you getting on with the Lane assignment?”
Okay, no preamble. I stared up at her, furrowing my brows. “Good, Ma. You know this. I’ve found the painting and—”
Her eyes—blue, not green like mine—lit up, and I didn’t miss the greedy glint in them.
“You found it!” she screeched. A drop of wine sloshed out of the goblet and onto my cheek, she was so giddy. “Locke, when are you taking it?”
I shrugged a disinterested shoulder, but I was, in fact, very interested in the level of interest this woman was giving off.
“Dunno. The time isn’t right yet. I don’t have my exit plan in place, and I’m going to need—”
“I have a proposal for you.” She slid onto the couch cushion beside mine, and I realized the cup of wine in her hand was not her first. Or her fourth, by the thick smell of booze coming off her lips.
Christ, it was just after noon. Had my mother become a drunk when I wasn’t looking?
I looked at her expectantly, waiting for another cloud of booze-soaked air to hit my face when she spoke.
“Don’t bring it back to The Six,” she said, her voice barely audible. An almost maniacal look crouched in her eyes. “Bring it to me. I have a contact on the black market ready to sell it—and I’ll give you forty percent of the cut.”
“Forty percent to swindle The Six? Are you mad?” I leaped up from the couch and spun on my heel to stare down at my insane mother. “That’s a death sentence, and you know it.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” Ma pouted, biting her lower lip in feigned thought; she was clearly trying to swindle me into this idea. “Forty million would set you up for the rest of your life. Go disappear to Thailand, or Costa Rica. Find a girl and live out the rest of your days.”
“ So, you can live out the rest of yours.” I scoffed bitterly. “This is to line your pockets, not mine.”
Her gaze hardened for one tiny second, betraying her true feelings, before watering. Like my words had mortally wounded her. My Ma was attempting to con me into conning The Six, from a con I’d already been hired to con.
This was the stuff of a Monty Python movie.
“I want a better life for you than what your Da and I gave you.” She sniffled like the master manipulator she was and stared up at me through mascara-clumped eyelashes. “Is that so hard to believe?”
Ah, yes, yes it was. Ma’s interests in me were limited, at best, ever since she took off to America when I was a boy. But I’d play her game.
“Nah, it isn’t.” I settled back into the couch beside her and drew her hand into mine. “I’m gonna need more information, Ma. Who’s your contact? What’s your exit plan? I don’t want you out in the world alone, either.”
“I won’t be alone, Locke.” She reached for a tissue on the end table and delicately wiped her nose, then folded her hands into her lap; I waited for her to carry on with it. “I met a man I’m going to take with me. We’ll live out our days in a little Tahitian hut on the beach and I’ll never look back.”
Fitting—she’d just confirmed I was not a part of the exit plan—as I’d have guessed. This assignment was her ticket away from the disgrace she’d earned in our world, and she expected me to throw away my life to hand it to her.
“Let me think about it,” I said eventually. I rose and offered her an impish grin—as if this were just another exciting challenge I was considering. Then I headed to the door.
“Give me a week, yah? I’ll have my own exit figured out by then.”
“ Okay, Locke.” She followed me to the entryway and pecked my cheek. The soft smile on her features told me she well and truly thought this was in the bag for her.
Even my mother would drive a knife into my back if given the chance. Didn’t matter if it was metaphorical. I took the stairs this go around, tramping down them two and three at a time, my footfalls bouncing around the concrete stairwell like the thoughts in my head.
No way was I considering it. I wasn’t about to add The Six to the list of enemies who wanted me dead—I was a ballsy git, but I wasn’t stupid.
But Ma was no damsel, and if this was what she was after, she was going to move every mountain in Sequoia to get it. I was going to have to move fast.
Instead of blaring music through my car speakers on my drive back to Hillary’s condo, I rode in silence, sorting through all the strings I’d laid out in a line.
Marco’s servers. Soon, I’d have access to every file and be able to leak all of his wrongdoings into the world. I wanted him dead, but I wanted him dead by shank in a prison cell. I wanted him to suffer for months with anxiety, knowing he was going to be sent to some maximum security filled with murders and rapists, and then I wanted the same to happen to him in the coldness of an eight-by-eight windowless room.
Hillary’s painting was more complicated. I knew where it was and had direct access to her apartment. Now I just needed the code to her secret room, and I’d be able to take off with it. But Kellan and Aaron had never been a part of my plan, and those fuckers would sooner cut off my head than let me get away with hurting her.
