Page 37 of Keep Me (Rebel Hearts Heists 2)
“Do you like it, Mr. Donnelly? That’s a life size self-portrait.”
Yep. That makes sense. He grins and looks at Sloane when he says self-portrait. Fucking great, we’re looking at Kronin’s dick in all its veiny glory. But if anything I’m way bigger than he is, so I look at my kitten and wink at her enjoying the adorable blush that begins to appear on her cheeks. It’s very hard to remember I’m supposed to be her brother.
“So, what do you think ??????? (darling), you like?”
Sloane mutters something about realism, walking past the bronze dick and stopping in front of a large painting that’s hanging above a Louis XV style sofa.
“This is interesting. It reminds me of a storm at sea?”
Kronin nods enthusiastically and opens his arms to encompass the size of the canvas. “Very good, my muse. That was my first attempt at shit art and you’re spot on. It’s called ‘Shit storm’. It’s valued at fifty million dollars. I’ve received countless offers for it but I couldn’t quite bear to part with it until very recently. I sold it to a North Korean businessman. He’s been invited to the wedding next week and he decided to take it home with him then.”
Sloane nods and asks, “What made you decide to sell it, if you were so emotionally attached to it?”
Kronin’s toothy grin reminds me of a predator, a shark.
“He offered me double, a hundred million. Everything has a price, ??????? (darling), everything.” From the cold stare in Kronin’s eyes, I know that he means it and he'd probably sell his own mother if someone offered him enough money.
We keep pursuing more of his art pieces, entering a large bedroom dominated by a huge four poster bed. Everything is covered in dark red velvet and gold trimmings, from the heavy curtains hanging on the windows, to the antique chaise longue at the foot of the bed.
Definitely not my taste but the way Kronin flaunts his money makes me think that he wasn’t born into this kind of opulence. I file this information in a corner of my mind for later and set my eyes on the Russian, who turns to look at Sloane and steps a little too close to her for comfort.
“So, my muse, what do you think? Would you let me render you immortal? The whole world deserves to see your beauty.” Sloane nods as we agreed earlier. None of us likes having her so close to Kronin but this is the only way to intercept those nuclear codes and possibly find out what type of involvement VDB has in this deal.
“Can I take a moment to sketch you right now, ???????? (darling?) I’ll need to make a mold of your entire body for the sculpture and we could get together in a few days for that, but I also want to do a painting and for that a sketch would suffice.”
I really don’t like how close he’s standing to Sloane and the view of Kronin’s hands on my girl’s shoulders is enough to make my blood boil, but rather than grabbing his blond dreadlocks and smashing his head against the mirror of the ornate vanity on one side of the bed, I think about what Kaden would do and opt for making a suggestion instead.
“Wouldn’t it be better to take some photos of her? Wouldn’t they be more realistic than a few sketches?”
Kronin doesn’t even turn, rapt with his perusal of Sloane’s face. “??? (No), River. I will also take some photos but a photo could never capture the brightness of her eyes, the softness of her lips, the delicate structure of her bones. Wait until I have my hands on her beautiful body, covering it with the material I need for the mold.”
“What kind of material will you use?” Sloane asks with some concern in her soft voice. I don’t blame her. I feel like that is information I’d want an immediate answer to.
“Vaseline first, to make sure the mold comes off and then plaster.”
Sloane takes an instinctive step back but Kronin grabs her chin in one of his hands and that’s when I notice a very odd silver ring on his middle finger. It’s a very large piece that covers two of his knuckles and represents a stylized skull. Something in that ring attracts my attention and I keep observing it while Kronin sketches Sloane’s face on a notepad and then takes photos of her.
When the Russian is done, there’s a knock on the door and one of Kronin’s staff enters the room. By the epaulets on her shoulders, I’d say that it’s the yacht’s chief stew.
“Yekaterina, can’t you see that I’m busy?”
The rail thin, blonde lady’s lips tighten in a flat line, showing her obvious displeasure. “Sir, I apologize. But apparently there’s been an extra delivery of the vintage champagne you’ve ordered and the delivery man will only accept cash. One hundred grand.”
“Incompetents, that’s what you all are! I’d have expected for you to be prepared for this, and not to be disturbed.”
Kronin walks back into the lounge and switches on a desktop computer that was well hidden behind a wood panel on his antique desk. Once the machine is booted, he detaches the skull from the rest of his ring, revealing a concealed USB stick, or something that looks like one of the old USB sticks I remember, that we still used a decade ago. Rather than inserting the stick on a port in the PC tower, he waits for a program to open, making the screen flash with a number sequence. At the same time, the ‘Shit Storm’ painting moves revealing a modern looking safe. Kronin enters the code into the keypad of the safe and then inserts the weird looking stick in a port in the safe’s door.
He stands in front of the open safe, taking out four bundles of cash. I’m pretty sure I also catch a glimpse of yellow inside the safe, probably gold bars.
It makes me uncomfortable how trusting he is. Well, actually I don’t think it’s trust, he could have asked us to leave. This feels more like a show and tell. I wonder what the man is up to … besides being weird as fuck.
Once he gives his chief stew the money she requires, our host turns back to us. “I’m sorry for the interruption, ??????? (darling). So, how about we do your modeling session at the hotel? I have a suite there. There’s another big high rollers poker game the night before the wedding, so I’ll be at the hotel all day getting ready. Do you want to model for me tomorrow? There no one should distract us or disturb us like here.”
As we agree to his plan, the Russian calls his bodyguard, Lagi, to escort us out of his quarters and back into the ballroom. “I’ll be right with you, to toast the happy couple, I just have a few things to attend to beforehand.”
As we return to the ballroom, the party is in full swing and most of the guests are dancing to the music of a live string quartet.
Sloane seems disappointed and I ask her what’s the matter. “I promised Blaine to have the first dance with him and we missed it. He’s dancing with Alicia now.”
I smile at my sweet girl and ask her to dance with me instead. “Will you do me the honor, Kitten?”
I love the feel of her soft body in my arms as we twirl around the room, carried by a romantic melody. Some Russian composer I can’t remember the name of.
“A penny for your thoughts?” I ask when I see that she’s uncharacteristically quiet.
“I was having a funny thought Rivs,” she whispers. “Earlier, when we left the penthouse, I felt a little bit like a Bond girl. And you know, Kronin would be really perfect as a Bond villain. When he talked about making a mold of my body, I just thought about Goldfinger. And then I thought that this is my usual luck. Rather than get a statue of my body that’s covered in gold, mine will be covered in shit.”
She giggles at her little joke and I hold her tighter in my arms, shaking my head and smiling: she’s so beautiful and perfect. So unique. I hate how much danger we’ve put her in since we crossed paths with her.
Now though? Now, we were going to focus all our attention on protecting her cute little ass.
