Page 64 of Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined
Her lips dropped open, her muscles stiffened, and it became clear to him that Cleo had just had her first ever insight into who Percy really was.
By habit, he watched for the effect of his words in the eyes. The light went out, and the fear came in, as it always did, so he added, “That royal courtesy extends only as far as my patience. You would be wise to watch your mouth.”
The slight tremble in her lower lip revealed she wasn’t half as brave as she pretended to be when she spoke. “And only an hour ago you said we were friends.”
And so they had been. Hers were the same eyes he had watched so recently for a spark of his own conjuring over dinner. The same proud eyes he’d loved to see glazed with desire at night and begging him for more. The same eyes he sought across the room at countless boring parties, always a guarantee of at least one evening of complete and unrestrained indulgence. He despised the fact that he cared anymore, given how little the friendship evidently meant to her, and he hated himself as he softened the blow. “Let it go. You were going to give it to me, anyway.”
Sensing his weakness, her confidence redoubled, making him hate himself all the more. “No. No, I was never really going to give it to you.”
“Well,” he laughed, “you really are a bitch.”
She also laughed, in hearty agreement. “You have no idea.”
“Oh, I think I have some idea.” But he hadn’t. Not really. Cleo had been one of his favourite people, and the change in her, though clear to see, threw him. She’d had a hard life, and power corrupts, undoubtedly, but this was extreme. Percy, looking regretfully over her defiant features, tried a final attempt at appealing to the person he thought he knew. “What would you even do with it? The thing’s falling apart after the way you handled it. It’s probably worth next to nothing already. Just step away, and we’ll pretend none of this ever happened.”
She shook her head, her black hair shining magnificently under the gaudy hotel chandeliers. “I know it’s not just another piece for your collection.” She spoke so that only the two of them could hear. “I know the power it holds. I know it, and I want it.”
He let out a derisive laugh, worried, but also relieved she apparently had no idea about the supernatural attributes of the majority of artefacts she’d seen him acquire over the years. “Surely you can’t believe that crap. It’s a myth, nothing more. The magical blood of a dead man? You’re not even a Christian. What did the blood of Christ ever do for you?”
“Not a thing. But that changes today. Give it back to me now, or it’s war.”
It took all of two seconds for him to make up his mind. He dropped a final warning. “I don’t enjoy murdering my friends, Cleo.”
“And I already told you, Percy. I’m not your friend.”
“Have it your way.”
“I always do.” She clapped her hands, the sharp sound that echoed throughout the atrium calling her security detail to order, not that they had ever stopped watching the interaction intently. “Escort Doctor Ashdown back to his room. Search it for the sheath, then call me. Do not let him leave.”
Percy glanced back at the receptionist as he was surrounded by four burly men, but she seemed to have found something very important on her computer screen and would not be distracted. He nodded, sighed, and set a slow but steady pace towards the elevator. Once there, he pressed the button, looked back at Cleo’s smug face, and called out, “See you at Sotheby’s.”
“Fuck you,” she called across the room with a smile.
“There’s very little chance of that now,” he called back.
“Fuck you, Doctor Ashdown.”
He chuckled as he filed in behind two men and took his place in the middle, waiting for the other two to enter. The doors closed with tedious slowness, then he asked, “How much?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WALEED AND TAREQ
No one said a word, the four men staring straight ahead as the elevator rose and rose towards the second best hotel suite in Tripoli.
As a rule, Percy did not start international incidents in countries where the people were poor and the police were corrupt. At least not when his opponent held more wealth and power than he did. So, keeping his eyes steadfastly forward, he assessed the four men in the mirrored walls of the elevator.
The two men in front wore different uniforms than those in back. Those at the front appeared to be part of a local security business, while the others, Percy surmised, were most likely part of Cleo’s regular security detail. And those two men smelled. It was a smell he couldn’t place, but it offended and unsettled him. There was a certain wrongness to it, and that wrongness quickly catalysed a flush of soothing adrenaline.
The faces of the poorly smelling men were normal enough, just as bored as one might expect, yet the faces in front had, somehow, a touch more animation to them.
The man on the right-front side studied Percy with a wary curiosity whenever he looked away, then took his eyes back tothe elevator floor without the least subtlety as soon as Percy looked up, a game Percy began to amuse himself with on the long ride, in between figuring them all out.
The security guard to his front-left was quite good looking. It would be a shame to have to hurt him, and it went against Percy’s personal philosophy of preserving beautiful things whenever he could, so he attempted, “Whatever she’s paying you, I’ll double it.”
The handsome man snorted as the doors opened. “Out.”
“That much, eh?” Percy followed the first two down the hall and to his door. He pulled out his room key, which the handsome man took and used to open the door, entering first and looking around before motioning for the others to follow. The man with the wary curiosity entered before Percy, who warned lightly, “It’s just a job. Hardly worth the fallout. Name your price.”
