Stepbrother Thief(128)
“So beautiful, this Regina,” Maxine says, coming over to me and taking my knife from Gill's hand. She hefts the weight in her fingers and then smiles, turning and setting it down on the table along with her champagne flute. “I've heard so much about you, I feel like we know each other.” When Maxine turns back around, she steps closer to me and puts her hands on my waist. I open my mouth to protest, but the look on Gill's face tells me to be quiet.
I'm forced to stand there as Maxine pats me down like a TSA employee with OCD, touching the insides of my thighs and putting her hands places I'd only really like Gilleon to touch. I grit my teeth, glaring at Gill as I stand there, arms up and out, as Max checks me for weapons and then steps back with a smile. I know she felt the revolver because her hands went right over it, but she didn't take it from me. I'm confused as hell, but since neither Gill nor Maxine is mentioning it, I decide not to say anything. That's what Gill asked of me, isn't it? I'll stay quiet and observe then.
“Come, sit,” she says, as if she didn't just have her hands all over my body. I follow her instructions, sitting in the chair across from where Gill still stands, waiting as Karl moves over to him and the two take a whole moment staring into one another's eyes. In the back of my mind, I get that this guy, this seemingly charismatic gentleman, is the reason my mother is dead, that I was attacked in my home tonight, that Gilleon left me, but it's hard for me to put it all together. In spite of the weapon check, this evening is just too normal.
I sit down and accept a fresh glass of champagne, keeping my lips sealed and my eyes open. As Karl pats down my lover, I glance around and blink in surprise when the woman with the shy smile comes into the room and scoops our weapons into a wooden box, taking it away with the click of a lid.
The alcohol fizzles and bubbles between my tight fingers, but I don't take a drink, not unless Gill wants me to. We meet eyes across the coffee table as he takes a seat in the matching chair opposite me, a contraption made of steel pipes and covered with a thin beige cushion that does almost nothing to protect my ass from the metal underneath it. I can't read his expression, so I sit stone-still and let my eyes wander around the room.
“I'm so glad we could come together this evening,” Karl says, his voice as smooth as silk, distinguished, trustworthy. Jesus. “Let's call a toast.” He lifts his drink and gestures his chin in Gilleon's direction. Without a second of hesitation, Gill leans forward and takes his own glass, standing up and lifting it out to clink against Karl's. “To a peaceful negotiation.”
“I'll second that,” Max says with a velvety laugh. I follow along and stand with them all, lifting my own glass to theirs. When it hits Karl's, a chill travels down my spine and I feel my stomach twisting into knots. “Now, should we wait for appetizers or get down to business? I asked Kayla to make up something French.” She tosses a wink in my direction. “An hors d'oeuvre, they call it over there, am I right?”
It takes a considerable amount of effort not to bare my teeth. I can feel mon visage laid moving to take over my expression. I try not to sneer at her, at Karl, at the whole mess they've made of my life, Gill's life, our life.
“We're not here to eat,” Gill says, breaking the false niceties for the first time since we walked in the door.
“Oh, don't be like that, Gilly,” Max says, leaning back into the cushions, her arched brows raised nearly to her hairline.
“I'm sorry, but I've still got the taste of blood on my lips from earlier.”
Surprisingly enough, Karl laughs at that, like this is all some big practical joke, like eight fucking people didn't die tonight. I wonder briefly where Max's people go with the bodies but decide that's still not a subject I want on my mind, especially not now.
“Gilleon, don't exaggerate,” Karl says, sipping his drink, his eyes moving over to me, taking me in like a slide under a microscope. This guy is good, smart, prepared. How Gill thinks we're going to get the jump on him is beyond me. Right now, I feel trapped. When I look to Gill for reassurance, his face is shuttered and empty. “You were well aware that the actions you took would have consequences.” Karl pauses and sets his glass down, sitting back and folding his hands over his bent knee. Consequences. Like eight dead people at my house.
I suck in a breath.
Big mistake.
Everyone—including Gilleon—turns to look at me.
“What do you think, Regina? Food first? Or business?” Karl looks right at me, his expression innocent and untroubled, like it's not his fault my life took a completely different track than I'd planned. But that doesn't matter now. None of it does. Gill and me, we're back together again. That's all that matters. When I don't respond, Karl's mouth turns down in a gentle frown, like a grandfather catching his grandkid drawing on the walls. Disapproving, but not angry. “What's the matter, Mademoiselle Corbair?”