Page 28 of Carved Obsession (The Sanctum Syndicate #4)

Scarlet

The familiar threads of adrenaline bloom through my muscles, anticipation putting a slight bounce in my step. Sexual frustration does too.

Since Carter touched me, held me, and warmed my aching body, I’ve been burning deep inside. It was all fake. Just a game. But fuck, it felt like he wanted more.

After I took out my anger on Cohen, who’s nothing but a pile of ash now, I had to feed this blazing need. Perfect time for my final strike on Carter.

Playing with him has been exceedingly fun.

My last move wasn’t supposed to be today, but I got impatient after the feel of his lips against my skin.

For my last move, I knew I wanted to steal something important to him, but I didn’t know what that would be.

Last night, I sneaked into his CCTV, and, by sheer luck, I caught him playing the violin.

I saw it in his house, but for whatever reason, it didn’t even cross my mind he knew how to play.

My decision was made the moment I saw him with it perched on his shoulder. I was mesmerized by the fluidity of his movements, by the beauty with which he played those chords. I had to stop watching. Somehow it felt wrong to be behind a screen instead of experiencing this in person.

So that was it—the violin was my final target, to make sure I pissed him off really good.

I would have loved to see the look on his face when he saw the recording of me in his house.

I would have followed him so I could get the opportunity, but there was no time.

Tonight, Dad and I have an important job—and I’m gonna be late.

I make quick work of getting dressed, pulling on a sports bra, a long-sleeved, form-fitting T-shirt, and yoga pants. Matching my dark outfit, I slide on the usual black converse I regularly clean and keep away for jobs.

My phone vibrates, and Dad’s name flashes on the screen. I answer on the second ring.

“Evening, sweet pea.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. Grabbing my laptop and my other phone now, and I’m out the door,” I answer.

“I’ll wait at the end of your drive.”

I hang up, grab two hair ties, and part my thick hair in the middle before I roll the length into two space buns on the sides of the top of my head.

After one last fit check in the mirror, I turn off the lights and walk out through the back door in the kitchen, watching Dad’s headlights come down the long, winding driveway that connects our houses.

Setting my “work phone” in the holder after I get in my car, I press on his other number as we both pull onto the road through the automatic gate.

“I checked traffic, it’s all clear,” I tell him.

“And our target?”

“Calm, but last time I checked, he kept looking at his watch.”

“Perfect. It’s a forty-five-minute drive, plus the car change in Cranwick. We should be there around the same time his date arrives. Then, in and out in fifteen minutes,” Dad says, confirming the plan.

“I bet I can be in and out in ten.”

With a hearty, rugged laugh, he guides the car along the dark roads out of Queenscove. “Fifteen was already stretching it, but as you wish. I bet you dinner for a week.”

“And dessert,” I add. “Homemade unicorn cake.” I follow his car as he takes a left onto the regional highway. We’re avoiding all the big interstates since most are monitored by cameras.

“I don’t know what a unicorn cake is, but since I’m not losing, I don’t need to. You better clear your schedule, sweet pea. You’re gonna be doing a lot of cooking.”

It’s my turn to laugh because he will absolutely have to learn what the rainbow cake with a fondant unicorn on top is. I admit, ten minutes might be a stretch to get into Randy Wayne’s mansion, navigate my way around the gargantuan space, and come out with our assets, but I love a good challenge.

The rest of the ride goes smoothly. The roads are surprisingly lively, and we like it this way. We don’t attract attention when there’s a stream of constant, albeit calm, traffic.

We stop in Cranwick, about fifteen minutes away from our destination, to pick up our second cars from their hiding spot.

We drove them to the back of the abandoned gas station three nights ago for this purpose.

On every job we do, no matter where it is, we change cars to these two that can’t be traced back to us.

Plus, they’re so generic, so mind-numbingly normal, they don’t stand out at all.

We reach Randy Wayne’s estate through the road at the back of the property, in the small woodland that borders it on three sides. His need for privacy is our advantage.

I call Dad as I pull my laptop from the padded briefcase I placed in the footwell.

A few years back, I accidentally broke the laptop screen on my way to a job.

When I hit a pothole, it fell against the hard case of a toolkit.

The bag it was in didn’t help, and it fucked the entire job since I use it to control alarm systems and CCTV. So padded briefcases are my go-to now.

“What’s the status?” Dad asks over the speaker.

My fingertips fly over the keyboard as I make my way back into Wayne’s home security system, which I already hacked two months ago when we started researching this job.

“His date arrived,” I confirm as I find the man in the grand foyer of his mansion.

I turn up the volume and listen to their conversation—small talk.

Awkward. Not because he doesn’t know the escort he hired, but because he’s itching to get her down to his secret room in the basement.

Every three weeks, he does this. He sends his wife and kids on a luxurious shopping trip somewhere far away from here so he can indulge in his secret desires.

She’s a dominatrix, and he’s addicted to the degradation she offers.

I had the pleasure of seeing it all when I realized he has a separate security system for the basement and his secret room.

It was all the insight I needed to figure out the best time to break into his house.

I know how long he’s going to be in there, and I also know he sends all the staff home the day the dominatrix comes.

While he’s busy in his little dungeon, the rest of the house is dead quiet.

