Stepbrother Thief (50 page)

“Leave the girl be, Karl,” Maxine says, leaning forward, her green eyes big and bright, sharp as thorns. The gold bracelets at her wrists clink as she finishes off her drink and sets it aside. “We all know why we're here. I'd say, let's get this ugliness out of the way so we can enjoy the fig and olive tapenade that Kayla's whipped up.” Max smiles, her lashes long and dark, makeup minimal but complementary. Jesus. She looks more like a fashion designer than a mob boss. “Gilleon has very kindly decided to offer you his services in exchange for his family. Isn't that right, Gilly?”

Gill says nothing and my stomach twists yet again, curling into an infinity knot like that ring that Gill better be around to give me in the future.

“Oh thank God,” Karl says with a chuckle when Kayla—the dark haired girl from the door—appears, her black pantsuit as well tailored as Karl's. “All of that debate for nothing.” He smiles at the platter and reaches out for a thin slice of French bread, taking a small spreading knife and cutting into the artfully piled mound of goat cheese, olive oil and herbs. It smells good, but there's no way in hell I'm touching it. “I hate to chat business on an empty stomach. Maxine?” Karl holds out the slice of bread and waits for Max to take a bite, closing her eyes as she savors the food. Once he deems it safe, Karl digs in, too.

Mon Dieu
, these people are insane.

“Me for my family, Karl. That's it. Take it or leave it,” Gill growls, his body stiff, muscles tense and ready to pounce. He looks like a jungle cat that's been cornered by hunters. They might have guns to his face, but he's going to take at least one of them out before they get him.

“And my diamonds?”

“Aveline,” Max says, her voice rising sharply, a warning in her tone. “You can have your baubles back, but I want you to leave my daughter alone. Do you understand me, Karl? There's a reason I was given full custody.”

“The girl's thirty years old, Maxine. How much longer do you want to do this?” Karl finishes his bread and picks up a cracker. I close my eyes against the scene, my dress pulling at my shoulders, squeezing my waist. I feel like I'm suffocating, like I want to rip it off and run away back to Paris.

But I won't.

I won't leave Gilleon.

“You put her in the hospital, Karl. I don't have a lot of boundaries, but that's one of them,” Max grinds out, her perfect pretty shattered for just the briefest moment. “Take your diamonds, take Gilleon, and go.”

“Well,” Karl begins, daintily brushing a stray crumb off his collar, “I'd like to do that, but I feel like at this point, it's more of a hassle than it's worth. Gill, and the diamonds.”

There's a moment there where everything seems still; nobody's eating or talking or even breathing.

And then there's a gun in Karl's hand and he's aiming it at me.

In the span of a blink, he's pulled the trigger and Gill's out of his seat, tackled from behind by someone I didn't even know was there. One of Karl's guys? Max's? Not like it matters.

The bullet hits me in the center of my chest, driving right into my body armor and knocking me backwards into the unforgiving metal of the chair. I try to scream, try to move, but it feels like I've been hit in the heart with a bat, like no matter how hard I try I'll never pull in another lungful of air again.

I glance down at the smoking hole in my dress and manage to actually
see
the second shot hit me about two inches down and to the right. Whatever ammo Karl's using, it's as quiet as Gill's was at the hotel, so the only sound I hear is the sound of my chair hitting the concrete floor as it topples over.

My head snaps back and my vision goes white at the edges.

Somewhere far away, I can hear screaming, a growling bite of rage that can only be Gilleon.

“Oh, stop being dramatic. I only shot her in the vest. Don't worry, when I do kill her, I'll make sure you're ready for it.”

I roll away from the chair and end up on the floor, my body on a white and yellow rug, my head precariously close to the metal grate of the fireplace. I can feel the heat against my hair, but I find it hard to give two shits about that.

A groan escapes my lips as I clutch my stomach and dry heave against the floor, my mouth pressed to cold cement. With a gasp, my chest contracts involuntarily and sucks in two massive lungfuls of air that hurt so bad I want to scream. As soon as I get the breath for it, that is.

“Get up.” It's Karl, his voice behind me, a hand curling around my hair. Pain sears my scalp as he pulls me away from the floor and tosses me unceremoniously back into the tipped chair. Somebody—one of his people, I guess—pushes it back up as my vision swims and blurs and I sit there, slumped and useless as a doll.

