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“It should be you who goes. It’s a big move and they’ll want to speak with the boss.”
As we pull into my parking space, I roll the idea around my head. Colombia… the second-best hookers in the world. And Ihavebeen wanting to get my hands on that Botero painting for some time now. But then I think about my most recently acquired artifact. The pretty little China Doll in my Museum.
“Can’t,” I mutter, sliding on my Cartier shades. “I have business to attend to here.”
“What business? I know all of your business.”
I might as well tell him. Orna is his sister, and she and my other female cousins have big mouths. “I have Marcus Murphy’s daughter in the Museum.”
Antoin freezes, the color drains from his face. “You crazy son of a bitch,” he mutters under his breath. “You did it. You actually fuckin’ did it.”
A satisfied smile stretches across my face.
Poppy
Another sunset, another sunrise. A few fitful hours of sleep somewhere in between.
I’m lying on the bed, counting the carved roses on the ceiling when there’s a sharp knock on the door.
It’s instinctive to tug open the bedside drawer and grab another gilded shard. “Go away,” I yell. I hate how the fear catches in my throat.
“Ah, come on,” a soft, female voice purrs. “I’m nice, I promise.”
Suspicious, I creep along the floorboards and peer through the keyhole. On the other side, I can just make out a pair of slim legs in black jeans and a hem of a white shirt. Not the Devil, at least.
“Fine,” I say, but I don’t let go of my makeshift weapon. “You can come in.”
The lock pops open, and a small woman appears in the doorway. She drags wide eyes over the length of my body before her face hardens. “That fucking fool,” she says, stomping into the room. “Look at the goddamn state of you.”
Once the surprise settles, I realize I must truly look a mess. I haven’t showered in three days, my hair is matted at the nape of my neck, and my face is swollen from bouts of sobbing.
I tug the robe tighter around me, ashamed. Her eyes land on my chest. “Is thatblood?” She asks, incredulous. “Yours or his?”
“His.”
“That explains the cut on his cheek. You got him good, huh?”
Her face splits into a wide grin. This woman isbeautiful.Thick, black curls tumble down to her waist, a stark contrast to her pale skin. She smells like French vanilla and soap, a welcome scent in this stale room. And those amber eyes… the same as Lorcan’s.
“I’m Orna,” she says, softer this time. Only now do I notice a tinge of an Irish accent. “I didn’t catch your name, lovie?”
“Poppy,” I say meekly. “Poppy Valentina.”
She nods. “Poppy, all right. Look, I’m sorry you’re in this situation, but I’m here to give you anything you need.”
“My freedom? A one-way ticket back to Stanford and a restraining order against that monster?”
Her smile this time is sympathetic. “I can’t help on that side of things, I’m afraid.” She sinks onto the chaise lounge and pats the velvet fabric next to her. After a few reluctant seconds, I take a seat. “Look Poppy, I’ll keep it real with you. Lorcan… hecollectsthings. Those things usually don’t come with a pulse, granted. But he’s been a little bit unpredictable since his father and brothers died. Could be the stress. Could be the…” she lifts her hand to her mouth, pinky out, like she’s taking a sip from a glass. “You know. Anyway, one thing that always remains true is that he gets bored easily. This won’t be forever, I’m sure of it.”
My mind flicks back to the night I woke up here.You won’t like the way I’ll discard you.
“Have there been others?” I all but whisper.
She shakes her head.
“So, where am I?”
“The Museum. It’s where Lorcan keeps his…” she flashes an apologetic smile, “mostprizedpossessions.”