Mine to play in.

“They’re going downstairs,” I tell Dad.

“Get ready.”

I follow them on the CCTV as they reach the basement. His steps quicken when he nears the fake shelves that hide his secret room. I keep watching as they walk in, close the door behind them, and turn on the red lights inside, revealing an assortment of instruments and props.

My feet start to itch as I mindlessly tap my fingers on the side of the laptop, impatience riddling me even though I know I have to give them a few minutes to make sure they’re deep into their play.

“Come on . . . come on . . .” I whisper.

“How long have they been in?” Dad asks as I chew on my lip.

“Four minutes.”

“Give them five more.”

The moment the man is butt naked, kneeling with his cheek stuck to the floor and legs spread by a bar, I know it’s time.

Fuck yes!

Fingers flying on the keyboard, I disable his entire home security system, cheeks pulling into a victorious smile when it’s all done.

“We’re on!” I announce, ending the call and slamming the laptop shut.

I hide it in its case under the seat, pull my gloves on, strap on the hip pack with all my tools and the phone, double-check my hair is in place, and climb out of the car. There’s such a spring in my step that my grin hurts my face, and Dad’s shaking his head as he follows.

“Ten minutes, old man. Ten minutes,” I say over my shoulder as I push back the ivy that has started growing over the garden gate. It covers the access pad now.

“Time starts now,” he says as I connect my modified keypad reader to the device.

I count the seconds in my head, cracking my neck as I wait for the numbers to be revealed.

Finally!

I could scream in excitement, but I quickly punch in the revealed numbers and crack open the gate.

Hiding in the shadows of the trees, I sprint through the estate’s sprawling garden on light feet.

I’ve done this so many times, it’s second nature to move like I’m gliding over the ground.

I have the back door unlocked and my lock picks back in the hip pack before Dad reaches me. I remove my shoes and hand them to him.

We step into the house, listening for a few seconds before I make a beeline to the other side and straight into Wayne’s office. As planned, Dad waits by the basement access, just in case the owner’s activities finish earlier than planned.

I cross through the atmospherically lit hallway, through too many formal rooms I bet no one in this house uses, and reach the office.

As slowly as I possibly can, I crack open the heavy padded wooden door and walk into the dark space.

The moon is on the other side of the house, so it’s pitch black here and I can’t see a fucking thing.

Be patient, Scarlet. Breathe.

Patience is not my fucking virtue. It never has been. Manic is more my jam. But I force myself.

Breathing in slowly, eyes aimed at the darkest corner of this room, I count to six, my gaze adjusting to the new conditions.

I know what to expect here—a trigger in the bookcase, which opens a heavy metal door to a panic room. The challenge is opening that without making any noise.

I find the right book after three tries, and something clicks.

Fuck, that was loud.

Pressing my hand to my hip pack, I wait for a vibration from my phone, but nothing comes. I let out a relieved breath and slip my fingers into the small crack behind the bookcase, slowly sliding the heavy door open.

My fingers itch to pull faster, but I can’t rush this.

Eventually, the gap is big enough for me to slip through, and right there, on a fucking marble pedestal, laid on a delicate metal stand in the center of the back wall, sits my target.

Christ, that dagger is beautiful.

The long, slim blade carved from ivory is set in a pale gold hilt sculpted in the shape of a human spine. The hilt curves at the end, where a blood-red ruby is set. The sacrificial dagger was made to hurt the person who clutched it, thus symbolizing the price the soul pays for taking a life.

There’s something disturbingly pure about that.

I walk over to the pedestal, inspecting all around it to make sure there’s no trap. In all my research over the last weeks, nothing was revealed, but I have to make sure.

I find nothing.

Wayne certainly didn’t expect anyone would break into his house to steal it, which is surprising, since he bragged to all the wrong people about getting his hands on the artifact.

I grab the dagger, smiling when the slightly sharpened vertebra of the gold spine digs into my palm. What an odd feeling. Satisfying, somehow.

As quickly as possible, I walk out, close the heavy door behind me, and make sure everything is exactly as it was when I came in. On hurried steps, almost tiptoeing in my soft socks over the wooden floor, I head back through the oversized, dimly lit spaces until I reach Dad again.

“Eight minutes,” he whispers.

“Better not slow me down, then.” I wiggle my eyebrows as I beckon him back the way we came.

The adrenaline rush hits like lightning in a warm summer storm, and I’m skipping and pirouetting my way through the shadows of the adolescent trees scattered through the garden.

There’s only one other feeling that compares to the marvelous sense of achievement brought on by stealing something someone’s going to be so unbelievably pissed about losing, and that’s watching pain fall in streams of tears out of an asshole’s eyes.

That particular feeling is unique. Unbeatable. And disturbingly esoteric.

“Damn. Nine minutes and fifty-something seconds.” Dad shakes his head, scoffing with a smile on his lips. “I’m going to have to learn what a unicorn cake is, aren’t I?”

I jump up and down like a lunatic with my hands in the air before I bow in mock acceptance of his unspoken praise.

“Time to go.” I spin on my heels to head to my car.

The adrenaline wave I’m riding is exhilarating, and I revel in it as we head out of town to end our mission.

We have a good deed to do.