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A ll’s fair in love and thievery.

It’s a motto I embrace wholeheartedly, and maybe that’s why I’m so damn good at my job.

Looking around the big, round table at my fellow morally ambiguous crew, I know we all excel at certain areas when it comes to the art of theft.

And I can readily admit who I am and what I do—my name is Knox Beckett and I’m a thief.

No need to mince words about my occupation. I may lie to others, but I don’t lie to myself.

Right now, we’re in the office and waiting for The Man to call. Addie said he has a job for us and I’m curious what it’ll be. No one knows his true identity, but we’ve been told we can trust him by an extremely reliable source—her mother, Angel—and she’d never let us get hurt.

I hope our blind faith doesn’t come around and bite us in the ass.

Trust is a damn hard thing to nurture among people who lie, cheat and steal for a living, but I fully trust the four people sitting at this table.

Without a doubt, I know they have my back, and I have theirs.

We’ve learned to work together quite efficiently, and although I don’t consider myself an adrenaline junkie, I love the high I get from a successful heist. Not quite as good as sex, but a strong contender.

I glance over at Addison Mills, better known as The Boss, or simply Addie.

With beachy waves the color of sand and cobalt blue eyes, she’s an all-American beauty.

But she also possesses an elegance that seems rare these days.

The woman is also damn smart and an expert when it comes to dusty old antiquities.

If I dug a relic out of the ground, she could tell me where it most likely came from and its approximate age, along with its value.

She decides on our jobs, with some general input from us and, sometimes, The Man.

Right now, Addie is talking about some new tech gadget with Ryder McKay, who we refer to as The Diamond Man.

Our gem expert identifies, evaluates and analyzes gemstones using specialized tools to determine their quality, authenticity and market value.

I guess when your parents own diamond mines all over the world, it’s a skill you pick up.

He also handles our tech and thinks his jokes are way funnier than they actually are, but we humor him.

Sitting between me and Ryder is Lincoln Decker.

I call him Deck, but the big man is also known as Linc, The Safecracker and, when needed, The Muscle.

He can open anything from safes to locks, and he excels under pressure.

Maybe because he’s a former fighter and loves a good challenge.

Right now, he’s drumming his fingers on the table and I’m not sure how a guy with such big hands can be so dexterous and nimble. But he always gets the goods.

Rounding out our dysfunctional little crew and sitting on my other side is The Sex Bomb, better known as Brighton Leroux.

If you can imagine a raven-haired Marilyn Monroe with jade-green eyes and the lightest wisp of a French accent, that’s Brighton.

The woman has the power to stop traffic with a mere smile and shake of her voluptuous hips.

There’s something about her that’s absolutely magnetic, and the moment she steps into a room, she draws every eye.

Seduction is her weapon, and she’s unerringly effective at wielding it to distract a target while one of us is robbing him blind.

But don’t underestimate her—she is wily and intelligent.

She’s also our getaway driver when necessary.

Her dad is a former French pro race car driver, and she picked up quite a few tricks from him.

Tricks that have saved our asses on several occasions.

Together, we’re a force to be reckoned with, and these guys are my ride or die. Even though we all come from different walks of life and backgrounds, we share a similar bond—we’re damn good at pulling off cons, heists and burglaries. We get the goods and we get the hell out.

Every. Single. Time.

Well, at least for the last three years.

Is being a thief the most noble profession? Maybe not.

But ask me if I care.

After the way I grew up, I do what I have to do. No regrets.

Honestly, I’m not sure how long this gig will last. I can’t imagine myself running around the world, attempting to pull off complicated heists when I’m sixty.

But, for now, I’m going to ride this crazy train and enjoy every minute of it.

When the time is right, I’ll ride off into the sunset with a healthy bank account and maybe a pretty girl on my arm.

“You look deep in thought, Knox,” Deck says, brown eyes glinting. “Got a hot date lined up?”

I smirk. “Always.”

Brighton snorts. “The real question is will she last more than a night?”

“Probably not,” I admit easily, leaning back in my chair. The front legs lift off the floor and I lace my fingers behind my head. “But is it my fault I possess an excessive amount of charm?”

“Oh, God,” Addie groans and makes a gagging sound.

Brighton kicks her boot against my chair leg and it crashes down with a thunk.

“Sometimes I think you ladies don’t appreciate me,” I tell them, pretending my feelings are hurt and giving them my puppy dog eyes.

“Save it for your next mark, Knox.” Addie flutters her long lashes at me. “B and I know you too well.”

She and Brighton exchange knowing smiles, and I just grin. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.

“Well, let’s be honest. No one at this table has a level of relationship experience conducive to giving anyone else advice,” I say.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I have no problem getting a woman,” Ryder says.

“Yeah, you just don’t want one long term,” Addie states.

