Treasured

  Treasured

  MINK

  Treasured

  MINK © 2022

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from MINK.

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Treasured

  Chapter 1

  Mateo

  Chapter 2

  Milly

  Chapter 3

  Mateo

  Chapter 4

  Milly

  Chapter 5

  Mateo

  Chapter 6

  Milly

  Chapter 7

  Mateo

  Chapter 8

  Milly

  Chapter 9

  Mateo

  Chapter 10

  Milly

  Chapter 11

  Mateo

  Chapter 12

  Milly

  Chapter 13

  Mateo

  Chapter 14

  Milly

  Chapter 15

  Mateo

  Chapter 16

  Milly

  Chapter 17

  Mateo

  Chapter 18

  Milly

  Chapter 19

  Mateo

  Chapter 20

  Milly

  Chapter 21

  Mateo

  Chapter 22

  Milly

  Chapter 23

  Mateo

  Epilogue

  Also by MINK

  About the Author

  Treasured

  MINK

  Mateo

  I’m here to do a job. Steal the vase and get the hell out. Easy. At least it would’ve been if I hadn’t witnessed a kidnapping and decided to step in and help. That’s when I meet Milly… And also when I realize I’m in a whole world of trouble.

  Milly

  I’m used to bad men. In fact, I was raised by one. But when Mateo tells me he’s a bad guy, I can’t believe him. Not when he treats me like the most priceless treasure he’s ever found. It’s easy to fall for a man like him. He saved me, and now he says I’m saving him. Then again, when we take a trip to Paris to transact some of his “business” I start to understand exactly what sort of bad guy he is--a top notch thief. Makes sense. After all, he’s stolen my heart.

  1

  Mateo

  It’s a shame to leave behind so many pieces of art, but I came here for one item in particular. The ancient vase in my hands is officially priceless, but I have a buyer who’ll wire a hefty amount into my account the moment I smuggle it out of here.

  Easing around a corner, I cradle the vase close to me as a security guard wanders along the hall of the university’s Persian collection. His AirPods–a gift mysteriously delivered to his door only last week–are keeping his ears busy as he chitchats with one of his friends. He didn’t hear me come in or the alarm on the display case when I popped it open. The alarm wasn’t there when I cased the place, so that was a stroke of bad luck. Even so, I silenced it in half a second. But still, if he’d heard it, I’d be running a much tighter race against the clock. As it is, however, I wait patiently for him to keep going down the corridor.

  It’s not easy for a man like me to remain completely hidden. I’m too big for pure stealth. But I use what I can, including disguise and misdirection, to carry out some of the most notable heists of the past few years.

  “Yeah, I saw her at the party last weekend. Trashed.” He laughs. “But she’s dating that Rutherford asshole. Getting the bag that way. I guess she can blow money on bottle service all she wants.” His voice echoes off the walls as he disappears around a corner.

  I creep away from the corridor and head around to the back portion of the museum, past rooms where students spend their days dusting off relics and re-cataloging finds. I’m almost to the rear delivery dock when a light overhead flicks on.

  I duck, hiding behind an Egyptian sarcophagus.

  “No, I’m serious. There’s a younger sister. I think she’s like a sophomore maybe? But she’s not using her real name. Doesn’t want the attention like her older brother. If I could just figure out who she is, I could be the one getting the bag, you know what I’m saying?” He laughs. “Shit, son, I got plenty of game. Her panties would be dropped on the first date.” More laughter.

  I’m starting to wish I could somehow get the AirPods back. This asshole doesn’t deserve them. But that’s not my concern. I’m only here for the prize, and now it’s time for me to get the hell out of here.

  He wanders around some more, running his mouth and touching various artifacts he has zero business touching. When he gets to the side door on the loading dock, he pauses. “Oh, shit, bro. I left the back door unlocked.” Another raucous giggle. “Hang on. I gotta run the stupid app to get the lock code.”

  Shit.

  I contemplate making a run for it. The idiot wouldn’t be able to catch me. But then I could be risking the vase, so I stay put.

  He punches in the door code, and the lock flashes red. Fuck. I left it open so I could waltz out of here. Now it’ll take a bit more work. At least I’m getting paid. I sigh silently and reposition the vase under my arm. It’s secure, and that’s all that matters.

