“Stop!” Alix shouts, slipping between us once again. She flattens both hands against Prince’s chest, spreading her fingers wide. “Stop,” she says in a calmer voice.
I’m panting through my teeth because it hurts too much to take a solid breath. I realize the assistant who was hand-feeding me papers has retreated to the doorway, where she’s backed by a dozen curious onlookers. Kate stands just inside the door.
Prince points at me, the knuckles on his fingers cracked and bleeding. “You’re out of here.”
I hold up both hands, a mockery of innocence. “I didn’t?—”
“You just dragged Diamond Freeport’s name through your shitty con.”
“I don’t know what?—”
“One more word, and I’ll choke you with your fucking teeth.”
“Trap,” Alix murmurs, convincing him to take a step back.
“It’s not just the freeport you fucked up the ass. Alix has a reputation to maintain, and you just took a dump on it.”
“Alix knew nothing about?—”
“That’s not the way this works, shitfucker. Alix brought in our preferred group of bidders. She put her name on that goddamn catalog. She stood in front of that crowd, and she delivered your motherfucking scam.”
“I’ll make it right.” The plea comes from somewhere deep in my past, from smoky memories of Shannon begging after she was caught.
“Here’s what you’ll do. All funds in your escrow account will be transferred to your bank in the next thirty minutes. You have precisely twenty-four hours to empty out your gallery. Your security profile and the profile of all your delegates will be deleted at—” he checks his watch. “At 7:04 tomorrow night. Any attempt by you or any agent you designate to set foot on freeport property after that will be considered trespass and prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”
Twenty-four hours.
I have two dozen legitimate paintings in my gallery. A collection of world-class watches and another of jewelry, including half a dozen pieces that have been appreciating since the freeport opened its doors. There’s at least a million in gold and five mill each in uncut diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. I own a set of rare coins from the United Arab Emirates and another from Bahrain, both of them purchased from another freehold client the first year I had my account.
All of it needs to be shifted to a secure location. And every single item will result in a catastrophic tax burden the instant it leaves the freeport.
I don’t allow myself to think about what the bratva will do, once they know they’ve been duped.
“Trap,” I say. “Let’s be reasonable. Put my gallery in escrow. Give me a month to transfer assets to one of your other clients.”
“Fuck you.”
“This can bankrupt me.”
“You should’ve thought about that before you ran your fucking con through my goddamn freeport.”
“Alix…” I say, appealing to her sense of reason.
Trap takes one lunging step toward my end of the table. “Keep her name out of your cocksucking mouth. Get out of here before I need to call a motherfucking ambulance.”
I’m out of options.
I leave.
As I exit the room, Kate wraps her arm around my waist. I don’t want to settle my weight on her shoulder, but there’s no way I’m making it to the parking lot without her support.
Freeport employees line both sides of the corridor, mouths open, eyes wide. I glance back at the conference room to see Alix and Trap framed in the doorway. He’s still breathing like a bull, one possessive hand on her shoulder while the other taps out a rhythm against his thigh. Alix’s face is carved from stone.
The parking lot stretches like a superhighway. One foot in front of the other. Again. Again. It takes a century to reach the Mercedes, and I’m gasping like a beached trout by the time I slouch against the hood.
“Come on,” Kate says, tugging me toward the passenger side. “I’ll drive.”
“I’m fine.”