Page 53 of Break Me Beautifully

Burgh scowls, and Min walks in with a tray carrying a bucket of champagne and a large bottle of something dark and amber. "Gentlemen," Bradford says, clasping his hands at his chest. "Relax, no need to fight. Let's drink and divide out the spoils. Money should bring joy!"

"Here, here," Seya says.

Min places the tray on a side table by the open door. I take a moment to gauge the other men in the room who haven't spoken. They're standing against the wall with their wide hands folded over their belt buckles. They're as big as Marshall, maybe bigger, with square jaws and tan skin. One has a scar across his forehead, but they look similar enough for me to believe they're related. Two large silver cases lay on the floor between their feet. I've seen enough heist movies to know what's inside, but Bradford catches me looking. "Your share is there," he assures me. "Here, let's have a look." He snaps his fingers, summoning the men towards us. Seya and Burgh shift on the couch to watch eagerly. Seya's face is swaddled in wafts of smoke, but the veil doesn't hide his hungry sneer.

With a grunt, the cases are set on the table and attracts the men like magnets. I, however, want to sway backwards, but I feel Marshall’s presence looming behind me. He hasn’t budged since entering the room.

"Shut the door," Bradford mutters, not lifting his eyes from the cases. Min rushes to do so. "I love this part," he groans, bending to flick the clasps. With one hand on each lid he pushes the cases open, exposing the contents inside to a chorus of whistles.

Crisp stacks of hundred-dollar bills fill the cases. I'm used to wealth, but it's always been a simple credit card I could carry in my wallet, or a transaction my parents would make on their phones. This is different.

This is dirty money.

There's a loudpopthat makes me scream. Covering my ears, I jolt backwards, bumping into Marshall's welcome heat. His hands come down on my shoulders, calming me before I have the sense to recall I'm supposed to hate his guts.

"It's fine," he says to me. "Look."

Min has uncorked the champagne, filling glass after glass as the other men shake hands and slap their knees. This is the pinnacle of their evening. Their element. I don't belong here and I don't want to. I just want it to end.

"Here," Min says, holding out a glass to me. She's smiling, but it doesn't reach her eyes.She tried to tell me.I realize when she spoke to me that day outside Marshall's car, she wanted to clue me in. What had she said?Whatever you make, he'll be happy. It's important that you finish the work. That's all that matters.Min was part of this scheme. Willingly or not, I wasn't sure. But she hadn't warned me to run away. She'd just bluntly informed me my work could have been soulless scribbles, and these men would have bought it.

"Have a drink," Bradford calls to me.

I eyeball the glass in Min's hands. "No thanks."

"Don't be frigid, have some fun," Seya croons with a wink.

"She doesn't drink," Marshall says, coming to my rescue. I stare up at him, amazed he remembers.

"Whatever, more for us," Burgh snorts, taking some champagne from Min as she hurries to his side. "Come on, Bradford, dole it out. I was freaking out as I guarded these guys all the way from Halo's place."

"Fuck, I was losing it before that. Halo puts me on edge more than you do, Klintock," Seya says.

"That's why he's a capo and you aren't," Burgh laughs.

"Bullshit. I could be a captain," Seya counters, waving smoke from his face towards Burgh until he starts coughing. "Halo's just intense as hell."

"Imagine it," Bradford muses, eyeing Marshall with a sly grin, "someone scarier than our Devil, and his name is angelic in nature. It's sort of artsy. I bet you appreciate the poetry of that, Leona, hm?"

Not at all,I think, because I don't want to imagine anymore awful people. In this world, maybe angelsarescarier than devils. I could believe it. "Please, let's just get this over with," I mumble.

"You said it," Burgh agrees, slapping the couch. "I'm itching for my share."

"You'll get yours," Bradford chuckles. Scrutinizing the cash, he carefully collects a few stacks. He looks right at me, turning my blood cold. "She's first. As a welcome gesture to our little operation." The money looks like a stack of bricks. He offers one packed hand towards me, then looks over my shoulder, gesturing at Marshall with the other chunk. "You never disappoint, Klintock. You find the most reliable, talented, believable artists for the Lucardo family. If you keep playing it right, you could move higher in the ranks."

"I know," he says flatly.

"Why are you so quiet?" Bradford asks me. He shakes the money at me. "I've never seen someone this miserable over getting rich without breaking a sweat."

"You're wrong," I say. I look up at him through my lashes. "I sweat and suffered over every stroke of paint on those canvases."

Bradford's grin twitches. "Well, good for you. You earned your money as much as any of us, Leona." He shoves it against my chest. "Take it."

Clutching my purse with my sketchbook in it, I glare at his greasy face. "No. I don't want it. I just want to go home."

"Leona, take it," Marshall says firmly.

"You heard him, girl. Take it," Bradford grunts.

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