Page 2 of Lords of Misrule
Hopefully, that means we’re in and out. I quickly plug in the numbers to the security system, and the alarm gives a cooperative ding to let me know it’s been disabled. Then I use the key the maid had on her chain, helpfully labeled with each house name she works at. I slide it into the lock, then a moment later the door’s easing open, and we’re slipping inside.
Despite a lot of petty criminal shit on my part, I’ve never actually broken into a home. I’m fucking shocked at how easy it is with the right kind of help. I take the first steps in, and Finn and Hudson follow. We’ve done some research ahead of time, and every time we work with a new client who wants to take bets, we make sure to shoot the shit with him. Or rather, Hudson does. That’s his specialty. Finn and I could give a fuck less. But Hudson can talk to anyone anywhere about fucking anything. They don’t even know what’s happening, and they’re buried in a discussion about annuities and municipal bonds or the state of golf courses at St. Andrews or whatever fucking shit rich people—or the hangers-on like Professor Mitchell—like to talk about.
It’s a trove of information when Hudson digs in like that because it means we know about their pets, their home, their cars, their travel habits, and their family members—including who they’re fucking. Luckily Professor Mitchell is one very sad, single, and lonely man without even a pet to keep him company. Which should make this whole affair even easier than I originally thought.
We slip through the kitchen and into the living room. Despite his lonely state, the man still has a Christmas tree that he’s left the lights on. It sits just in front of the window, dimly lighting the room and illuminating the gold frames of the paintings on the wall. The ones he constantly brags to his students about. Ones worth a couple of thousand more than he owes us—interest and a penalty fee for making us retrieve them as far as I’m concerned.
“These the ones?” I turn to Finn to confirm.
“Yeah. Looks right. He’s shown us them a few times in class.”
“Frames are fucking fancy.” Hudson runs his finger along the edge of one.
“They are. So don’t get your grubby fucking hands on them,” a female voice cuts through our muted chatter, and my blood runs cold.
Two
Charlotte
This is the last thing I need right now. Especially when I’m already taking care of Colin’s whiny man-cold self. I have no idea how the hell I’m going to stop three masked men getting ready to abscond withmypaintings. Or what would be my paintings once I’m done with Colin. Over my dead body did I put in all this work fucking my art history professor for nothing.
I’ve come down here to grab some more cold medicine for him after he skipped his conference to sniffle his way through the weekend in bed, begging me to bring him ginger ale and crackers while he watches old reruns of Antiques Roadshow on TV. He was having a coughing fit a few minutes ago and woke me up to get it. Because a simple cold means he’s on his deathbed. Incapable of a feat so daring as to walk down the stairs in the night.
That job was left to me. Which is why I’m now staring at the backs of three men wearing all black, their faces covered with Krampus masks. One gold, one silver, and one a coppery bronze. Apparently, they’re medaling in being assholes. Or they’ve just skipped out on one of the raging St. Nick parties on campus.
They freeze for a moment after they hear my voice. I’m hoping they’ll go running back to wherever they came from. Scared about being caught and scattering off into the night. That this is just a crime of opportunity. But when I see the gun tucked into the gold one’s belt, I know I have way bigger problems on my hands.
I reach for it just as he does, but I’m faster—only by half a second, but it’s enough. I rip it out and place the barrel against the back of his head, the muzzle buried in a mess of wavy dark brown hair.
“Ah, ah, ah,” I tut. “Let’s not do anything rash right now.”
The guy in the silver mask inhales sharply, his eyes darting to the side to study me, confusion written in them. The one in the copper-colored mask moves suddenly, turning abruptly, and lunging in my direction. He’s big. Bigger than both of the other guys, with muscular arms and shoulders that make him look intimidating, and at least half a foot taller than my five foot eight, probably more. It’s hard to tell with those fucking horns.
I flick the safety and snap my eyes to his.
“Stop.” The word is quiet but firm. I don’t need Colin joining this little midnight party, but I need these assholes to understand I’m not fucking around. For his part, he freezes.
“I assume you’re all friends, or at least co-conspirators in this little midnight adventure. So if you don’t want your friend here to lose the back part of his skull, I’d suggest not making any more sudden movements. It’ll do us all a favor because I don’t want to have to clean brain matter off the paintings.”
“So much for being fucking alone,” the one in the gold mask growls, and the way Silver Mask winces, I’m guessing he’s the one who failed the reconnaissance part of this mission. Not exactly his fault. Colin’s and my situationship is a secret for a reason. Mainly because fucking a student is highly frowned upon and his wanting to keep that secret is exactly the kind of leverage I need to make my plan work. Except now we have three fucking witnesses.
The eyes behind the copper mask narrow at me, a flicker of green in them visible from the twinkling lights on the tree. They widen then, with something like recognition. His lips, visible under the snarled nose of his mask, part suddenly, and I don’t like it. Not one fucking bit. This guy must know me from somewhere, and I don’t like being in the dark.
“Take the mask off,” I order him.
He shakes his head.
“Take it fucking off,” I repeat, digging the muzzle into Gold Mask’s skull.
He shakes his head again.
“If you think I won’t shoot your friend here, you’re wrong.”
Another shake of this fucker’s head, and I’m losing my patience.
“He’ll be dead, and you’ll be in handcuffs.” I morph my face into a desperate bewildered look before I mimic the whine of a crying woman. “Oh, officer. I don’t know what happened. I came downstairs and these men were here. It looked like they were trying to steal something. I screamed for help. They tried to grab me. I didn’t know what they were going to do—kill me, rape me. I was so scared. The gun fell. I picked it up… I don’t know. I’ve never used a gun before, officer. But somehow, somehow…” I fake another sob. “I pulled the trigger. I don’t know how. I’m so sorry, officer. So sorry… Oh my god. There’ssomuch blood!” I flutter my lashes and smile again. “Are you familiar with castle law or did you not get that far in school?”
“Take the fucking mask off,” Gold Mask grunts, his voice is rough and deep—an impatient tone coloring his words.
