Page 42 of To Curse A Knight

When I arrived at the condo, my beautiful blonde bombshell was waiting for me in the living room. She looked tempting as a goddess in her plum power suit and four-inch heels. When she rose to greet me, she was exactly my height; I stared into the baby blues I saw in my dreams and grinned like an excited schoolboy.

“Where’s Blackbird?” I clapped my hands together, ready to put these final few pieces in place.

“She’s not meeting us in person, Lucky.” Hillary’s lips twitched in amusement before she turned on her heel, leading me to her bedroom and into her massive closet.

She placed her palm on a hidden screen behind a rack of coats, and the secret sex room opened up. The panel slid open to reveal a square space, ten by ten by my reckoning, an entire wall of computer screens on one side. I followed her in, impressed by the top-notch hardware and equipment, and plopped myself into the computer chair in front of me.

“Nope.” My queen chastised, popping the ‘p’ as she stared down at me. “That’s my seat. You can stand for this conversation.”

Feck me, she was a bossy brat sometimes. I was tempted to pull her down into my lap, but I thought better of it.

Wasn’t wise to goad a woman in her own cage when she could kick my arse.

“Aye, aye, Captain.” I mock saluted and stood, my gaze scanning around the dimly lit room as she moved into the seat and logged in to her system.

I turned to the rear wall and froze, my eyes catching on the prize.

Myprize.Theprize.

Blood pounded in my ears. The painting, encased in acrylic plexiglass to protect it from the elements. Its oil-based colors blinded me with their brilliance despite the darkness of the room.

“Reclining Nude,” by Amedeo Modigliani, over a hundred years old, and one of the most celebrated Italian paintings. I could paint a nude woman with her breasts hanging out and it would be considered “lewd’” but my Blondie had purchased the artwork from a private owner after it had been a featured exhibition at the MET a few years ago—for a cool $150 million. American.

“Ah, Blondie?” I schooled my voice to a smooth, curious tone. “Why do you have a priceless painting in a broom closet?”

She spun around in her chair, and her eyes flitted between my own and the naked girl. They appraised me with indifference, like priceless artwork in secret spy closets was a normal thing. “It was an investment, Lucky. I protect my investments.”

“Don’t rich people hoard these things in vaults like dragons?” I joked, unable to rip my eyes away from my goldmine. After months of searching, it was really fucking here, and I was about to become a very rich man.

“I prefer to keep it close by,” she responded airily, turning back to the monitor to input yet another password. “No sunlight, temperature and humidity controlled. Seeing as it’s my most valuable possession—money-wise,” she amended, with one last click on the keyboard before turning back to face me.

“So, you didn’t pay a literal fortune to put it in a shrine in your sitting room, to show off your riches to all your friends?” I kept my voice light and mildly interested, despite the wild horses racing through my heart.

Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, she scoffed dismissively, but I saw the quirk of her lips as she hid her smile. “Lucky, everyone in the world knows I’m rich. I don’t need a painting to prove it.” She eyed the monitor, which was apparently still loading, before folding her arms and turning her attention back to me.

“Empires fall every day. Stock markets crash. I am one critical decision away from financial ruin—we all are. So, investing cash into an appreciating asset is an investment strategy. If I ever need to sell it quickly, I know I’ll quickly double my money, which is a much better return than if I ever put the same amount in the market.”

Letting out a low whistle, I had to appreciate the reasoning behind it, even if only abillionairecould say such thingswith a straight face and mean them. I couldn’t even make a joke about it; before I could respond, a blurred-out face appeared on the screen, some masking software in place to hide their identity.

“Blackbird,” Hillary started, apparently not in the mood for polite pleasantries today, “meet Lucky. We need your help on a project that’s top priority, and he’s going to explain it to you. Before we go further, though, you need to know that it’s extremely under the radar and could come with some severe consequences. Are you in?”

“Fuck, yeah.” Despite the voice modification software they were using to make their voice sound like Darth Vader, her enthusiasm bled through the line. Drug-like euphoria filled my limbs; every little dream of mine was about to come true.

I figured I’d be here a few more months with the way my search was going. Now, I had an elite hacker willing to finish what I’d started, and my prize was literally within reach of my fingertips.

Within a few weeks, I could be on a boat in the Mediterranean, my enemy destroyed, Shayna’s body laid to rest, and one hell of a richer man.

For the first time in my fuckin’ life, I felt a small tug of guilt in my gut. I wasn’t the sorry sap who got tied up with feelings. Hillary Lane could afford the loss; I had a job to do. My help with Alvarez would take down her enemy, so surely, we could work out a deal where she’d forgive me—afterI bought her that island.

While she explained the plan to Blackbird, I searched Hillary’s face; the calm control and steely determination of a competent Queen in action.

I was lying to myself–she’d never forgive me. She valued loyalty more than anything else; I’d seen it in action with every action, and no amount of groveling or piña coladas would change my Blondie’s mind.

I’d put off thinking about the inevitable, but now I had to face it head on. Was I willing to risk making an enemy out of Hillary Lane?

The more honest question was a wee bit harder to ask. Was I willing to walk away from my Blondie, who had captured every bit of my waking attention? Enemies I had aplenty—but beautiful, fierce, intelligent women who sat on my side of the insanity bench with the balls to follow through?

The answer made my life a hell of a lot more complicated.

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