Let Me Burn by Elodie Colt
Nathan
Ihit the enter key on my computer, watching with cool indifference as a six-figure sum disappears from my bank account. ‘Transfer complete’ pops up on the screen. I cock my head to the side, trying to figure out if I feel any better now that I’ve done the world a favor and made the American Cancer Society a few hundred thousand dollars richer.
Nope, there’s still nothing but a yawning void inside my heart.
Maybe it wasn’t enough. Maybe I should have donated a million. The Crawford's are bleeding money out of their asses, and for every million they spend, they get back twice as much. That’s how the machinery works. A snowball effect. If you’re rich, it’s easy to get richer until you reach the point where the snowball gets so big, it’s starting to crush you. Vincent learned that the hard way, and it almost destroyed his family.
God, what a shitty Monday. I’m so tired, it feels as if someone else is controlling my motor functions as I heave myself out of my leather chair and drag my feet over to the minibar to make myself an unhealthy but definitely necessary office-morning-drink. I haven’t slept for more than two hours, and they plagued me with cruel dreams that left a sting in my heart.
I’d dreamed of the fundraiser where I watched Ella from behind the marble pillar. The gallery was packed, thousands of attendees elbowing each other out of the way. I whipped my head around, anxiously searching for her in the crowd until I finally spotted her at the other end of the room, shouldering her way past people in an attempt to reach the exit. I called out her name, but no matter how loud I screamed, the crowd was louder, drowning my voice. The closer she got to the exit, the more I panicked because I knew that if she reached those doors, she would be gone forever. So, I jumped into action, barreling my way forward, desperate to get to her. I was already within reach, inches away from grabbing her shoulder when Vincent appeared out of nowhere, blocking my way.
“You can’t help her, but you can help your sister. Please, help me find her. Please,” he begged.
I tried to shove him out of the way, but he was as robust as a brick wall, not moving an inch. Stretching my neck, I threw a frantic glance over his shoulder just as Ella spared me an apologetic look from across the room.
“I’m sorry.”
Her words, even whispered, were so loud, so pervasive, they carried over the entire space. I screamed her name again, but she was already taking the last step through the door, disappearing into the darkness.
“Get out of my fucking way!” I yelled at Vincent, but he wouldn’t budge, so I ripped his pendant from the chain around my neck and jammed it into his ear. Just like I did with Luka.
As if on cue, the crowd went silent, all heads veering to me as Vincent dropped dead right there in the gallery, but I was already on the move, taking off after Ella.
Just as I busted through the door, a shot cracked the air. I froze, the sight in front of me rooting me to the spot. Blood soaked Ella’s dress, a stain of red spreading right above her heart. The last thing I saw before her eyes closed shut was Luka standing behind her, a wicked smirk on his face and smoke steaming out of his gun.
That was when I jerked awake with the echo of the shot pounding against my eardrums.
Wincing, I toss back my scotch in one go. At the same time, Nick breezes into my office, scowling when I slam my empty glass down.
“Nathan—”
“I don’t give a fuck,” I cut in with a growl.
He should know better than anyone how it feels to hit rock bottom. That sometimes, you just don’t find the strength to get up again. He’s been there when his fiancée took her own life all those years ago, blowing herself up in his own fucking house. If it hadn’t been for Janice, he would have snuffed out his lights, too.
Nick sighs, moseying over to the desk and perching against it. His gaze wanders to the sixth nook in the wall. I haven’t bothered to replace the safety glass yet, and the Buccelatti ring is still collecting dust in a velvet box on my desk.
Nook number six will stay empty. A painful reminder of what I’ve lost, and what I will never get back again.
I turn around to face him. “How are you holding up?”
He scuffs his polished shoe on the floor. “Bad. Damn, I just learned I’ve got a sister out there somewhere. I don’t even know how old she is, and Vincent doesn’t know shit, either. What are the fucking odds of ever finding her?”
Oh, brother, I know what it feels like to chase a ghost.
“Did you talk to Brooke?” I ask.
“Yeah. After mumbling a half-assed sorry, she said I should just forget about it and move on. I exploded, but as usual, she turned the tables and played the victim.” He shakes his head, staring out the window. “Honestly, I don’t blame her. After all, she drew the short straw, but she should have told me first. No offense, bro, but I’m sick of being the last in line.”
I heave a long, low sigh. “Me, too.”
There’s a knock on the door before Janice pops in her head.
“Sorry to interrupt, but do you have a minute?” she directs at Nick. “I’ve finished the new bracelet designs and could use a second opinion.”
“Sure.” Throwing me a heads-up-bro look, he pushes away from the desk and files out after Janice.
