Stepbrother Thief(25)

That wasn't what motivated me; money doesn't motivate me at all.

But Gill does.

I know this job, whatever it is under the surface, has more to it than jewelry and a big payout.

Gill is in trouble.

I'm scared for him.

In typical Paris fashion, the sky shifts from sun to rain, dropping wet splatters on my face and hair. I lift up my umbrella to shield myself from the clouds, taking a path I know full well. I've worked at this same shop for seven years, seven long years of wondering what else there was for me, what else I should be doing. I've made so many mistakes over the years … too many to count. And then there's the biggest one of all, the one that Gill still doesn't know about. How he missed it is beyond me. Maybe he doesn't want to see.

We turn the corner and the weather shifts again, sunshine streaming down, draping the buildings in golden light. I barely notice any of it, tucking my umbrella away and focusing solely on keeping my breathing steady.

Two blocks left. Just two short, little blocks until my life changes forever.

I think then about putting all of this on hold, turning to Gill and begging him to reconsider, but honestly, I'm not sure what would happen if I did. Would he take my words into consideration? Or would he really hold me at gunpoint then, go through with the robbery anyway? The fact that I don't know the answer to that question scares the shit out of me.

“Regina!”

My heart drops to my stomach.

Up ahead, standing on the sidewalk with a white bag in one hand and a coffee in the other is my boyfriend, Mathis Vidal. Shit.

I can feel Gill tensing behind me and my mouth goes completely dry. Will he shoot him?

“Bonjour, mon étoile,” he says with a sly smile, turning my insides to ice. Mon étoile, my star. It's a pet name that he came up with a few months into our relationship. I hated it at first because it reminded me of Gill.

Gill.

Who's standing behind me with a gun in his jacket.

“Bonjour,” I say, pausing a few steps away from him. When I don't come in for a kiss, Mathis frowns and glances at my silent companion. His brown eyes immediately narrow and the smile slides off his lips. He's been out of town for several weeks now, must've just gotten back. I've been avoiding his calls, not because I don't like the guy but because I do. He doesn't need to get caught up in all this, and I don't love him enough to stay out of it.

“Gilleon Marchal,” Gill says, putting a cold smile on his face. When I look over at him, I know he'll do anything to see this plan through – anything. “And you are?” he asks, not even bothering to switch to French. His voice is hard as steel, wrapping around my neck and stealing the breath from me.

“Is everything okay?” Mathis asks, his English heavily accented and lilting. “I was hoping we might have some breakfast together?”

“Can't,” I say, my lips tight, my throat aching. “Désolée, je suis occupée.” Sorry, I'm busy. My hands are shaking like crazy as I unlock the metal grating on the front of the shop and lift it up, moving to the door before Mathis can see the erratic quivering.

I don't like blowing him off like this, but I don't know what else to do, how else to act.

“Maybe some other time,” I hear Gill say as he moves into the store behind me and locks the door, the glass cases winking in the sunshine that breaks through the windows. I step over to the alarm next and feel a sudden pressure in my spine—the gun.

“Don't even think about alerting the police,” he whispers, his warm breath grazing my ear. I hate how tight my muscles get when I feel him so close behind me.

Instead, I just swallow and nod, putting in the code and stepping back. A quick glance over my shoulder and I see that Mathis is still standing outside looking dumbfounded. After a moment, he turns as if to walk away and then changes his mind, heading straight for the front door and knocking on it with his fist.

“Shit,” Gill growls under his breath. “What a persistent little fuck.”

“What do I do?” I ask, panic lacing its way between my words. “Please don't kill him,” I add for good measure, knowing that the cameras are watching, always watching. Even that's part of the plan.

“Answer the door and ask him to leave,” Gill grinds out, and I'm pretty damn sure his frustration is genuine. I do as he asks, opening the door and then stumbling back when Mathis shoves his way in, pushing me aside in a valiant act of heroism.

“Run!” he screams in English, tackling Gill and dropping the coffee and the bag of brioche to the floor. A golden brown roll tumbles out and hits me in the toes of my Louboutin heels as I scream a very genuine scream of terror. I know what Gill is capable of; Mathis has no idea.