Page 36 of To Curse A Knight

Lucky had done none of these things. I could never be sure this personality he was presenting was genuine, but… I did believe... Somehow. Risking a lobotomy, I could admit he was growing on me, but I couldn’t see a way through this without someone killing him.

Probably Aaron, since apparently Lucky was becoming Kellan’s other sex toy. Aaron had made no secret he’d squash Lucky like an insignificant bug if I’d let him.

Perhaps I would. If he betrayed us, I’d use the fly swatter myself.

But today, we werenotkilling each other. We were going to eat the catered turkey dinner sitting in the warming dishes in the trunk and pretend we could all get along for a few hours before heading back to our real, fucked up lives.

So… just like my usual family Christmas dinners. How depressing.

When we arrived, snow was falling in huge flakes, a romantic setting for a day tainted with false hopes and forced friendships.

We exited the vehicle, Lauchlan surefooted despite the lack of sight, and circled the car to grab our things.

I turned to my most trusted hired help.

“Joey, head home for the rest of the day. I’ll take the emergency vehicle back to the condo. You deserve Christmas with your family.”

“Hill—”Kellan started.

“I’m a trained killer.” I interrupted, pointing to my chest. I pointed at him. “You are a trained killer.” I pointed at Lucky. “He’s bait.” I ignored the sputters of indignant protest and continued. “Do you really think we’re safer with Joey?”

It was a test—would he relent, or would he snarl and rave about all the ways I needed protection?

After a mute stare down of exchanged eye daggers, he rolled his eyes, grabbed the box of takeout containers from the trunk, and stomped through the snow toward the rear door.

Lauchlan cocked his head as if heavily focusing on something, and then moved to follow the sound of Kellan’s footsteps, heading in almost the exact direction.

Huh. So, the man was also trained in sensory deprivation. We needed to delve deeper into his skill sets, because swindling rich people seemed to be only the tip of the iceberg.

I grabbed his elbow to guide him to the door, unlocking it with my eye scan and thumbprint. Then I led them both down the steep concrete steps into the bowels of the basement.

Lucky’s cherry cola and cedar scent clung to me as I steered him in the right direction. His soothing cologne eased my growing nerves at what I’d gotten myself into.

Despite it all, I found the con man’s presence reassuring. A therapist would have a field day.

I let him go so I could open the secure door to the apartment. Ushering the two men inside the entrance alcove, I closed the door behind us.

My thoughts drifted to Sandra and Alec upstairs. Did they know today was Christmas Day? Had the madness of sitting under bright lights twenty-four hours a day made Sandra lose all sense of time yet?

I hoped she still held a semblance of her sanity to understand her family was sick with worry while she slowly succumbed to her fate.

Her husband had filed a missing persons report and was making a stink on local news channels, begging the public for information. She wouldn’t be coming home. She could slip away into lunacy for a few months before I gave her what she needed to end her life herself. It was the only mercy I would give her.

I removed Lucky’s blindfold with quick fingers, the heat of his skin making me intimately aware of his touch. His sea-glass green eyes twinkled, curiosity dancing in them as he stared back at me.

“And the Lord said, ‘let there be light,’ and she was truly feckin’ stunning.”

He winked lasciviously after that nonsensical sentence. Then his impish grin widened as he kicked off his boots and waltzed through the door without another word.

Kellan huffed an irritated sigh and followed him, boots, coat and all.

“Hey! Take your boots off!” I called, trailing behind him after removing mine. “This is a home, you barbarian!”

“Oy, I call him that, too!” Lucky exclaimed gleefully as his gaze swept around the apartment. He whistled appreciatively. “Nicest dungeon I’ve ever been to.” He promptly plopped himself on my couch, assuming his usual position with his feet up and head back, like he was back in my condo in Carlisle.

Before I could scold him properly, Aaron walked out of the little hall leading to the bathroom, his dark hair slicked back and tucked behind the ears from a fresh shower. A tight, black, long-sleeve athletic tee stretched across the muscles of his chest in the most delicious way. Black, athletic track pants, the kind made from moisture-wicking material that molded around a man’s ass and thighs, made everything about his strong body stand out.

In all the years I’d known him, Aaron wore a suit to almost every occasion; seeing him look like a regular man was a treat—although truthfully, Aaron could never look like a regular anything.

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