Heist Royale (Thieves’ Gambit #2)

Chapter Four

Four

A sizzling sound woke me up. And too many smells to break down. Butter? Salisbury steak? More citrus? And was that…sugarcane?

I winced and sat up, rubbing my eyes. There was a table under me? No, I was sitting at a table. My butt was half asleep, so who knew how long I’d been here.

A few other tables, all painted in bright colors, filled the rest of the room. Wind blew a sheer white curtain through open French doors on one side of the room. On the other side was a tiny, empty bar, and behind that, an open door—the origin of all that sizzling.

A pan clattered, and glasses clinked. People were speaking too.

I sat up, thankfully not as dizzy as I would have guessed, and crept toward the open French doors. If there was a balcony, this would be an easy escape.

No such luck. The balcony was encased by glass windows, so spotless I didn’t notice them at first. Past them, a tumbling slope descended. The view was spectacular, overlooking a twinkling city below.

A loud clang made me jump. Someone snapped in Portuguese, “Clean that up, Marc.”

Using my lightest steps, I peeked into the kitchen, the only place another exit could be. It was chaos. Plates and saucepans and mixing bowls were stacked in comically high piles by a sink, where that man I’d face-kicked was scrubbing furiously. The scarf woman, who I could now see was a big-boned redhead whose face was smeared with freckles, was transporting dirty cookware to the industrial sink. The guy in plaid shorts, whose nose I’d broken with my chain, was now wearing a splint and stood at attention between an open pantry and an industrial freezer. There was a gun at his hip.

They all had guns at their hips. I didn’t know what the hell was going on here, but if I could get one—

“Go sit down, Ross. I’ll be out shortly.”

I stiffened. Scarf Woman jogged toward the freezer to fetch something, revealing a fourth person in front of the stove. He was around my age, or twentyish, in surprisingly tasteful tan trousers. His silk dress shirt was starting to come untucked, and the sleeves were rolled up. He had golden-brown skin and voluminous black hair that stuck to his forehead, likely due to the steam from the four different pans he had going.

He spared me a glance. “Shoo, now.” With a spatula in his hand, he gestured me back into the other room.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I retreated. There were too many of them in that room. Not to mention, they were armed. Also…

I twisted my wrist. My meteor bracelet had been stolen.

Call me a hypocrite, but having your belongings taken really sucks.

I patted my back pocket, expecting to find my phone gone, but it was still there in its waterproof Starry Night case. The signal was scrambled, though, so it was pretty much useless.

About ten minutes later, Nose Splint and Scarf Woman exited the kitchen to set up two tables with tablecloths and silverware. The guy in the silk shirt came out to drop two plates at the table nearest me, while the last goon, a wiry, tall guy with a five-o’clock shadow and an intimidating scar slashing his neck, waited by the kitchen, hand on his gun holster.

Yes, sir, I get it. No escaping or whatever.

The man in the silk shirt fell exhaustedly into one of the multicolored chairs at the table, wiping his brow as one who’d just been cooking up a storm would.

Scarf Woman returned to the kitchen and came out balancing three more plates between her lithe arms. She left one with the guy guarding the kitchen and the other two at a table for her and Nose Splint.

Maybe, having been involved with too many kidnappings in real life, I was now dreaming about them.

“Sit.” Silk Shirt gestured to the chair beside him. I flipped him off. He sighed and dragged a rose-gold chain out of his pocket. My meteor bracelet.

“I’ll give it back if you sit down.” He dangled it like I was a cat he was playing with.

I stomped up to the table and reached for it, but he jerked it back at the last second. “ After we talk.” He nodded to the seat again.

Guess I was going to have to play along until I could figure a way out of this.

I sat.

“Wonderful!” He grinned in the self-satisfied way people who are used to getting what they want do, then glanced around. “What is everyone waiting for? Eat.”

All three of the goons picked up silverware and did as they were told—even the guy standing by the kitchen found a fork on the bar. I glanced down at my plate.

I had no idea what the hell I was looking at.

Meat? Something definitely smelled savory, but it was so smothered in red and brown seasonings that I couldn’t make out what animal it was, let alone a cut. And some kind of…salad? Mush? It could have been rice porridge, but there were specks of orange in it. I leaned down and took a whiff. Yes, definitely citrus in there. And was that fried sugarcane and plantains on the side…with gravy? Mole?

I side-eyed the man in the silk shirt. He steepled his fingers under his chin…watching me.

Hesitantly, I picked up a fork and, like a poison-conscious girl, switched his plate with mine before flaking up a corner of the maybe-meat.

It melted like butter in my mouth. Probably because there was way too much butter; it almost overwhelmed the kick of the spices. Venison, I thought that’s what it was.

“Too much butter,” I said. “But otherwise, surprisingly all right, I guess.”

The man in the silk shirt lit up. Since he seemed to be expecting it, I tried what looked to be a burnt plantain next.

The mushy disaster in my mouth was definitely not a plantain. I spit that mess into a napkin as fast as I could.

“So you did bring me here to kill me…” I mumbled.

He scoffed. “Nonsense. Marc. Maria. How is everything?”

Marc, the man with the scar and the five-o’clock shadow by the kitchen, shook his head as he swallowed. Maria’s eyes were watering as she scooped up another spoonful. “Excellent, sir. As usual,” she forced out.

I never thought I’d feel bad for the people who kidnapped me, but here we were.

“Who are you?” If anything, talking was an excuse not to eat. “I don’t get invited to dinner with strangers that often.”

“Strangers?” He huffed and took a bite of the venison, leaving a messy sprinkle of spices all over the tablecloth but somehow managing not to get anything on himself. “You’ve been in my hotel room, seen my dirty sheets, hacked my computer, and we’re still strangers? You break my heart.”

“I’ve never—” I thought back to the kitchen, and the tornado he’d whipped it into. In a matter of minutes, his side of the table was covered in crumpled paper towels and crumbs. This dude was naturally messy. I had been in a messy hotel room before. In which I hacked someone’s computer.

During the Gambit. Phase two. I was supposed to delete a list of organization members off his laptop.

Oh, crap.

“It’s all coming back to you now?” he said with a less genuine smile. “You can call me Baron. You’ve been screwing me over for quite a few months now.”

Was that what this was? Petty revenge?

“Look,” I said carefully. “I’m just a hired hand. If you’re looking for someone to be pissed at, there are a lot bigger, slimier fish than me.”

He chuckled. “I’ve never heard someone refer to Count as a fish before, but I’ll have to use that the next time I’m unfortunate enough to speak to her. Let’s do a speed run of all your questions,” he said. “No, I don’t work for Count. Yes, she hired you to steal from me. No, I don’t like her any more than you probably do. Yes, I’m with the organization. Does that clear things up?”

“All except for why I’m here and why Count had us stealing from you.”

He raked his hands through his hair, which looked like it was cut to be worn as a stylish mess. “You and that Devroe boy screwed me out of a quarter million dollars tonight. I own Saint Santi’s record label.” He tapped his knife against his plate. “I also owned the mansion you stole a Monet from last month, as well as the stocks you tanked by leaking information you hacked out of an office building in New York two months ago. You’ve been ruining my life since you entered the Gambit. Well, ruining my life as much as a fly can ruin an elephant’s life, but you know, still so annoying.”

All those jobs Count sent us on…they were hit jobs on this Baron guy?

“What’d you do to piss her off?”

He shrugged. “Pretty understandable, actually. I’m trying to replace her. And I want your help.”