“This is outrageous treatment!” I shout, injecting a sense of entitlement into every word. “Do you have any idea how many auction houses would kill for my patronage?”
The guard on my right tightens his grip, twisting my arm until pain shoots up to my shoulder. “Shut up. Your privilege won’t help where you’re going.”
They steer me away from the main gallery, away from witnesses and the safety of the crowd. Each step takes me deeper into Halcyon Hall’s private quarters, where the rules of polite society vanish.
The taller guard’s radio crackles with a report. “Subject missing from containment. Repeat, merchandise missing from secure room.”
“Copy that.” The guard’s eyes cut to me with renewed suspicion. “We’ve got a suspect. Taking him to Harcourt now.”
My stomach churns with the knowledge that Lorenzo Vescari, my most precious persona, has reached its expiration date.
At least Jade got out. Whatever happens to me now, I’ve accomplished what I came here to do. One small act of decency in a life built on deception should make me feel better than it does.
“When my associates hear about this,” I continue, refusing to surrender Lorenzo’s indignation, “your employer will be blacklisted from every reputable auction in Europe.”
The second guard laughs. “Pretty sure blacklisting is the least of his concerns once he finds out what you’ve done.”
Ice slides down my spine. Do they have reason to suspect me? Or are they rounding up anyone suspicious? Either way, Lorenzo Vescari is about to face accusations his reputation cannot deflect.
We turn down another corridor, this one lined with gilt-framed portraits of stern-faced men and women. The deep burgundy carpet, scattered with gold fleur-de-lis, muffles our footsteps to whispers. Such opulence designed to hide such ugliness. A perfect metaphor for the art world I’ve inhabited for so long.
“You gentlemen are making a terrible mistake.” My voice softens, as if fatigue has dampened Lorenzo’s fire. “I was merely lost. This place is a maze.”
“Sure you were.” The shorter guard shoves me forward, and I stumble. “Just happened to be wandering around restricted areas during a security breach. Total coincidence.”
We pass a small alcove where a marble bust sits on a pedestal, its empty stare indifferent to what’s about to happen. Beyond it, the hallway narrows, the ceiling lowers, and the lighting dims. We’re approaching the utilitarian parts of the building where staff and security operate, far from the glittering facade presented to wealthy patrons.
Ezra will be so furious that I’ve disappeared again, but he’ll move on.
He has to.
A door appears at the end of the corridor, unremarkable except for the electronic keypad beside it. No gilded frames here, no priceless art. Just a threshold between pretense and whatever brutal reality awaits me on the other side.
“You’ll wait in here.” The taller guard punches a code into the keypad. “Harcourt will figure out what to do with you.”
The lock disengages with a click that sounds final. Lorenzo Vescari won’t survive what comes next. The question is whether Ren Mercier will.
As they shove me toward the open door, my mind races through possibilities, each bleaker than the last. Beat me until I reveal Jade’s location? Lock me in Jade’s cage and auction me off instead once they realize I’m an Omega? Or will they eliminate the problem with the efficiency that organizations like this reserve for loose ends?
My grandfather used to say that the most valuable skill in our profession wasn’t the ability to paint perfect forgeries, but knowing when to abandon a losing position. As the door swings wider, revealing a spartan room with a metal chair bolted to the floor at its center, I wonder if I’ve miscalculated beyond recovery.
A hand pushes between my shoulder blades, propelling me forward.
As I stumble across the threshold, caught between freedom and captivity, the air shifts behind us. I grip the door frame and turn, already knowing what I’ll find. I sense him in the air, in the tingles of awareness rushing through me.
Ezra has found me.
A shadow detaches itself from the darkness at the end of the hallway, resolving into Ezra’s form as he moves with predatory grace toward us.
Gone is the submissive young man from earlier, replaced by a lethal hunter. He covers the distance in three long strides. As the first guard begins to turn, Ezra’s fist connects with his temple in a sickening crack that sends the man crumpling to the floor.
The second guard pulls his weapon, but Ezra moves faster, producing a taser from inside his jacket. Two metal prongs shoot out, embedding themselves in the guard’s chest. His body convulses, a strangled sound escaping his throat before he, too, collapses.
Ezra stands over the fallen men, chest heaving, golden-hazel eyes lit with a fury that ignites a deep desire in my gut. He came for me, and his entire body radiates a lethal promise meant for anyone who dares lay a hand on what’s his.
“Move.” He grabs my wrist with fingers that burn my skin.
I don’t resist as he pulls me back down the corridor, past the marble bust and the disapproving portraits. He navigates Halcyon’s maze with the assurance of someone who studied the floor plans, memorized the turns, and uncovered every hidden passageway.
