“Do you?” he challenges. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re plotting five hundred ways you could make him disappear.”
Fuck. He knows me too well.
“All I’m saying is, if you win him over, he could be a useful ally to get her back. What’s that saying about flies and honey?”
“Or I could just kidnap her and lock her in my penthouse.” I shrug.
“Because that worked out so well for you last time.”
I tear my eyes off Ember and Max, dragging my attention back to my second-in-charge, who looks far too smug for my liking. “You’re an asshole.”
“But I’m your asshole.”
The speaker crackles, and the room quietens. Looks like it’s time to get this show on the road.
The auction room is large enough for most attendees to sit in the neatly placed seats, but I wouldn’t call it big by any stretch of the imagination.
I take a seat at the back, a few rows behind Ember, where I can keep an eye on her.
Max is seated beside her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders protectively, and the sight has me imagining all the ways I could tear that arm clean off.
He’s taunting me on purpose, and it’s really beginning to piss me off.
Killian sits next to me, scrolling aimlessly on the phone that doesn’t work down here. Having both of us here tonight is a risk, but it’s necessary. Mostly because apparently, I need supervision to not do something stupid like throw Ember over my shoulder and take her home where no man can ever look at her ever again.
When the hell did I become such a caveman?
Movement by the door catches my attention, and I watch as Lucas and his second-in-charge, Cain, walk into the room. They’re both wearing full masks that cover their faces, but I’d know that bald head covered in tattoos anywhere.
Lucas locks eyes with me, and his amusement is clear.
He needs to die.
I’m even more sure of that than I am that I need to rip Max’s arms off for touching what belongs to me.
Lucas and Cain take a seat across the aisle and two rows ahead of Killian and me, and I don’t miss the moment he clocks Ember.
“He won’t touch her,” Killian promises, as if he can read my mind.
“He better fucking not,” I growl.
The auction begins, but I never take my eyes off Ember.
Her shoulders are straight, her gaze locked on the stage as she watches item after item be auctioned off. From where I’m sitting, I can just see the way her fingers tighten around the paddle every so often before Max whispers something in her ear and she gives him a slight nod.
In the rare moments I’m able to shove down my jealousy, I consider the two of them. This is a strange job for her to be on, but not one that she won’t provide value to.
She’s done a handful of jobs that I know of over the last few months under her new identity, and each one has been vastly different from anything she ever did for Lucas, proving once again that he was stifling her obvious talent.
Because where most of the world likely wouldn’t think stealing takes much talent, anyone who has studied the jobs Ember has pulled off would beg to differ.
“The next item on the block is an original Van Gogh. This painting has been in a vault for the last twenty years, and the previous owner has decided it deserves a new home where it can be appreciated,” the auctioneer explains.
These kinds of pieces always show up at auctions just like this one, where the public will never get to see them. It belongs in an art gallery, but instead, some rich asshole will hang it above their mantel, hoarding it for themselves.
“Starting the bidding at a nice round one million.”
Ember’s arm shoots up, and my brows raise.
