“What can I do for you, Lewis ?” I ask.“First, I wanted to give you my condolences. I heard about your father.” He sounds genuine enough. I’ve met jamie on two occasions. The first time was after Gustavo died and he’d come to New Jersey to pay his respects. The second was when he returned to Jersey, attempting a truce after the incident with Colwill , something I highly admired him for. Took fucking balls.“Thank you,” I say politely. I don’t ask him how he got my number. We all have our ways. Instead, I urge him to get to the point of the call. “What can I do for you, Lewis ?”“Call me Jamie ”“All right, Jamie . I’d expect anything you might need would be asked of Andre . Not me.”He sighs. “I’ve tried. Unfortunately, your cousin has no interest in a conversation with me, no matter that what I have to say affects him.”I sit up, my brows pinched tightly together. “You have my attention.”“I thought I would.” He exhales again, louder this time, as if he has something heavy on his c
“A few times,” I said. “It’s run by Gary ward .”“Apparently, he hands out those rings to his regulars.”“And who the fuck did this one belong to?” I asked.“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” he told me. “Even I can’t break into his systems to get that. I can get you his phone number, though.”I remained silent while I considered that. The Ward Ward House is an underground organization in Philadelphia that specializes in black market art and antiquities. Though I’ve never had any dealings with the Gary , I know my uncle did. The question is, were they on civil terms?“Do that,” I said. If only Gary Ward can give me the information I need about the owner of the ring, then I have no choice but to ask nicely. Or at least, start off that way.As it turns out, Uncle Gustavo did have a good relationship with Gary Ward . Though that shouldn’t surprise me. He was a man who earned respect.Arran agreed to meet me at Vino, a restaurant in Philadelphia.When I arrive that evening at nine sharp
His eyes flick up to mine. “Leave it with me. I’ll have my head of security determine who it belongs to and take care of it.”“How?”“They’re chipped. Beneath the ruby.” He touches the gemstone. “It’s a sort of magnetic keycard.”“Fancy,” I say.“It is. You should visit sometime. I’ll give you a trial membership. Cancel anytime.”“Art isn’t my thing.” I tilt my chin toward the ring still in his hand. “Tell me who it belongs to, and I’ll owe you.”“Member information is confidential,” he states.“Then why the hell offer to help me?” I snatch it from his hand before he can think about pulling it out of my reach.He smirks. “I didn’t offer anything. I said I’d find out who the owner is. Losing one of these rings is unacceptable.”Sliding it back on, I grin. “Well, unless you’re willing to take it off my cold, dead body, I suggest we make a deal.”“I could kill you.” He smiles a deadly sort of smile that only someone like me can recognize. I can see beyond the expensive blue suit and tie,
“Harry Kane He owns The S Gallery in Hoboken.”“He visits Ward House?”“On occasion,” he replies. “Kane is a discreet collector. Only shows up when something very unique comes our way. And on occasion, he uses my services to sell something also very unique. I don’t appreciate the loss of his business. But he knows the rules. Risk exposing us, and you’re out. Expose us, and you’re dead.”“Harsh rules,” I retort. “Glad I never joined “Making money is risky.”“It’s possible he’s not aware he’s lost the ring,” I offer. “It would be beneficial if it remains that way. Besides, you have the ring now. No harm, no foul to you. Wait a couple of weeks before you boot him out.”He makes a noise that sounds a lot like a snort, though I can’t see a man like him doing that. “I hope you’re as quick to repay the favor as you are to make demands. You have two weeks.” Harry Reed Kane lives in a renovated townhouse on the corner of Hudson and Ninth. He made his money as a restaurateur in Manhattan, th
From my position, I can clearly see inside the gallery through the long windows that flank the entrance. It’s exactly what I’d expect an art gallery to look like—a large, open industrial space with a high ceiling that exposes beams and duct work, the supporting walls made of red brick and wood flooring.However, there are several narrow walls at various angles on which art is displayed that block part of the view to the back.Was he shot here before he somehow made his way to the Hudson? Was he chased and forced into the water?My gaze follows an invisible trail from the building to the river, mapping all possible routes.When I feel enough of a crowd has gathered inside that I can easily walk around unnoticed, I head toward the entrance. The security guard, who’s dressed as well as the patrons, greets me, moving aside to allow me in.A man in black slacks and a white button-up shirt lifts a silver tray filled with champagne flutes. “Drink, sir?”“Thank you,” I say, taking one. But I
“Raw, huh?” It’s her throaty laughter that has me finally turning to her, and I wish I hadn’t.The sight of this girl is a sledgehammer to the gut. I’m left unable to breathe or think. All I can do is take her in. The fiery long waves that frame her perfect face and accentuate large brilliant-blue eyes and pouty pink lips.In the span of a few seconds, a hundred images and thoughts whirl through my brain. What would those pink lips taste like? What would they feel like pressed against my own or wrapped around my dick as she peers up at me with those insanely blue eyes.Is her hair as soft as it looks? I could dig my fingers into those curls, fist them in my hands as I do things to her that would leave us both sweaty and breathless.Would she let me?She’s not dressed to blend like everyone else. Instead of the black or white that seems to be the color of choice at a thing like this, she’s wearing a bright-yellow dress. The kind that might be more appropriate for a park on a sunny day,
Her lips quirk.Raya “was in my class at Pratt. Her least popular pieces are my favorite. But art speaks differently to everyone. That’s why they say it’s subjective. Like beauty.”Thinking beauty might be subjective with certain things, but not her—she is most definitely, factually, beautiful—I say, “You’re an artist too, then.”She shrugs. “Subjective. Some would say all I do is draw lines. Others see rainstorms.”“Some see beautiful trees,” I add. “And a beautiful woman.”Cheeks flushed again, she parts her lips. But before she can speak, someone calls from across the room.“Em!”We both turn to the man coming our way, his strides long and determined. When he reaches us, he’s staring at me, not her, his gaze hard and judgmental.Beside me, the girl flashes every shade of red, her eyes going from me to the man I recognize instantly as Harry Kane .“Dad, this is…” She narrows her eyes as if she’s trying to remember. “Actually, we didn’t introduce ourselves.”Dad? Did she just call him
A way in. And if I discover Harry did kill my father, she’ll not only become my prey.She’ll be my sweetest revenge.Natalia Don’t look back. Don’t look back.I stop with my foot on the first step of the stairs that lead to the offices, my hand on the iron rail, and peer over my shoulder.How could I not when I sense his gaze on me so intensely, he might as well be touching me?Nathan .He’s standing where I left him. And I was right. He’s still staring my way.His eyes seem to glow against his tan skin as he sends a wolfish grin my way, and my heart almost comes to a complete stop.There’s something a little scary about the way he watches me. Almost as if he knows me. Like he can see inside me and pluck every thought from my mind before I can even think it. Like he can intuit my desires before I feel them.Could he grant them too?A delicious shiver runs through me at the thought. Yes, definitely scary. And exciting.I smile back and nod before ascending to the second floor.There