Luke Read online

  It burned bright, and no one would ever measure up after that.

  Even now, the memory of Silas’ hands running over my body, caressing my skin, the heat of his breath against me, sent a shiver up my spine.

  "Well, what?" I asked.

  “Well,” Iver said, his brow furrowed as he looked at me. “Well something, darling. Your head was somewhere, and certainly wasn't thinking about the slovenly fight promoter we’re fleecing.”

  I felt a flush rise to my cheeks, uncharacteristic of me. I had learned a long time ago to hide my reactions to things- blushing was not something you wanted to do in my line of work. It was a giveaway, a potential death sentence. Instead, I laughed off Iver’s suggestion that I was distracted by something. I wasn’t distracted. I wouldn’t allow myself to be distracted by the memory of Silas.

  Silas was ancient history.

  “The champagne is making me flush,” I lied.

  “I can see the flush,” Iver said. “But it's definitely not the champagne. The Ariana I know can handle a glass or two of champagne. But I’ll refrain from prying into your little secret just to satisfy my own curiosity. We have more pressing issues to attend to. Distraction is not an option."

  "No," I repeated, mentally chastising myself. "Distraction is not an option."

  "So," Iver said. "What does your gut say?"

  "My gut?" I asked blankly. All I could think of was what my instincts were telling me about Silas. Go see him.

  I put the thought out of my head.

  "Yes, darling," Iver said, shaking his head. "Something has you rattled. What does your gut tell you about the job? About Coker?"

  I shook myself back to the present. Enough with the past. That shit wasn't going to eat me alive. "My gut says we lost him. He did everything we knew he would do. He bit on the info about the television project, then rigged the fight. It's exactly what we wanted.”

  “He definitely bit,” Emir spoke up from across the hotel room, where he sat at a desk with two laptops open, absorbed in some geekery. Emir was our expert in absolutely anything that involved technology. In other words, the stuff that was way over my head. “He got rid of the other fighter in a hit and run. The fighter is at Mercy General still. He's got a few broken bones, but it looks like he’ll be fine.”

  "That's good," I said. "We were off when it came to that part of things. He hadn't taken someone down like that before." I felt badly, responsible for the fighter we'd gotten injured. But I told myself if it hadn’t been that fighter, it would have been someone else. Besides, we were running this entire game for the benefit of one of Roy Coker's other victims. "Except now we’re going to have to bag the whole thing.”

  “Why?” Iver asked.

  I straightened in my chair. “Coker’s fighter just lost. That’s the issue. We needed his guy to win.”

  Iver sipped from his glass, and shrugged. “I suppose that’s how you see it,” he said.

  “You're saying we should go ahead with it?” I asked. “It's too risky. We don’t take risks. Unless the mark is throwing the money at us, we don't do run the game. We don’t pursue. Coker was trying to impress us with his guy, who just got slaughtered. Now, he’s going to expect us to walk away, not pursue him. We pursue him, we’re needy. That’s the death knell for us. You know that.”

  "It's a worthy cause," Oscar said from across the room where he stood, casually sipping from a crystal tumbler of scotch.

  I sighed. "They're always worthy causes," I said. "And Coker is a disgusting piece of filth. I'm aware of all of that."

  "But this case is quite personal to me," Iver said.

  "And how often have we done a personal job for Iver?" Emir said. "I didn't even know he had a personal life that extended beyond screwing models."

  "The intrigue and excitement in my personal life would be far too much for you to handle, Emir," Iver said, his eyes twinkling.

  Emir laughed. "Actresses and champagne twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week."

  "Don't forget the caviar," Iver added. "And the yachts. I'm like the James Bond of grifters, really."

  This was Iver's first personal request. Iver was an extremely private person. Even with how skillful I was at finding people, I still didn't know where exactly he lived. But apparently he had a housekeeper with a husband who used to be one of Coker's fighters, one who was left in a bad way after Coker was through with him. Iver considered Coker a personal problem that needed to be removed.

  We are a motley crew, I thought, a group of reformed con artists still conning. But for the greater good. It was silly. Laughable. But we were who we were. My parents always said you could take a con out of the game, but you'd never take the game out of the con.

  I was who I was. I did things my way, not my parents' way. They saw everyone as a mark, no matter what. And if you had a vulnerability, it made you a better target. My parents abhorred weakness.

  When I turned eighteen, I vowed to do things differently - to use my skills only on people who deserved it. It wasn't until I'd gotten together with Iver and Emir and Oscar that everything had fallen into place.

  Iver spoke, his voice insistent. “I never said we should pursue him,” he said. “In fact, we should set the bar higher for him.”

  “Make him jump through more hoops,” Oscar said, raising his glass.

  “Please don't tell me that you think this is a good idea, Oscar,” I said. “You're always the voice of reason. We don’t take excessive risks. You taught me that. We can regroup and figure out something else - Emir can hack his accounts.”

  "Hacking is too risky," Emir said.

  “You should listen to what Iver has to say,” Oscar said. “When we got your text, we discussed other possibilities.”

  “This is mutiny,” I said.

  Iver tossed his head back, laughing. “Mutiny?” he asked. “Are you suggesting you're the captain of this ship?”

  “I always thought of myself as the captain,” Emir said, and Iver gestured toward him, with an impish grin.

  “See?" Iver asked. "You’ve hurt Emir’s feelings. Besides, three days ago, you were set on bringing the promoter down. Suddenly you want to cut and run?”

  I flushed. The truth was, seeing Silas had me spooked. I was trying not to be superstitious, but seeing him had to be some kind of sign.

  It wasn't a good omen, someone just coming out of my past like that.

  “I don't want to cut and run,” I lied. “I want to walk away, and live to grift another day. A wise old man taught me that.” I looked meaningfully at Oscar, who stood with his elbow on the grand piano, the picture of a harmless sweater-clad retiree. In reality, he was a brilliant strategist and one of the most successful long con artists of the last century.

  “Well,” Oscar said. “I think this is a viable option.”

  “Okay.” I sighed. “What’s the plan? Sell me on it.”

  “The promoter embarrassed himself,” Iver said. "His fighter was worthless. You were hunting talent before, and investors for a legitimate television channel, but maybe you’re not hunting for talent. Maybe you’re really looking for the opposite of talent.”

  “Guys to take a fall,” I said.

  “More than just a fall,” Iver said. “What if you're actually looking for fighters for a private no-rules network, right? Maybe it’s the ultimate in no rules. Totally off the books.”

  “Snuff?” I asked, shaking my head.

  "I wouldn't sell it that way," Iver said. "A gladiator channel. The real kind of gladiator. A fight to the death."

  "So, snuff," I repeated.

  Iver made a tsk-tsk sound. "Potato, po-tah-toh," he said.

  “Coker would probably be more than happy to provide the product for something like that,” I admitted.

  “It’s also dirtier,” Iver said. “Which means involvement would be more expensive. Riskier.”

  “Better for us,” Oscar said, winking at me.

  “Which means more money. A bigger payoff. How much?” I as