Page 61 of To Curse A Knight

I had three days to make some monumental, life-changing decisions.

Fuck.

I sat in my Blondie’s condo underground car park several hours later. Waiting for her to show up, I scrolled through my phone to pass the time.

Aaron was already up there, completing his house arrest like a dutiful little boyfriend. After seeing his side of psycho, I wasn’t exactly eager to spend some one-on-one time with him.

Itwas bad enough I’d had to give up my bed. Hillary hadn’t invited either of us into her bed on account of the seventeen different things she needed to sleep, so I was now sleeping on the couch.

As much as I loved that couch for lazy napping when the mood struck, it was shyte for an eight-hour snooze, and when I woke this morning, my back felt like my sexy Barbarian had used it as his own personal punching bag.

Maybe I could convince the robot to convince Hillary to let him sleep with her—he’d have better luck with it, given they were obviously moon-eyed for each other; Then I could havemybed back.

Win-win.

My software had done its job, and I was sifting through the fifty-odd photos of known FBI agents working in the Carlisle area. Apparently, this city was a hotbed of white-collar crime in America; the FBI loved hanging out to capture the big, bad billionaires in action.

My brows furrowed as I examined each person, wracking my brain if I had seen any of them anywhere. Facial recognition was a skill I’d honed—one couldn’t be a good con man if you forgot a name or a face—but not a single one of them looked remotely familiar.

Until number 37. My jaw practically dislocated at what could have been the broody Viking’s LinkedIn profile picture. His hair was shorter, just above his ears, and a suit jacket and tie covered up the badass tattoos on his arms and torso. But that was Kellan Carlos, all right.

How in the ever-lovingfuckwas that possible?

The man I’d fucked—multiple times—was a double agent? Was the American justice system truly so corrupt they’d knowingly hired a cartel felon, or was this some kind of power play the cartel paid for? I didn’t know nearly enough about gang politics to care, other than I’d been spending my time withan FBI agentwhile trying to complete a very high-profile con job.

I pushed rewind on every interaction we’d had from start to finish—from the first fuck, to Jediah’s party, the fight I walked into—everything leading up to now. If Hillary didn’t know about this, I’d eat my shirt. I was new on the scene, but these guys had a history; if Kellan had kept this from Hillary, I’d invite him to my next con, because he was truly an expert swindler to pull that one off.

I stared dumbly at the photo for a few more minutes. Would Kellan kill me as a cartel man who was in love with Hillary, or would he bring me in as a perp for the FBI? Would he lock me up and then arrange for someone else to pull my guts out of my arsehole from the inside, so he could kill two birds with one stone?

Fear wasn’t a familiar emotion, but the sharp sting in my belly was most definitely fear. I was no longer one hundred percent confident I could work my way out of this one without some severe consequences to my health.

I had to move; fast. I got out of the car and took the private elevator up to Blondie’s suite. I needed to take another look at the keypad—see if there was some way I could bypass it or hack it or—

When I strode through Hillary’s entryway and into her kitchen, I halted in my tracks.

Blondie and Mr. Roboto were seated on the couches in grim silence, as if waiting for me.

Sharp tingles pricked the back of my neck as I looked back and forth between them, my eyes settling on the artwork laid out on the coffee table.

The painting. My painting. The nude girl worth $150 million just laying about like it was a toddler’s drawing.

“Lauchlan,” Hillary cooed, using my full name; I wasreallyin trouble. She beckoned me over to the couch cushion beside her, her blue eyes flashing with dark challenge. “Take a seat.”

Not the first time I’d heard that command from her lips. Probably wasn’t the time for that joke.

Wordlessly, I bit my tongue and did as she asked, plopping down on the couch cushion and leaving a bit of space between us. If the viper was going to strike me today, I wasn’t just going togiveit my jugular.

Aaron stared back at me from the opposing furniture, his dark eyes staring emotionlessly, like the robot he was. Better than vicious hate, I s’posed, but—

“Take it.”

Hillary waved her wine glass toward the painting on the table in front of us. Her cool stare gave nothing away, like she and Aaron had attended the same Robotic School for Billionaires.

I stirred uncomfortably in my seat, trying to grab hold of the charming mask of indifference I always kept in my back pocket, but I couldn’t seem to find it.

“Not sure what you mean, Blondie.” I tutted lightly, using every bit of training I ever had to keep myself together. “I don’t need any more nude women in my life, if that’s what you’re after.”

“Cut the shit, Lauchlan.” That beautiful blue gaze glazed into a frosty polar vortex. “No more secrets. That’s what you’re after, so take it.” She gestured again to the priceless painting still encased in its protective glass condom.

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