I open the fridge underneath the minibar and grab a bottle of water, kicking it shut with my foot. Just as I set the bottle to my lips and take the first sip, another knock on the door resounds. Before I can swallow my gulp of water and invite the person in, the door swings open, and I choke on the liquid running down my throat, almost snorting it back up through my nose.
You bored up there, God? Killing your time playing pranks on me? Must be the case because I definitely remember praying for you to send Ella, not her. You should get your ears checked, buddy.
She hasn’t changed much since I last saw her. Same designer clothes, same I’m-above-you poise, same dangerously haughty smile. Flaunting her size zero figure like a supermodel on a catwalk, she swaggers over to me in a pair of heels with a needle-sharp, pointy tip that makes me wonder how more than two toes can fit in there.
She halts in the middle of the room, her pear-shaped diamond danglers swaying underneath her glossy, raven black hair as she throws me a cheeky smile.
“Hello, Nathan.”
I set my water bottle down, cocking an eyebrow at her as I grace her with a lukewarm, “Aiko.”
She bites her lip at my brusque tone. “Long time no see.”
“Not long enough,” is my crisp remark, conveying that I want her here as much as the tax inspector who dropped by last week.
She dismisses my snarky remark with a low chuckle and glides over to the sofa in her black business dress that resembles an overlong blazer with thick lapels. Flicking her hair, she sits down and folds one leg over the other, the high side slit in her dress showing her naked leg. With puckered lips, she roams her gaze over my office to stop at the sixth nook in the art niche.
“This place hasn’t changed,” she remarks, subtly pointing out that the alexandrite ring is still MIA.
“What do you want, Aiko?”
“A drink, if you’d be so kind.” She nods to the arrangement of bottles next to me. “Red wine, please.”
“Remember the bar around the corner on Fifth Ave?” I make a show of glancing at my watch. “They open in about two hours.”
I turn away, but she grabs my wrist, pulling me to a stop. Frowning, I glance down at her hand. The last time I saw her, she was brazen enough to flaunt my wedding on her finger. Not so now, but the thin, white stripe on her forefinger tells me she’s just removed it for the occasion.
“Nathan, come on,” she says in a soft tone that’s meant to charm her way into my good graces. “Just because we got divorced doesn’t mean we can’t have a nice talk from time to time. We don’t need to be enemies. Remember what we—”
“I remember damn well, Aiko,” I grind out. “Six-months after our wedding day, after our meeting with Cartier, in the restroom down in the gallery, right next to the last stall. I wouldn’t have checked if I hadn’t heard that guy moaning like a horny cow when I passed, and what did I find? My wife screwing a client in my gallery.”
She drops my hand. “I don’t need a reminder, Nathan. That day, I made the biggest mistake of my life, and I will never forgive myself for how much I hurt you.”
I scoff, shuffling back to the minibar to get another hit of liquid patience.
“Listen, I don’t want to reopen old wounds,” she goes on. “I came here because I found a piece that might be of interest to you.”
I open a bottle of scotch, watching as it splutters into my glass. After our divorce, Aiko resumed her career as an independent curator for antique and vintage jewelry. A shiny title, a seductive smile, and a plunging neckline was all it took for her to snatch a good portion of our client base. Vincent is trying his damnedest to win them over, but alas, he can’t compete with Aiko’s sex appeal.
“And what piece might that be?” I drawl, heading for my desk to gain some distance and opening my laptop.
“The Van Cleef & Arpels necklace.”
I flash her a calculating glance. She’s speaking of the Van Cleef & Arpels necklace—a piece I’ve wanted to acquire for years but never got my hands on. For the most part, their designs are too minimalistic for my taste, but that piece caught my eye the moment I spotted it in a magazine. Astoundingly, it’s a custom-made jewel based on a sketch the buyer drew. The 4.5-carat diamond necklace cost a shocking five-thousand dollars back in the 1960s. Now, it’s worth about two-hundred-thousand.
Aiko smirks, knowing she’s caught my attention.
I level a frigid stare at her. “And what do you want in return?”
She drags a finger over her lower lip. “How about the Asscher-cut ring displayed in your storefront?”
I bark out a laugh. I should have known she wouldn’t settle for anything less than the famous, five-carat Asscher cut.
“Why, aren’t you happy with the one I put on your finger? Last time you strutted down Brighton Beach boulevard, it sparkled on your hand in all its glory.”
Her eye twitches if only for a second. “I like to remember how it felt to wear it, back when we were still…”
She trails off when I shake my head and bites her lip. I frown at her. Her words sound truly genuine. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s still not over our relationship. The thought triggers a jolt of compassion inside me, but I quickly chase the sensation away. What she ruined can’t be fixed.
I set my drink aside. “So… How do I come by the Van Cleef necklace?”
She rises to her feet and circles the sofa, halting next to me. “I’ll get it at the Las Vegas Antique Jewelry & Watch Show next week. Bring the Asscher-cut ring, and we’ll do the trade on site.”
