The Bandit (The Stolen Duet 1)

But… My feet moved forward, the plush carpeting keeping my movement silent. I would feel guiltless if my brain wasn’t screaming that I was a fool.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Ten hesitant steps and I was running my fingertips over the smooth, flat surface before lifting the top. Transfixed by the beauty of the contents, yet confused how this could be considered dinner attire, I lifted the string of pearls and silver mask with black beadingand a small feather adorned on the right corner.

Where the hell was the rest?Chapter SixteenHate isn’t always black and white.

ANGEL“I got alook at the kid when Vincent brought him in. He’s not looking too well.” I turned to the sound of Lucas’s voice. I’d been staring at the ceiling holding my second drink when Lucas and Z interrupted the little slice of peace I had found. When Z left with Mian, I had her kid brought to me. The first thing I noticed was that he didn’t have his mother’s eyes.

“Yeah, I noticed. You think he’s sick?”

“Sickly. It looks more serious than just a cold.”

“Fuck.” I weighed my options. None of them allowed letting the kid die if it didn’t serve me.

“It’s like I said,” Lucas voiced, “I can’t have a kid’s life on my conscience.”

“We’ll ask his mother. Maybe there’s some medication he needs.”

“I saw the apartment they are living in. If it’s medication he needs, he isn’t getting it. There wasn’t even food in the cupboards. She’s either destitute or strung out.”

“When did you do this?”

“When she was shaking and fucking for money. I figured you’d be curious.”

I tossed back the rest of my drink and reached for the bottle. She was in my house looking for something to sell. The Knight’s black book could gain her unlimited supply of drugs if she sold it to the right people. Her father may not have wanted his lifestyle for her, but it didn’t stop him from sharing trade secrets from time to time. When we were kids, she was the only person who understood my frustration at my father’s insistence to keep me tucked safely away. Her desire for the life wasn’t nearly as strong as mine was, but still, she understood. “So did you find drugs?”

“None. The place was clean, but there wasn’t much to begin with.”

“So she’s broke. How the fuck could that be? Theo had money, and despite his shitty parenting, he loved that girl. He would have left her every dime he had.”

“Unless she got crazy and burnt it all.”

I shook my hand without wasting time considering it. “She’s smarter than that.”

“Not from the looks of it.”

I cut my eyes at him in warning. Lucas’s eyebrows reached for his hairline. I fucked up and revealed too much. Defending her against my brothers would be painting my hand red in front of an audience.

I reached for the blunt sitting in the nearby ashtray and lit up. If I couldn’t focus, then I needed to forget. Getting fucked up was the quickest route to forgetting. Lucas, Z, and I dabbled as kids until it progressed into a regular thing. My father had never approved of my habit and always swore it would eventually lead to stronger avenues of escape.

We sat in silence as we passed the blunt amongst ourselves until we smoked it down to a roach. “Be careful with this girl. She affects you even when she isn’t in the goddamn room.”

“She’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie to your brothers.”

“Then I’ll make her nothing,” I growled. Just like that, they blew my high and frustration returned full force. “This is more than just recovering the book. This is retribution. If Theo Ross can’t pay for my father’s death, then his daughter will.”

I felt the conviction in my threat which scared me most of all. My desire to possess this girl was a sin, and now it threatened my future and my brothers’ trust. Wanting her was undoubtedly the cruelest wrong I’d ever done.

I listened absently as a phone rang and Lucas impatiently answered. He swore and then ended the call.

“What was that about?” Z questioned.

The frustration in Lucas’s eyes warned me before he even spoke. “They finished tossing the shop.”

“And?”

“They found nothing, and the owner is insisting he knows nothing about a book.”

“What else did he say?”

“He says the only thing that was sold to him this morning was a watch. They checked his sale’s receipts. It checked out.”

“Could be a cover up,” Z remarked.

“How much did he pay her?” I questioned.

“Nine hundred.”

Z blew air from his lungs. I ignored him and said, “Which means the watch was likely worth thousands. If she had a watch like that, why would she need to rob me?”

“It was one of your fathers.” I was surprised to find the answer to my rhetorical questions had come from Z.