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“Iget why you want to keep her around.” Ren crosses his legs in the chair across from my desk and swirls a glass of whiskey. “Honestly, Erick, she’s nice to look at.”
I give him a flat stare. “I told you to stay away from her.”
“No, you said her studio was off-limits. You never said anything about talking to her.”
I grind my jaw. “Let me be clear then. You are not to speak to Hellie. You are not to look at her. Pretend like she doesn’t exist.”
Ren’s expression sharpens. His smile turns savage. “This one’s special then, is that it? You’re not going to share the spoils with the boys?”
I lean forward, my body tense with anger. The thought of giving Hellie over to my men, to be fucked and used and torn through, sends a hot spike of rage through my guts. I could stand and murder Ren right now, except I understand what he’s trying to do. The man likes to rile me up, and for once, it’s working.
“No more jokes.” I stare at my best friend. My second-in-command. The man I trust with my life. “Hellie is off limits.”
He sighs. “Fine, whatever you say.” He takes a long drink. “Gallo’s been on my ass since our meeting. He wants proof that your girl can pull this off. The guy’s chomping at the bit to end this.”
“Delay him. She needs at least a week or two.”
“I doubt he’ll wait that long. Get him something in a few days.”
“Gallo can come out here if he wants her that badly.”
Ren snorts. “Come on, don’t be obtuse. He’ll make our lives harder in other ways. Well, my fucking life, since you won’t have to be on the ground dealing with it.”
“Stall him. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Fine.” He stands and stretches. “I’d keep an eye on your girl, by the way. She keeps looking outside like that’s a viable escape plan. I tried to make it clear that’s not going to happen.”
“Marina told me she already took a walk.”
“Then hopefully she understands.” Ren shakes his head, looking at his glass as he swirls it. “What a fucking crazy plan. You really think anyone will buy these fake paintings?”
“She’s good,” I say, sitting back. “It’ll work.”
“Yeah, I hope so. It’ll be one hell of a story if we pull it off.” He salutes me with the glass, throws it back, and heads out.
I look at the ceiling. Somewhere up there, Hellie’s prowling around and raging at her situation. I can’t blame her for being angry, but I wish she understood the risk I was taking for her.
Which begs the question—why am I doing all of this?
The profit is real. Her talent is real. I see something in her that the others don’t, and maybe it’s because I love art, I love paintings, and I know the art world better than they do, even if they have better direct contacts with collectors.
But it’s something else. There are plenty of talented painters out there, many of whom would gladly accept my little scheme.
It’s Hellie herself.
After her dad pulled off the job, I was fucking livid. I wanted to burn down the Strip to find him—and nearly did. But once it was clear he’d skipped town and disappeared, it was time to go for the next best thing.
Which is how I found her.
I stand and wander to the doorway, thinking about that first night I followed Hellie home from her job. How I stared at the way she moved, her dark hair, those fucking hips. I felt something, even then.
She’s the opposite of what I should want in a woman. Messy, artistic, in her own little world. Her father stole from me, for fuck’s sake.
Everything about her is wrong.
And yet everything about her makes my skin burn with pure lust.
It’s fucked. Beyond fucked. It’s going to get everyone killed.