  When he finally turns out the light and wanders back into the main museum, I stand and stride right for the loading dock.

  The red light on the side door taunts me as I gently place the vase on the ground and pull my hacking kit from my pocket. After popping the top of the digital keypad off, I attach my wires to it and then to my phone. I click on an app I made especially for this job and let it run.

  Checking my watch, I grit my teeth. It’s almost time for the guard change, and the other guy isn’t quite as lax as the mouthy idiot on duty right now. I’ve got to get out of here.

  My software runs through millions of combinations. The lock is adaptive, meaning the code changes with each point of access. The only way to get the correct code is through the highly encrypted university app, which requires biometrics and two-step verification. I could’ve done that, of course, but I find hacking it to be the simpler approach. Except this time—it’s taking too fucking long.

  “Come on.” I glance toward the door leading to the front of the museum. My phone is still trying combinations.

  I hear the idiot guard’s laughter. Fuck. He’s coming. This was supposed to be an easy job. I groan and yank my phone from the door.

  The light comes on again.

  “Yeah man, I can give her just what–Hey. Who are–Hey!” His voice rises.

  I back up and kick the door open.

  “Hey! Stop!”

  I reach down and grab the vase, then take off. The cold wind whips my face as I race along the back of the museum and toward the narrow patch of woods separating it from the humanities building.

  “Stop! Thief!” Dummy is, thankfully, already far behind me. Too scared to enter the trees and too behind on his cardio. Finally, some good luck.

  I keep my speed, cradling the vase like a newborn infant and hurtling ahead until I reach the other side and enter the dark parking lot where I shot out the lights just days before. I’m almost to my car when I hear a yelp.

  Turning, I see two men in masks grabbing a curvy little thing and dragging her toward a classic kidnapper van.

  I stop.

  “Doesn’t concern you!” one of the men yells at me and pulls a gun.

  “Help!
” the girl screams, terror in her voice.

  I should go. I’m right here at my car. I should carefully place the vase in the custom foam case I stowed in the back, get in, and drive the fuck away.

  “Please!” she cries as they keep dragging her.

  “Shut the fuck up, you little bitch!” One of them yanks her hard, and she yelps in pain.

  “Just drive away, Mateo,” I counsel myself and grab the rear door handle. All I have to do is open it and mind my own fucking business.

  The men have gone back to wrangling her, apparently satisfied that I won’t intervene. One opens the rear of the van.

  “Help!” This time she turns and looks right at me, her eyes huge.

  Fuck! I reach behind me and pull out my pistol, then pop the closest one in the back of the head. He drops, dead before he hits the ground.

  The other one is still trying to pull her into the van. I appreciate his work ethic, but my bullet doesn’t. He drops next to his compatriot right as the sirens begin blaring.

  The girl runs to me. When she jumps, I do the only thing that feels natural. I open my arms. I open them wide. And I catch her. But that also means I drop the vase.

  “You saved me!”

  My paycheck crashes to the pavement, shattering into ten million priceless pieces, each one stabbing a hole into my flawless reputation.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She wraps her arms so tightly around my neck I wonder for a split second if she’s an assassin. Was this whole thing a setup? Is she bait?

  I try to pry her loose, but it’s not so easy. “Okay. Go. You have to go. I’m done here.” I back to my car, crunching the vase under my damn boots, but she’s still hanging on to me like a wildcat with prey. “Go!” I’m fucked. The vase is dust. This little powderpuff of a girl might not be an assassin, but my buyer will be sending one when he finds out what happened.

  I grab her with both hands and pull her off me, but damn, does that feel all kinds of wrong. She’s soft in all the right places and smells like sweet vanilla. “Let go.” I glare at her, my eyes locking with hers.

  “Please don’t leave me!” Tears roll down her pink cheeks. Jesus, she’s beautiful. What the fuck is she even doing out here this late? Of course she’s going to get stolen. Why would she–Wait. Doesn’t matter. I have to go. I can dig into who she is later. Right now I have to think of some way to fix this before my buyer sends someone to kill me.

  Tires squeal, and when I look up, I see another kidnapper van racing into the parking lot. What the fuck? Two vans for one simple abduction?

  I peer more closely at her big eyes and button nose. “Who are you?”