As soon as I'm upright, I see Gilleon on the floor with blood oozing from his thigh, his face tight with pain, teeth gritted as his blue eyes lock on mine.
Gill's been shot?!

Panic washes through me and in an instant, everything else fades away, and I see him as he looked the day he picked the lock on my bedroom door, a lost boy who needed help. I didn't know it then, but Gill was hurting and he was looking for something, someone, to get him through it. That person, however unknowingly, was me.

And I'd do it again, a thousand times over. Like I said, I'd die for him.

I meant that.

“I don't make deals with men who break their word, Gilleon. You know that.” I'm staring at Karl's side, his face in profile, his gun in his hand. Behind me, someone shifts. There are people everywhere here, aren't there? Of course there are. Otherwise Gill would've shot Karl in the head the moment we walked in the door.

I suck in another shuddering breath, the gun under my dress burning my flesh, like the metal's molten and searing my skin. I know it's all in my head, but I can't shake the urge to reach down and brush it away. But no. No.
Maxine left the revolver there for a reason.

“Karl, listen to me,” Gill begins, his voice stretched and tense with pain. I feel the beginnings of panic creeping up in my chest, but I blink them away. Things could be worse: Gill could be dead. He
will
be if I don't do something about it. I want to believe that he's still got a plan—and that this is all part of it—but I can't count on it.

“Maxine,” Karl begins, turning to look at his ex. She's sitting there with her legs crossed, her designer shoe bumping rhythmically as she slathers another piece of bread with goat cheese, like Gill's blood isn't splattered across her floor, like the smell of gunpowder isn't burning our nostrils. “I'll take Gilleon—and the girl.” He gestures loosely at me, like I'm nothing more than an object to be bartered. “And you can keep Aveline.” His lips curl. “And the diamonds. Consider them a belated alimony payment.”

The sound of a car pulling up outside gives everyone pause.

“Who the hell is that?” Maxine snaps, sending Kayla scurrying towards the door. A few seconds later, it's swinging wide and Aveline is standing in the doorway, breathing hard, dressed in a fresh set of clothes. Her eyes are practically swollen shut and she's leaning on Ewan for support, but she's here.

I struggle to sit up, the organza of my gown crinkling and drawing Karl's eyes back to me. He disregards me as useless and turns his attention back to his daughter.

“What are doing here?” Maxine asks, sounding genuinely perplexed. I bet it's hard to pull one off on this woman. Behind Aveline, there are two men I've never seen before. Without batting an eye, she turns and puts a bullet in one of their heads.

Gill shoves up from the floor, using the moment of surprise to pull away from the man holding onto his shoulders, swinging around and hitting him so hard in the face that I hear a distinct cracking sound before he turns his attention back to Karl.

I don't have time to think or debate or wonder how my morality might suffer. Gill is
mine,
and he's in trouble, so I'll do what I have to do. I lean over, grunting at the pain and flopping forward like a rag doll, my body screaming in protest at the motion. I dig my fingers under my skirt, shoving the fabric up my thighs with no attention to modesty, exposing my black lace panties and the gleaming silver of the revolver.

Behind me, Karl's man shifts, a gun in his hand, the muzzle pointed not at me but at Gilleon. I see him get a shot off before I manage to raise my own up and point it at his chest.
He might have body armor,
my thoughts scream, so I adjust my grip just in time for him to notice me. We both shift our aim and fire. His bullet hits me in the shoulder, knocking me back from the chair again, sending my body towards the floor with a spray of blood. As I tumble back, I hear another sound, like an overfilled grocery sack slamming into the pavement.
I got him. Maybe. Hopefully.

I feel like my arm's on fire for a second, but just a second, and then the pain fades away. Still, psychologically speaking, I feel fucked up. Just the
idea
that I've been shot scares the hell out of me and a scream rips from my throat as soon as I make contact with the ground. The initial impact of the shot is the worst part though, wrenching my shoulder back before the cement pushes it forward again.

Even with all of this happening, with the pain, the shots, the blood, there's only one thing on my mind.

Gilleon.

Gilleon.

Gilleon.

Please be okay, Gill.

