Page 50

Oh, thank God.Knox and the others are coming. I have every faith they’ll get me out of here. Relief sweeps through me, making me bold.
“Why do you even want it?” I ask, unable to keep the belligerence out of my voice. “So you can hide it away in that secret room? What’s the point?”
He moves closer and lowers his face down to my level. “The point is I enjoy collecting beautiful, rare, priceless things. I like to look at them and know they’re mine.” He tilts his head, seemingly studying me in a different way than before. Not so much like a problem, but more like…a possibility? I pull back, not liking the strange, possessive gleam in his eyes. Almost as though he’s considering adding me to his collection.
I freeze when he lifts the switchblade and drags it over the shell of my ear. I’m tired of this bastard’s games.
“Just get it over with!” I hiss. “If you’re going to do it, then do it already!”
I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth. Of course, I don’t want him to cut me, but I’m sick of him torturing me with that blade and his threats. Plus, I know Knox is on the way, which fills me with a surge of unruly confidence and renewed fight. I’m on the verge of telling this asshole to go fuck himself when he stands up straight, flicks the blade shut and sends me a grin that chills me to the bone.
“I have something else in mind for you.” He motions to my wrists, directing his command to the guards. “Cut her loose and take her to my trophy room.”
Trophy room?Something about the sound of it makes my skin crawl. Is this man an art collector or a serial killer?
Guess I’m about to find out.
Toad quickly slices through my zip ties and Dome Head jerks me up out of the chair. Glaring at him, I yank my arm and seethe, “Prick.”
I’m angry as hell that I’m in this situation. If these bastards think I’m just going to bow down and do whatever they say, they better think again. I’m going to be the most difficult, biggest pain in the ass they’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering.
Unfortunately, Torres’ thugs are bigger and stronger than me. They each roughly grab an arm and force me to walk into the house. We follow Torres down a long, breezy hallway, past fancy objets d’art including prints, sculptures and small ceramic statues. I can’t help but wonder if he legitimately purchased any of them.
The mansion consists of multiple levels, laid out in a maze of corridors, and we walk down a set of stairs, down another hall and he pauses in front of a door.
“Prepare to be impressed,” he states pompously, and I struggle not to roll my eyes. He punches a code into a panel beside the door and it whooshes open. Then he steps inside, spreads his arms wide and states, “Fuck the Louvre. I have the best art collection in the entire world.”
Endless objects fill the room, and I suck in a breath as the door closes behind us and the guards release me. It’s almost like a mini museum. Huge oil paintings, some that look vaguely familiar, hang on the walls; vases and statues adorn pedestals; and there’s even an antique car parked in the corner of the room behind a velvet rope.
Instead of appearing impressed like he expects, I lift my hand and study my fingernails with acute interest. There’s no way I’m letting this narcissistic asshole think I’m interested,much less dazzled, by his illicit collection. I get the feeling he’s waiting for me to respond or show my appreciation, but he can wait ‘til the cows come home.Ha. Not gonna happen, dick.
There’s only one thief who impresses me. One thief who ignites my blood and sends my emotions into a complete stall and spin. One thief who makes my heart do barrel rolls inside my chest.
Knox Remington Beckett.
Just thinking his name makes my body warmer and my soul light up. He’s everything I’ve always wanted, and I pushed him away.So, so stupid, Hunter.I vow to get out of this situation, throw myself back into Knox’s arms where I belong, and ask him to forgive me for being foolish and letting my fear take control of my emotions.
Because I am getting out of here. And we’re returning that stupid emerald to its rightful owner. No way am I letting it get back into this narcissist’s greedy hands.
“Have you ever heard of Vaisala?” Torres asks, his tone conversational.
I give the slightest shake of my head.
“It’s a Finnish company that helps preserve the Mona Lisa by measuring and monitoring the conditions within its glass vitrine.”
I have no idea where he’s going with this, but I force myself to be patient when all I want to do is plant a roundhouse kick in his smug face.
“Most people have no idea how to care for treasures like the Mona Lisa. Like all of this,” he continues, gesturing at the various objects on display. “But I do. I know how important it isto measure and monitor the temperature and humidity. How to minimize ultraviolet radiation and help enhance the colors in a painting.”
“Good for you,” I murmur.
He keeps speaking as if he doesn’t hear my snarky comment. Maybe he’s so full of his own bullshit, he didn’t. “A state-of-the-art air treatment system is imperative. Absolutely vital for the conservation of such priceless objects.”
“Good to know.”
Instead of responding to my sarcasm, he sends me another one of his bone-chilling smiles. “Why don’t I give you a closer look?”
Unease trickles through me. “That’s okay.”