I shivered as I considered Mr. Roboto’s preferred method of torture. Was I willing to be shredded into ribbons for some crappy piece of 20th century art?
Her ogre companions aside—was I willing to face her rage head-on? I liked Blondie. A lot. She challenged me and made i t seem like she saw through me, even if I haven’t been telling her the truth half of the time. She’d be one hell of an enemy, but she could be one hell of a friend.
A man could always make use of a beautiful billionaire ready and willing to cut off heads in vengeance for him.
I snorted at the picture of Hillary doing just that in a Wonder Woman -type costume, except this one was black and bright pink, tight along her torso with a pleated pink skirt and thigh-high black boots, and a Batwoman helmet, showing off sexy pink lips beneath the mask. It was this man’s hottest wet dream.
What was my alternative? We weren’t all going to take on Alvarez and then become one big dysfunctional family. A Cartel son, a banished billionaire, and me? Even the worst jokes didn’t have that kind of punchline.
A secure message pinged through my phone and disrupted my disjointed inner monologue. My heart pounded like I’d dropped a hit of ecstasy as I read it.
Blackbird’s work was complete. A tasty little bug was working its way through every encrypted file on Marco’s personal server. Within three days, we’d have everything we needed to take the fucker down.
I had three days to make some monumental, life-changing decisions.
Fuck.
I sat in my Blondie’s condo underground car park several hours later. Waiting for her to show up, I scrolled through my phone to pass the time.
Aaron was already up there, completing his house arrest like a dutiful little boyfriend. After seeing his side of psycho, I wasn’t exactly eager to spend some one-on-one time with him.
It was bad enough I’d had to give up my bed. Hillary hadn’t invited either of us into her bed on account of the seventeen different things she needed to sleep, so I was now sleeping on the couch.
As much as I loved that couch for lazy napping when the mood struck, it was shyte for an eight-hour snooze, and when I woke this morning, my back felt like my sexy Barbarian had used it as his own personal punching bag.
Maybe I could convince the robot to convince Hillary to let him sleep with her—he’d have better luck with it, given they were obviously moon-eyed for each other; Then I could have my bed back.
Win-win.
My software had done its job, and I was sifting through the fifty-odd photos of known FBI agents working in the Carlisle area. Apparently, this city was a hotbed of white-collar crime in America; the FBI loved hanging out to capture the big, bad billionaires in action.
My brows furrowed as I examined each person, wracking my brain if I had seen any of them anywhere. Facial recognition was a skill I’d honed—one couldn’t be a good con man if you forgot a name or a face—but not a single one of them looked remotely familiar.
Until number 37. My jaw practically dislocated at what could have been the broody Viking’s LinkedIn profile picture. His hair was shorter, just above his ears, and a suit jacket and tie covered up the badass tattoos on his arms and torso. But that was Kellan Carlos, all right.
How in the ever-loving fuck was that possible?
The man I’d fucked—multiple times—was a double agent? Was the American justice system truly so corrupt they’d knowingly hired a cartel felon, or was this some kind of power play the cartel paid for? I didn’t know nearly enough about gang politics to care, other than I’d been spending my time with an FBI agent while trying to complete a very high-profile con job.
I p ushed rewind on every interaction we’d had from start to finish—from the first fuck, to Jediah’s party, the fight I walked into—everything leading up to now. If Hillary didn’t know about this, I’d eat my shirt. I was new on the scene, but these guys had a history; if Kellan had kept this from Hillary, I’d invite him to my next con, because he was truly an expert swindler to pull that one off.
I stared dumbly at the photo for a few more minutes. Would Kellan kill me as a cartel man who was in love with Hillary, or would he bring me in as a perp for the FBI? Would he lock me up and then arrange for someone else to pull my guts out of my arsehole from the inside, so he could kill two birds with one stone?
Fear wasn’t a familiar emotion, but the sharp sting in my belly was most definitely fear. I was no longer one hundred percent confident I could work my way out of this one without some severe consequences to my health.
I had to move; fast. I got out of the car and took the private elevator up to Blondie’s suite. I needed to take another look at the keypad—see if there was some way I could bypass it or hack it or—
When I strode through Hillary’s entryway and into her kitchen, I halted in my tracks.
Blondie and Mr. Roboto were seated on the couches in grim silence, as if waiting for me.
Sharp tingles pricked the back of my neck as I looked back and forth between them, my eyes settling on the artwork laid out on the coffee table.
