King Me (Forever Wilde 7)

My entire career came crashing down in front of my eyes as King Wilde handed over the Hungarian Crown to Elek Kemény while I just sat there and watched.

32

King

What the hell was taking the police so long? Maybe Elek’s original bribe hadn’t been with a guard but with the whole damned police force. I’d hoped they’d get to him before he made it to the rotunda, but now here we were.

Face-to-face for the first time since the Van Gogh job, since he’d bashed me over the head and left me tied to a radiator.

My entire body shook with nerves, but I tried my hardest to fake bravery.

“Let me see my painting,” I demanded before he could speak.

“Let me see the crown first.”

I turned to leave, but he grabbed me by the bag on my back and yanked me toward him. “Fine,” he said, popping open the tube. “Here.”

When I saw the raw edges of the canvas inside, I let out a breath of relief. He’d brought it. He’d really brought it. Now if only he’d do what I hoped.

I handed him the bag from my back and reached for the tube in exchange. Elek yanked the tube out of my grasp and held it away from me.

“Crown first, macska.”

I stepped back and held up my hands. “Go ahead, then.”

Elek tucked the painting tube under his arm and opened the bag before pulling out the crown box. Sirens screamed through the air, finally, and Elek’s face snapped up in angry response.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. Give me my painting. We need to get out of here,” I said, reaching again for the tube. He smacked my hand away and stepped back out of my reach, shoving the box back into the bag and turning to leave with both the tube and the bag.

“Give me my painting,” I hissed. “You promised.”

“And you believed me? Ah, poor little macska, always wanting to trust when you shouldn’t trust.”

“Elek!” I snapped. “You have the crown. Let me have this last piece. Please.”

I waited until he was halfway across the huge space before I rushed him, jumping onto his broad back and trying to wrestle the tube out of his grip. Elek was so much bigger than I was, he shook me off easily. I grabbed at his ankle, holding on for dear life and trying to become dead weight. I just needed him… a little… closer… to the large metal grate on the floor.

Finally we were there. I whipped out a zip tie and looped it through the grate before connecting it to a second one and zipping it loosely around his ankle, all the while complaining loudly and yanking on his leg in hopes he was too engaged in denying me the painting to realize what I was doing.

“What the hell? Let me go,” he warned, trying to hold on to the knapsack and painting tube at the same time. “If we want any chance at escaping, we have to go now. Are you crazy? What are you…”

Elek finally realized something was wrong. It wasn’t my dead weight holding him in place.

When I heard the shouts of the officers entering the large domed hall, I yanked the ankle tie as tightly as I could and reached for my comms unit.

“Please get out of here,” I said. “I hope you’re gone. If not, go. Trust me and go,” I repeated before finally letting go of his leg.

“I am trying to go, you idiot,” Elek barked, clearly thinking I’d been talking to him. “My leg—what did you do? Kingston! You fucking fuck!” He wrestled with the tube and the bag with the crown box inside. While he was busy trying to hold on to his spoils, I patted his cargo pockets until I found the multi-tool I knew he most likely had on him.

“Thanks for this,” I said, holding it up out of his reach. “I could have used this two years ago, but someone convinced me I didn’t need one for the Van Gogh job. At the time, I remember thinking I never wanted to see you again. I was wrong. Seeing you like this right now is so fucking satisfying, I can’t even begin to describe it. Good luck, Elek. Or… should I call you macska?”

He raged at me as I turned and took off at top speed for an interior door I’d identified from the schematics I’d studied for years in hopes of one day sneaking in to leave a note in protection of the crown.

I followed lit green signs for the exit I needed and finally came to a door with danger warnings and authorized-personnel markings. I pushed through with gloved hands and held my breath.

There it was. A small padlocked grate by the floor with a flood caution sign on it that should lead to tunnels that dumped into the Danube river. I got to work as quickly as I could, pulling out a set of picks. The memory of learning how to pick locks with my brother Saint came unbidden into my mind as my fingers worked from muscle memory.