Page 6 of Steal Me

Peu importe. Doesn't matter.

I wrap things up in twenty minutes, my purse nearly bulging with tonight's takings. When I finally emerge from the catacombs, the night air feels purifying, cool and clean against my feverish skin. I shiver, though not entirely from the cold. My heart races strangely when I think of him—of those dark eyes watching my every move from the shadows, assessing, calculating. Hunting.

The walk home takes thirty minutes. Another night, another score. Maman's treatment can continue.

I should be rejoicing, but my skin continues to prickle inexplicably.

My third-floor apartment welcomes me with familiar shabbiness. I've been doing my best to convince myself it's cozy, but this is one area in my life that mind conditioning has not worked to my advantage at all. It's ugly and cramped,period.

I slip out of my heels and am reaching for the deadbolts I installed myself when a massive hand covers my mouth from behind.

The arm around my waist feels like it could crack my ribs without effort. I thrash, but it's pointless. Years of street smarts, and I'm as helpless as a child.

A sweet scent fills my nose—chemical, medicinal. My chemistry knowledge identifies it just as consciousness begins to fade.

Diethyl ether.

My last coherent thought is that I didn't even hear them enter behind me.

****

IWAKE TO THE FAMILIARache of bound wrists.

The warehouse around me echoes with emptiness. Unlike the catacombs with their claustrophobic stone walls, this space sprawls endlessly into shadow. Industrial pipes snake across a ceiling lost in darkness. Rusted machinery squats in corners like mechanical sentinels. The air carries rust, old oil, and something else—the sharp tang of fear.

Mine.

A single spotlight illuminates the chair I'm bound to, making the darkness beyond even more impenetrable. Classic interrogation technique. Make the subject feel exposed, vulnerable, while the interrogator remains hidden.

But he isn't hidden.

A man sits across from me, just at the edge of the light.

It'shim,of course.

Black suit tailored to perfection against broad shoulders. Black hair that makes me think of ravens' wings. And eyes that are just as blue as mine, surprisingly.

To describe him as beautiful would be an insult. Because there's so much more to this man than the chiseled perfection of his face or the virile muscularity of his build. There are just so many layers to this man. Power cloaked in mystery. Light and darkness in an endless battle. And in his startlingly blue eyes, I see...something I'm not quite ready to label.

Not just yet.

The air between us crackles with something I don't understand—electricity, danger, attraction?

Ne sois pas bête, Li. Don't be silly.

"You committed a crime in my property."

The king of the catacombs has finally spoken, and his voice slides through the air like a dagger wrapped in silk. Soft and smooth, but deadly as ever.

But even so...

I blink at him in sham innocence.

There isno wayhe is going to make me admit to theft, just like that.

"Désolé, monsieur," I whisper. "I don't know what—"

He holds his hand up, and of course I shut up.

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