Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“And if I brought you onto my team, what would you bring to the table?”
“Besides the most up-to-date tech, auto-dialers, spyware, and surveillance, you won’t find anyone with bigger balls than me.”
Julian’s eyes flash with mirth. He likes my answer. “But why not go out on your own? From what I heard, you weren’t much of a team player in the past.”
“And look where that got me.” I snicker, forcing my laugh to sound careless.
Julian and William chuckle, too, but I sober. “Look, with good financing and the best resources, getting caught is a minimal risk. I’m safer working with a team than without. Whatever you have going on, I want in.”
Julian’s brow creases as he studies me. Suddenly, he relaxes, giving William an imperceptible nod before appraising me once more. “Before I bring you on, I’d like to test you. We have a job lined up right now. You understand, no?”
“Absolutely,” I say, a small tingle going up my spine. I may want to go legit and leave my life of crime behind, but the prospect of stealing something still juices me up.
“Good,” Julian replies. He rises from behind the desk, then holds his hand out. When I do the same, we shake. Turning to William, he says, “Might as well introduce him to the team he’ll be working with.”
“Yes, sir.” William motions me toward the door. Once I give Julian a slight bow of gratitude, I exit.
As William escorts me through the kitchen area, I ask him, “Why does a wealthy businessman, especially one who seems to be doing well for himself, have to resort to heading a criminal enterprise?”
William chuckles. “It’s the criminal enterprise that enables him to do well.”
Nah… I don’t buy it. Julian Mercier’s legitimate businesses are worth a fortune. If I had to bet, I’d wager he’s in the game because he’s a thrill-seeker or a devoted collector.
Don’t get me wrong—I understand the appeal. While not the main reason, I did love the adrenaline high I’d get from successfully pulling off a heist.
It was almost as good as sex.
I assumed William would transport me elsewhere to meet the rest of the crew. Instead, he cuts through the dining room into a small alcove with a staircase. After plodding up one flight, we stop at a single wooden door, at the landing.
He opens it, walks in and I follow.
A quick scan shows thick emerald carpet, paneled walls, and chandeliers. Heavy leather furniture… couches, chairs, and ottomans. A horseshoe-shaped bar in the middle. Perhaps it’s a club room where patrons retire for brandy and cigars after dinner?
Regardless, I turn my attention to the people inside.
Not counting William and me, there are four others.
But their faces aren’t computing. Nothing registers after I let my eyes linger on the first person. A woman.
She’s tall and willowy with coffee-and-cream skin. Her exotically gorgeous hazel eyes widen in surprise.
William grins. “That’s right… you two know each other, don’t you?”
At the sight of her, an overload of feelings course through me. Drowning in the hatred, shock, and—fuck-me-standing—the instant, electrifying lust doesn’t seem outside the realm of possibilities.
Forcefully swallowing my enmity, I try to sound unaffected. Showing my hand will only fuck up this mission before it even starts.
“Hello, Sin,” I manage. My tone sounds almost civil, which is so at odds with the turmoil inside me.
“Hello, Saint,” she replies, obviously as upset as I am.
CHAPTER 4
Sin
As I navigate the throngs of people on Rue des Rosiers, my head spins.
Saint Bellinger is here.
In Paris.
Apparently, he’s now also a part of my team.
I never thought I’d see him again. Well, that’s not true. The thought he might hunt me down after his release from prison had crossed my mind. Hell, I’d had plenty of nightmares about it.
After all, I’m the one who put him there.
As I pass by the kosher market, it triggers a reminder that I have no food in my house. But between the stress of the day and the headache it gave me, I decide those are reasons enough to bypass it. I’ll manage with a dinner of tea and toast tonight.
Half a block down, I approach a green door in the side alley of a trendy clothing boutique. The stairs inside lead up to the two apartments housed above it. Rue des Rosiers is in the heart of the Jewish quarter—unofficially called the Pletzl, which is Yiddish for little place—but in recent years, the quaint shops have been replaced by gleaming fashion showrooms.
When I realized I’d have to be based in Paris for an unknown amount of time because of my predicament with Julian Mercier, I’d found this place on Airbnb. Luckily, I was able to negotiate a month-to-month lease with the hosts. The exterior door has an electronic keypad. Once I enter the four-digit code, I hurry inside, push the door so it’ll shut behind me, then take the stairs two at a time.