The painting. My painting. The nude girl worth $150 million just laying about like it was a toddler’s drawing.
“Lauchlan,” Hillary cooed, using my full name; I was really in trouble. She beckoned me over to the couch cushion beside her, her blue eyes flashing with dark challenge. “Take a seat.”
Not the first time I’d heard that command from her lips. Probably wasn’t the time for that joke.
Wor dlessly, I bit my tongue and did as she asked, plopping down on the couch cushion and leaving a bit of space between us. If the viper was going to strike me today, I wasn’t just going to give it my jugular.
Aaron stared back at me from the opposing furniture, his dark eyes staring emotionlessly, like the robot he was. Better than vicious hate, I s’posed, but—
“Take it.”
Hillary waved her wine glass toward the painting on the table in front of us. Her cool stare gave nothing away, like she and Aaron had attended the same Robotic School for Billionaires.
I stirred uncomfortably in my seat, trying to grab hold of the charming mask of indifference I always kept in my back pocket, but I couldn’t seem to find it.
“Not sure what you mean, Blondie.” I tutted lightly, using every bit of training I ever had to keep myself together. “I don’t need any more nude women in my life, if that’s what you’re after.”
“Cut the shit, Lauchlan.” That beautiful blue gaze glazed into a frosty polar vortex. “No more secrets. That’s what you’re after, so take it.” She gestured again to the priceless painting still encased in its protective glass condom.
From the first moment I’d watched her at the bar over a whiskey, I’d considered Hillary a smart woman; a cunning woman; fucking beautiful and sinful... and a force . I never thought I could best her because she was weak and gullible. I thought I could best her because I was the best .
It was a hard lesson to swallow that she’d figured me out long before I’d done the same for her.
The jig was up. How I played this would determine if I walked out of the apartment as a human man, or as a slew of ribbons for Bellatrix’s dress.
What did I want? I realized I couldn’t answer that question without including her in it. I wanted to complete my ass ignment and have her in my life. I wanted to seek revenge on Marco, and be by her side to see him carted off to prison.
I wanted a life with people who understood me and chose me, anyway. I didn’t want an island hut all alone with all the riches in the world.
I’d been envious as all hell as I watched her friend’s family as an outsider. An entire group of misfits had found something in each other and made a home. And damn it if that seed hadn’t been planted in my pretty little head.
“What if I don’t want it anymore, Blondie? What if I found something I want more, instead?”
No amount of torture training could keep my heart from beating out of my chest as I held her gaze. Aaron stayed motionless outside of our fixated little bubble, but I’d no sooner trust him not to stab me within seconds if Hillary gave him the nod.
“And what would that be?” Still no emotion, still no insight into her devious mind. The truth might set me free, but it might also get me killed.
“Well, I want the job done,” I replied smoothly, staring into those turbulent seas as I let the honest words roll off my tongue. “I want Marco Alvarez to rot in hell, and you and I be the overlords of his dungeon. I want to complete my assignment, so I don’t get myself murdered by some pretty powerful baddies, and then I want to figure out what the rest of my life looks like—but I know this, Blondie. I’d like to keep you in it.”
“And how do you propose you do that?”
I drew in a breath and held it in my lungs, contemplating that answer. I repeated the phrase she’d said to me not so many days ago.
“Blondie, I’m just treading water here while I’m tethered to you lot. Once Alvarez was taken out, I was going to figure it out then.”
Sti ll nothing in those icy depths of hers. Did she get the same training I had? This woman was hard as stone.
“I see.”
She said the words as if she really saw me; I didn’t know what to make of it. I didn’t want to read into it too heavily and find myself headless, but—
“I’ve known all along you were after something from me, Lucky.” Her words interrupted my melting brain spiral. “So, this isn’t some kind of ‘epic betrayal’ where my heart is broken and you’ve left me in pieces. I played you like you played me.”
My brows rose, and my heart stuttered in my chest. A con man being played by a mark? It was a testament to how fucked up I was. Knowing Hillary Lane had one upped me this whole time turned me on more than the hardest hit of Viagra. My dick ached in my pants despite the circumstances.
Had I finally met my match?
And why did that statement bring me this overwhelming sense of relief?
“I don’t have it in me to play you anymore. There’s too much at stake. So, decide—are you in or out? And if you’re out, Aaron is going to make sure you’re really out, if you catch my meaning.”