My vision swirls as I listen to the sounds of gunfire, struggling to sit up, my left arm moving more slowly than I want it to.

I look around for my revolver for a while before I realize I still have it clutched in my right hand.

“Holy shit.” I blink stupidly at the gun as my head throbs and my ears ring from the noise. Once again, that strange, white calm of shock rolls over me, taking the place of fear and anxiety and confusion.

I lean forward, gasping at the pain in my stomach, the bruising under my vest hurting worse than the gunshot wound in my shoulder. Right now, I can barely even feel it.

I yank myself up, stumbling a little in my silver Louboutin peep-toes.

Gill's there in an instant, his arm curving around my waist, pulling me against him.

I glance up, trying to take in his facial expression, but all I see is darkness, swirling around him like a cloud.

“You're okay, Gilleon,” I say, my voice a little slurry. “We're okay.”

His gaze snaps down to me for an instant before he lifts up his Walther PPQ .22, the same gun he used at the hotel. Is it weird that I recognize it? It is, isn't it? I glance down at the revolver in my own hand and wonder absently why I can't name the brand on this baby.

“Regi, honey, you're in shock,” Gill says, dragging me backwards, pushing me into a corner around the edge of the decorative archway. “Just sit down,
ma belle petite fleur.
Sit right here and don't move.”

But I don't sit. I don't want to sit.

What am I even doing here?

I stare at my gun again and then glance up in time to see a woman appear from the kitchen. It's Kayla. I raise my weapon to shoot at her, but Gill grabs my arm and forces it down.

“No, she's on our side, baby. Our side.”

Gill steps away from me and takes aim through the archway, pulling off three shots before he moves back again. Kayla joins him, her shy smile gone and a strange, eerie cold taking its place. Ugh. Would not want to get on her bad side.

I stumble against the wall, smearing blood against it as I push back the curtains and look out the window. The yard here is huge, sprawling grounds dotted with perfectly round bushes and trees dripping wet with rain. It's from the corner of my eye that I see someone running, sprinting through the back like their life depends on it. Hell, maybe it does?

I crack the window and sit down, reaching down to yank off my shoes. Gill looks back at me, but only for an instant. He's more concerned with watching both our front and our back, taking turns with Kayla as they keep their guns up and level with the action.

Me, I just reach up and touch my fingers to the wetness on my arm. Redness smears across my skin as I rub the warm red liquid together.
Shit, Katriane's never going to believe this one. And Leilani is going to kill me when she finds out about this.

Standing up from my seat isn't easy, not even with the cool moist breeze leaking in the window behind me. What it does do, however, is help to clear my head a little, push back the fog.

“Gill, what do I do?” I ask, unable to keep my voice from wavering. His lips are tight, expression grim as he takes a step back. When he looks at me, I can see how scared he is written into every line of his face.
We might get out of this one,
he tells me without words.
But we won't be so lucky next time.
And there will be a next time, won't there? As long as Karl's around, so is all of this shit.

“Just stay here,” he tells me, eyes as dark as the night sky. “Don't move.”

“Gilleon.” This from Max. I can't see her, but her voice sounds just as calm now as it did when she was drinking champagne. “Leave Regina here and go with Karl, please.” Another pause. “That's an order.” Gilleon glances over at me and my heart starts to race inside my chest. “Let's end this, Karl. Take him and go. Leave it at that. Neither us can afford an all out war.”

Silence descends, thick and heavy, cloaking the room and blocking out everything but the sound of my own pulse.

Gilleon and I stare at each other for a moment, lost in each other's eyes. Behind him, Kayla levels her weapon at the back of Gill's head. I bet if he wanted to, he could turn and disarm her, probably break her arm. But then what? Two more people appear in the archway to the kitchen, weapons at their sides, just as normal, as unassuming as the ones I shot in the stairwell.

“Regina,” Gill begins, but I'm already shaking my head.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Before I can protest, Gill's sweeping me into his arms, searing my lips with his, diving into me, tasting me like it's his last chance, his only chance. Even with the smells of blood and gunpowder overpowering the room, Gill's scent fills my nostrils, that warm, spicy heat that always gets me. I'm melting into him, molding our bodies together, my mind calming at the feel of him pressed tight against me.