“Who said anything about me going to Vegas?”
She chuckles, taking two steps closer and entering my personal space. “Oh, save yourself the antics, Nathan. We both know you’ll be there.”
Of course, I will be there. If there’s one jewelry event I haven’t missed since I was old enough to gamble, it’s the yearly jewelry show in Vegas.
I don’t say anything as she blinks up at me with her huge doe eyes, waiting for her next move. Her gaze drops to my lips pressed into a thin slash, the loud breaths through my nose the only sound in the room. Tentatively, she lifts her hand to place it onto my cheek, but before it can make contact with my skin, I grab her wrist, daring her to get closer. She doesn’t flinch, always eager for a challenge, and her eyes smolder before she crashes her mouth against mine. The small amount of alcohol in my system slows me down, my brain sluggish and unable to produce a coherent thought as her breasts squish my chest. My dick jerks to attention inside my suit pants, and I groan in annoyance, a sound that prompts her to yank her hand from my grip and bury it in my hair.
What the fuck are you doing?I yell inside my head, directing the question at myself as well as the only body part that’s suddenly rod straight. Memories of our wedding night slam into me from all sides, and before I know what’s happening, I spin her around and rock her up against the wall. My dick is desperate. Angry even. I haven’t let him drive home for too long, and now he’s making up for it, almost tearing a hole through my pants and poking Aiko’s hip.
You’re a cheater just like her.
Six seconds. That’s how long it takes for Ella’s face to pop up in my memory.
Instantly, my mind draws a blank, and I rip my lips from Aiko’s. She gives me a befuddled look when I let my hand vanish in her cleavage where I know she likes to store a couple of business cards. I pull one out and read the name printed on the glossy paper. Not meeting her questioning gaze, I retrieve a pen from my chest pocket, click it, and blot out the surname.
“You’ve got two weeks to change your name,” I declare, my voice laced with a lethal edge. “You’re not a Crawford anymore.”
Stunned, she watches as I stuff the card back in between her breasts before she regains her dignity, locks her jaw, and shoulders past me in a hurry to leave my office.
“See you in Vegas,” she says when she opens the door, all business again. “And don’t forget to bring the ring.”
But just as she makes her big exit with her ass on fire, she slams straight into Vincent who was in the process of entering, and stumbles back a step. He frowns down at her, his expression full of contempt.
Aiko clears her throat before she utters an ice-cold, “Vincent.”
“Aiko,” he replies with just as much malice dripping from his voice.
She rolls her shoulders and blazes past him without a second glance, leaving him gaping after her.
“What the hell was she doing here?” he asks when he closes the door behind him.
I wipe a hand down my face. “Trying to get me to hand over the Asscher-cut ring from our new collection in exchange for a Van Cleef necklace. We’re going to make the change in Las Vegas next week.”
Nodding, he walks over to me with a rueful expression on his face.
I shake my head, sending him a warning look. “Uh-uh. I’m not in the mood to rehash our shit-ton of family problems, and I don’t want to hear your lame excuses about—”
“Wayde found something,” he slices into my speech.
I straighten in alert, my teeth clicking shut.
“Luka sent Ella messages.” Inserating a pause, he adds, “After we chased him out of the city.”
The breath whooshes out of my lungs, and I sag down onto the sofa. “He’s still onto her,” I mutter, feeling my face draining of all color.
He clasps his hands behind his back. “Yes. Wayde says there’s a possibility that Luka came back.”
“But how? I thought your friends at the NYPD were on him. They tracked his every move.”
“That guy can switch identities faster than I can change my suits. We both know he’s too smart for his own good.”
I hang my head, making a tent with my fingers around my nose. Jesus Christ. I told Ella she was safe. That her stalker wasn’t an issue anymore.
‘There is no together as long as he’s still alive,’were her words before she disappeared on me. She knew he would come back. She fucking knew. And I didn’t listen.
Slapping my hands onto my thighs, I rise in one thunderous movement. “I have to find her.”
“I know,” Vincent says in a grave tone and takes a few steps closer to me. His gaze is on the cloudless sky outside the window.
“Maybe Wayde can—”
“He’s not the right guy for this job. You need someone in the field. Someone without a string of convictions. Someone who’s not on Luka Sokolov’s radar.” Slowly, his head turns to me. “How far are you willing to go?”
I utter a dark chuckle, scratching a spot on my nose with the back of my thumbnail. “Is that a trick question?”
He keeps his face blank. “I know someone who can help you. We can meet him in Vegas.”
I narrow my eyes at him. We had that conversation a few months ago…
‘I may have blurred the lines, but I won’t blow them up,’I told him, eager to keep my moral compass in place.
Well, I guess things have changed.
Because I’m about to blast away every line that ever existed.