Page 45 of Merciless Heir

“You know I know that. That artist’s turned his hand to other things. This piece is worth a fortune and going up in price.”

He laughs as I turn. “And you know I know that. Why the chip?”

“I don’t like the rich.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “I’ve told you a lot of the reasons.”

“Indulge me.” He picks up a bottle of amber liquid in a plain decanter and turns it in his hands.

I take a step forward and stop, on the middle of the living room floor, between the sofas and lick my lips. “I don’t know. I guess so many have a sociopathic edge.”

This isn’t necessarily true. But those who do, and the way so many go about fleecing others because they can even when they have enough, it reminds me of my father, and how Dad has those genes.

It worries me that I might be the same.

Even though I’m not.

“Stupid things,” I add. “You’re different than I thought.”

“Too much or not enough of a sociopath for you?”

He sets down the decanter and opens it.

“Well, you haven’t kicked me out for not kissing up to you,” I say.

His gaze meets mine. “I find you both a pain in my fucking ass and completely refreshing.” He picks up a glass. “That what people do?”

I don’t pretend not to understand him as outside rain begins to hit the window in earnest. “I’m treated as a circus attraction.”

“You don’t have to do it, you know. Work for these people you don’t like.”

Smiling, I spread my hands. “Where else am I going to rob them legally? They don’t need me, not most of them.”

“And me?”

“I’m still figuring that out. But,” I say, “I want to see that Sinclair piece.”

“I’ll take that.” Kingston pours some drinks, crosses the room and hands one to me. “Whiskey neat. I can get ice if you’d like. Or a mixer.”

“No thanks. I’m grown. I can handle it.”

“Can you?”

“Yes.”

The heat flares in his eyes and he smiles, soft and small and cat like. I should be nervous the way he looks at me, like prey, but I’m not. It sends thrills shooting through my veins and makes me want to throw down more, just to see what happens.

Instead, I accept the drink and his fingers slide deliberately against my skin.

“Sit. Take off your damn boots.” He nods at the nearest sofa as he steps back.

Taking a swallow of the whiskey, I deliberately sit on the floor.

Kingston laughs and drops down next to me, setting his glass next to mine. “You always do that? Deliberately poke bears?”

“Maybe you bring it out in me.”