Page 8 of Lords of Misrule
“Out of the goodness of your heart, I imagine.”
“Out of my need for a drama-free evening.”
“You know I’ll figure it out. It’s a matter of time. You might as well tell me.”
“There’s nothing to figure out.”
“Good. Then all we need to do is arrange a night you won’t be at Mitch’s. We get the artwork. You get the drama-free evening you want so badly. Right?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m not going to let you just steal from him.”
“You in love with him?”
“Maybe.” I shrug.
I’m absolutely not. In the beginning, I found him somewhat charming in an offbeat sort of way. I really believed he liked me at first, but the more time went on the more I realized he didn’t care about me. Just about what I could do for him. It’s better this way given the plans I have in mind for him—made the job harder, but the decision easier.
Rowan’s eyes search my face, a look of mild disbelief replaced by irritation and a hint of amusement.
“I’ll figure out what it is you’re after with him, and when I do, I’ll make sure I bring it all down on top of you in the messiest fucking way possible. The longer you drag this out, the worse it’ll be. Give me the gun. Stay out of our way with the paintings. Then we can both fuck off to where we came from. Simple.”
“What are you even going to do with the paintings once you have them? Put them on your wall?”
“Do I look like a fucking art collector?”
“No. So what’s your plan?” I challenge him. I doubt this asshole has put one iota of thought into how this plays out beyond the fact he wants them.
“My plan is none of your fucking business.”
“You can’t sell them the way you might other things. They’re not an easy sale. You realize that right? They’re unique and well-documented, and you’d need to find the right buyer who both wants them and is willing to take them without papers. Or you have to be able to make it look like it’s not coming with sketchy provenance. Faking legitimacy is complicated and expensive. You have a plan for all that? Because I doubt it.”
“You volunteering to help?”
“I’m willing to be the person who tells you you’re out of your depth on this one, and if you get it wrong you and all your friends will go to jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred thousand dollars. Just you trying to phone home to beg for more money so you can trade commissary items to get the things you want for the next ten years.”
“You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this.”
“You haven’t thought about it enough. You have no clue what you’re doing and not a single connection to pull it off.”
His eyes light with realization, and his lips pull to one side as he studies me.
“Because you want to steal them for yourself.” He scoffs. “How did I fucking miss it? Of course that’s why you’d let us go. Why you’re keeping that boring fucker so close.”
“Why would I want to steal them?” I try to sound incredulous, but I feel my heart start to pound fast and heavy in my chest.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter. But now I see why you wanted to stop us and keep it quiet. You wanted us out of your way, without drawing any extra attention.” He shakes his head in amusement. “I kept saying it was odd you didn’t scream for the professor. That you didn’t call the cops and play out your damsel in distress routine for them like you threatened to. I thought it might have been because you wanted Finn. But now…nowit all makes sense.”
“I was kidding about Finn,” I say defensively, wanting to change the subject and also wanting to rid him of ideas about Finn. I don’t need Finn thinking I’m one of the dozens of women on campus crushing over the sound of his name. Even if I am.
“I’m sure you were.” Rowan’s self-satisfied smile spreads. “I bet your professor would find that interesting. Knowing you’re imagining the hockey team’s enforcer between your thighs when you’re fucking him. Might bruise his ego enough, and you wouldn’t be in a position to steal those paintings out from under him. I might be saving him heartbreak and trouble.”
“Heartbreak,” I scoff. Colin was a lot of things, but in love with me was not one of them. He liked fucking, and he especially liked fucking one of his students. The power he had over me and my grades. Being able to tell me not to wear panties to class and sit with my legs spread. It’s a power trip for him. Not love.
“What’s the matter? Couldn’t convince him to fall with this cunt?” Rowan steps up to me and slides his hand between my legs. I feel leather brush over the insides of my thighs—his driving gloves again. Tight black ones that conform to every curve of his hands with black ribs on the knuckles. A thing he puts to good use when he presses one knuckle to the center of my panties, brushing over my clit through the cotton.