I finally grew my balls back with that threat. If we were moving forward based on any equal footing, this direction wasn’t it.
“I don’t know if being blackmailed with my life proves my allegiance to you, Blondie. Do yeh want me to stay because you want me to, or because you’re forcing my hand? Which is it?”
She cocked her head at Aaron, and they seemed to have a private conversation in ones and zeros across the room. I didn’t make any move to look at him. He would do whatever she told him to—she was the one I needed to convince.
“ Tell me something real, then. Something that will fuck you over just as hard. Then, we’ll be even.” I posed my challenge, watching as she put the wineglass down on the coffee table, awfully close to the priceless artifact, and folded her arms across her chest.
“You want to start a relationship built on trust?” The words were edged in jagged defiance. “I knew you were trying to con me, and yet, I still brought you into my deepest, darkest hell, and presented you with the poison to kill me. What’s yours?”
So, a little less blackmail, but still material to use as blackmail. Blondie had a funny way of sealing the deal, but really, what else was there? Other than signing our promises in blood—wouldn’t put it past the gruesome tailor over there—I couldn’t see any other way forward.
Tilting my head to look up at the ceiling, I blew out all the breath in my lungs and scrubbed my hands over my face.
Now or never, then.
“I was handpicked for this job. Didn’t question it, because I’d been wanting to come to America for years to get close to Alvarez, and I wasn’t gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. Ma already lived here. You were just a beautiful mark, and acquiring high-valued items is my specialty. Everything came together easily.
“Today, I visited my Ma’s place. She’s a part of this life, too, but forcibly retired. Had a job go south years ago, and now she’s champing at the bit to get back in the game. She wants me to double-cross my employer and sell it to her black-market contact, and give me four times what I’d get for it otherwise. She wants to retire with her new beau and disappear.”
I waved a hand at the innocent little fortune resting between us.
“I’m not doing it. I don’t con for the money; I’ve made my little nest egg already. I con for the thrill. You were the ultima te thrill, Blondie. Never expected for anything to come out of it. I’m two months behind on this job because I don’t want it to end. I don’t want you to end.”
Her smooth mask creased into a series of crumpled wrinkles, like a cute, little—but dangerous—puppy dog.
“Who’s your mother, Lucky? Give me that, and I’ll find a reason to trust you.”
Betray my mother to a vengeful billionaire to save my skin. Was I that callous? I was a lot of deplorable adjectives, but handing over my Ma to be butchered was a line I couldn’t cross.
“I can’t do that, Blondie.” I met her hawkish stare with a sorrowful one of my own. “I’d have to be a sorry sack of shyte to sell out my mother. I’m not all keen on the woman, but I don’t want her dead, either.”
Was that respect in her eyes, or indigestion? Impossible to tell with the furrowed brow and pursed lips and narrowed eyes—her poker face wasn’t neutral; it looked like she’d swallowed a lemon. But she hadn’t sicced Aaron’s blade on me yet, so that had to mean something.
Her sexy little killer body stood from the couch and faced me, a ferocious warrior in a pretty blue dress and pink lipstick.
“Here’s the deal. I’m having this painting shipped today. It’s going on a boat to a secure facility where you will never find it. So, you’ve lost this contract.”
She pointed a delicate finger at the doorway behind me.
“I’ll let you leave right now. You can disappear forever. Take that little nest egg and find somewhere to bury it on the other side of the world. No questions asked. You have no evidence of anything you’ve seen here, and knowing your history, you won’t risk going to any authorities, anyway. Leave now, and you can be scott-free.”
Blackbird had already confirmed everything with Alvarez was already in motion. I could walk away knowing even w ithout my involvement from here on out, he would get what was coming to him. And yet…
The offer was far more generous than I would have expected. I mulled it over briefly before asking the obvious question.
“And if I stay?”
“No more secrets,” she repeated. In rapid Spanish, she exchanged a few words with Aaron, who agreed with what she was saying, nodding with deference before turning a hard, murderous stare on me.
“You’ve proven yourself to be valuable to all of us. No more secrets, and you can be part of the team. After Alvarez is off the board, we need to take out Antonio. After Antonio, I don’t know what the agenda is, but it's going to be arduous and brutal and bloody. Are you in, or are you a free man?”
What a hell of a question. But an easy one to answer.
I hung all of my bullshit training on the proverbial coat hook and spoke with all the sincerity I could muster, swiveling my head to make the promise to both of them.
“I’m in.”