Page 121 of Brazen Deceits

When the color looks appropriately bloody—like my sad-ass soul—I cover the surrounding area with what’s left of RJ’s shirt and the plastic bag.

Pulling up the image in my mind one last time, I do a couple of practice flicks against the plate, set myself up at the right angle, and go at it.

That awfulness complete, I forge Gem Black’s signature in the corner. With a sigh, I look at my work.

It’s…fine.

Clara asked for a shitty forgery.

And that is exactly what she’s going to get.

Chapter 55

Jansen

Luckily, the museum skimped on the door of the cleaning closet. It’s locked, but not with the master lockdown system, so I pick my way in. Climbing to the top shelf, I make a nest of floor cleaner bottles and spare hand soap, hoping to make myself invisible should the guards clear the floors.

Lying on my back, I listen to the snippets of what’s going on outside of this room, the alarms blaring, and I’m trembling with the urge to get up and go. I breathe deep, trying to find my center, or even the suburbs near my center, but it’s not happening. I’m in full spiral mode, and I need to run or fuck or do a thousand and one jumping jacks until I’m sweaty and tired. And then I need to do it again. And again.

Being stuck in this room? Yeah. It’s fucked—and I don’t say that lightly.

It takes nearly all my restraint to keep from running up the stairs and breaking down the maintenance door to get out. It’s fucking overwhelming.

But Clara wants me to stay.

And based on what I’m hearing, her plan is turning into my kind of chaos.

Trips growls some complaint about them not being faster than a Ducati. Nice machines.

RJ chimes in with something about how the motorcycles were innocent in all this. Dang. That’s a pile of money sitting a few hundred feet from me.

Then Clara’s giggle comes down the line. “Do you think Mountain Dew in the gas tank causes permanent damage?”

I can see the light in her eyes, the bounce in her step, and damn, I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s magnificent, full of diabolical surprises. “You are brutal, beautiful,” I say, my fucking cock hard, remembering the way she rode her rage out on me.

A savage queen, hiding in the skin of your average college sweetheart.

Perfect.

The chaos continues, and I try not to bounce, to move, in case the guards make a sweep and RJ misses it while he’s giving directions to Clara and Trips. They’re racing across town, Trip’s ragged pant mixing with Clara’s lighter huffs in the earpieces, not helping my cock situation in the slightest.

If DNA hadn’t been discovered yet, I’d totally be grunting into my hand right about now.

And the worst thing about it is that jacking off would help me focus, keep me here, in my body, instead of spiralingoutside of myself, my fingers literally itching to take, to grab, to just do.

I’m running out of rope, and soon, I’m falling, whether or not I want to. Without my center, I know I’m a ticking time bomb in here.

I count down from one hundred in my head, trying anything to keep a single finger on the wheel.

And then, grace arrives.

I hear Clara talking to me on the earbuds. “Jansen, I need you to hang the forgery. RJ—find him a way in.”

RJ’s cool baritone snags the last of my attention. “On it.”

I roll up to a crouch, my head brushing the ceiling.

RJ’s voice cuts through Trips’ grumbles and Clara’s incoherent mumblings. “Where are you, Jay?”

---