“Exactly. Relationships give me hives.” Ryder shudders, and we all laugh.

“I wouldn’t mind a relationship,” Brighton says carefully, “as long as it’s with the right man.”

“You mean a man collecting Social Security?” Ryder asks, and I crack up. We all know Brighton likes the silver foxes.

“There’s nothing wrong with a distinguished older gentleman. Maybe you boys could learn a thing or two from a more experienced man.”

The fellas and I all make a chuffing sound at that.

“I’ve never had any complaints,” Deck says gruffly.

“Who’s around long enough to complain, Mr. Fancy-Free?” Brighton teases. “We know you prefer being a bachelor.”

“Damn straight. I hate clingy women,” he grumbles.

“Depends what they’re clinging to, if you know what I mean.” I waggle my eyebrows, and everyone chuckles.

“ Mon Dieu !” Brighton rolls her pretty green eyes. It’s cute when she starts speaking French. I think she reverts to her native language when she’s annoyed. And I have way too much fun riling her up.

Giving her a devastating smile, I reach for her hand, lift it to my lips and press a kiss to her soft skin. “Mademoiselle Leroux, has anyone told you how stunning you look today?” I ask huskily.

She lightly flicks the end of my nose with her index finger. “You are so full of shit.”

I grin and nip her knuckle, releasing her hand as an incoming call rings on Addie’s laptop.

Finally , I think, sitting up a little straighter.

The Man, whoever he is, always receives our full attention without even asking.

There’s something about him that commands respect.

It’s weird that we all feel it, yet none of us know his true identity.

There must be a reason he prefers staying in the shadows.

All we know is Addie’s mom told her she could trust him.

That after she was gone—which she is—The Man would be here to help and occasionally check in with jobs.

It’s all a little cloak and dagger, but Addie’s brother—a Navy SEAL—worked for a secret group called The Agency. Guess doing secret shit must run in the family.

A man dressed in black with a scrambled face appears on the screen. It’s hard to tell much about him except he has a broad, firm chest and muscled arms. His deep voice, however, is clear as day, and completely unfamiliar.

“Hello, how is everyone doing?” The Man asks.

“Good,” Addie responds, and the rest of us nod. “What have you got for us?”

I hide my smirk. Addie always likes getting straight down to business. I don’t think she has a carefree or impractical bone in her body, but that’s probably what makes her so competent. The woman doesn’t waste time or mince words. She’s pragmatic and tenacious, and those qualities serve her well.

At least when it comes to our line of business.

If we’re talking about romance, not so much.

I get the feeling she may have been burned in the past, so now she keeps things simple—and that means testosterone-free.

Apparently, none of us wants any of the drama that invariably seems to come with a relationship.

We prefer our drama to come from the excitement of a heist.

“A man named Alejandro Torres, currently in South America, has a massive emerald.”

“Emerald?” Ryder echoes, perking up. “How many carats are we talking?”

Someone mentions a gem and, I swear to God, Ryder gets a hard-on.

“Just over twenty carats and near-perfect transparency.”

“Fuck yeah,” Ryder exclaims. “That’s a nice stone.”

“Torres stole it, and now I want you to steal it back,” The Man says. “Then it will be returned to its rightful owner.”

That comment raises all our eyebrows. We aren’t exactly Robin Hood, and we’re certainly not known for our charity work.

“So, we’re not cutting and re-selling it?” Addie confirms.

“No.” When no one says anything, The Man leans forward. “Is that a problem?”

“Of course not,” Addie instantly responds. “It’s just a new way of doing business.”

“I’ll send you all the details. Torres is hosting a party Saturday night. I have one invite, but it shouldn’t be more than a two-person job.” He hesitates, then says, “Torres is a dangerous man. Be careful.”

“We always are,” Addie assures him. Then the screen goes black.

“He’s very mysterious,” Brighton murmurs.

“Yeah, what’s the need with all the secrecy?” Ryder asks.

Addie shrugs, and a moment later, her email pings. “He’s never let us down before, right?”

“Not yet,” Deck responds dryly.

She frowns and opens the intel we’ll need. “The emerald is in a safe in Torres’ office, so that makes Linc our lucky winner.” He nods. “Any other volunteers?”

“I’ll go,” I offer. Why the hell not? I don’t have anything else going on—like the hot date I’d insinuated—and maybe I’ll get to flirt with a lovely senorita. Or three.

Because that’s my job…I’m The Charmer.

Much like Brighton, I wield my sexuality for whatever we may need—usually a distraction.

Sometimes, a seduction. Not to be arrogant, but my good looks and charismatic personality are an asset.

People don’t expect me to have a brain, and that means they underestimate me.

Because when it comes to numbers, I’m a human calculator.

My eyes are always on the prize, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get the job done.

And right now, I’m about to get that emerald.