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“Is it? She’s a thief and she double-crossed you. Took both you and Miller for a ride.”
He’s definitely got a point.
“And you have a treasure trove here.”
“She didn’t steal that,” I say nodding at the exquisite piece in his hand.
“Yet.”
He knows it’s a Rodin, one that most likely should be in a museum or in my vault. But I like it sitting out here, in amongst all the other shit my parents collected and most likely paid people to steal.
My fucking asshole of a father liked to display his wealth. Flaunt it. Admire it. He equated his collection with power.
Personally, apart from a few pieces, I’d happily burn this fucking mausoleum down.
I’m not even sure how much my mother liked this place. Oh, I’m sure she loved it when he married her. Young, impressionable.
I veer away from all that. Especially the young and impressionable part. I wasn’t fucking born then, though he knocked her up by age twenty. But the young part’s too close to his grooming of Lili.
And both Jac and I failed her. Spectacularly.
The bastard can share the guilt. The stain on my soul at Lili’s death.
Christ, Jac and his act first think second actions. His lack of a real hold over his anger and rage. He robbed me of making my father pay. He robbed us of finding out more from the masked shithead today. And I honestly don’t know if I trust him when it comes to Cat.
Not the sex.
We—
I sidestep that.
It’s his roughness during sex with her, especially when his anger is piqued.
Although I know he meant it with the earrings in the way that she doesn’t get. Jac, in his fucked-up way, tried to apologize. Like his killing Talay today.
Of course, a lot of people might think Jac was covering his tracks. We have fucked up history, our hate’s real and well known. But I know it wasn’t to set me up, or cover his guilt.
He did it for her.
And that…
She likes him. Wants him. I know she loves me and wants me, but her lust for Jac is up there with her love for me and that—
Is not the point. None of this is. What I have here in riches isn’t the point, either. My wealth’s got nothing to do with the complexity of trust or lack of with Cat.
“To be honest,” I say, “I think the Rodin is too pedestrian for her. Look at her history of what she steals.”
“Stuff like this.”
“She,” I say quietly to Damon, “likes the unusual, old, rare. And she loves jewels. Stealing that would mean someone paid her and no one’s going to dare steal from me.”
“Except Jac.”
“Miller’s not people.” I take a sip of my drink and go to my desk, sitting behind it, that fucking ornate, priceless thing. I remember fucking Cat on it. I remember a lot of things. “He’s Quinate. And we’re off topic. Any progress in who this could be?”
“Fucking madness. I’d tell you to lay low, but you don’t listen.”
“I do. Just not about this. If someone thinks they can take over the Quinate, we need to dig up every old rumor to do with the families and the Quinate itself.”