  The girl cries and gets hold of me again, wrapping her warm, soft body around mine. “Please,” she whispers, her tears tickling my neck. “Please don’t let them take me.”

  The sirens grow louder, and I can see police lights flashing just a few blocks away.

  “Stop!” The museum guard appears through the trees. He’s huffing and puffing toward me with a taser in his hand, and the men in the van are speeding right for us. I have to go. Now. But the girl is attached to me with a vengeance. Fuck. Fuuuuuck.

  2

  Milly

  “Seatbelt,” he says gruffly then reaches across me and snaps mine into place. He must really be worried about me. A flutter hits my chest. So not the right time, Milly.

  “Oh, thank y–”

  He hits the gas with a hard thump of his foot. I screech and cover my face as we barely avoid the oncoming van and whip out onto the main road ringing the campus. I peep out through my fingers as the car starts to speed up even more. He zips around other cars smoothly as if he’s done this a million times.

  Another scream leaves me when he blows through one light and then another. I cover my eyes again, too scared to peek out anymore. The next time I dare to sneak another look is when I hear the engine roar as he pushes it. He speeds onto the highway, weaving in and out of traffic.

  I drop my hands from my face to turn and look back to see if anyone is following us, but I don’t see the van anymore. I sink down into the seat, my heart still racing from everything that’s gone down. Someone tried to kidnap me. I wrap my arms around myself as coldness starts to seep in. The things they said to me will probably keep me up at night for a long time.

  “Where are we going?” I ask the handsome stranger as he speeds down the highway. He doesn’t respond to my question. His hands are gripped tight on the steering wheel. “You saved me.”

  I stare at the man in awe. My very own hero. I wasn’t sure heroes were real anymore, but I’ve gone and found myself one. Well, technically I suppose he found me.

  He grunts his response.

  “Oh gosh! You shot them.” I press my hands to my cheeks. It’s something I always do when I become overwhelmed, which is often. Everything that happened starts flooding back through my mind. “Should we call the police? We can’t call the police. Will you go to jail? You saved me though. But my gosh, sometimes innocent people go to jail. You think it would be self-defense or manslaughter? Your vase!” I shout the last part. “Sorry, I ramble.”

  “You don’t say.” He cuts me a stare that has me pressing my lips together firmly. I sink farther down into the seat, trying not to irritate him. I know that look. I get it from most of the people in my life. The silence inside the car grows, and I fight not to fidget around. That lasts all of about two seconds before my curiosity gets the best of me.

  “Was the vase that broke important? Was it a family heirloom? A gift for your mom or maybe your girlfriend?” I poke around, trying to get him to budge. I might have checked his finger for a ring. Milly, it’s not the time, I remind myself again.

  “It was priceless,” he gets out between clenched teeth. Guilt fills me that he broke the vase in the process of saving me.

  “Right.” I turn my head to stare out the window. Tears start to leak down my cheeks again. Why do I always have to cry? This is what my brother is always talking about. He says I’m too emotional and have no control over anything I do. “I’m really sorry.” I try to calm my body, knowing how I get when I’m upset. But a hiccup still escapes me.

  “Don’t cry,” he orders.

  I sniff, take a long breath, and close my eyes. I try to do the breathing meditation exercise the therapist taught me. I hate them. They’re boring and don’t work, but I try anyway. What do I have to lose at this point?

  “What’s your name?”

  My eyes pop back open. “Milly.”

  “Milly.” He repeats. My name rolls gruffly off his tongue. Some of the cold that was settling in starts to fade away. “Don’t worry about the vase. It’s fine.”

  “Really?” I sniffle.

  “Really.” He flicks me a glance, his eyes locking with mine for a long moment. “Did they hurt you anywhere?” He checks the road again before giving me a once-over.

  “I fell.” I slip my fingers into my thick stockings that are ripped open on both knees. I wince, realizing that I’m bleeding a little. His hand comes down on my thigh. I freeze when he runs his enormous hand down to my knee.

  I swallow, seeing how his hand engulfs my thigh. I mean, I realized he was big, but dang. The more my nerves start to settle, the more I’m able to really take him in.

  “You’re bleeding.” His hand flexes. The pressure shoots up my legs and between my thighs. Oh goodness.

  “It’s okay. Could be worse. I could be in the back of that van. The one man said he was going to…” I trail off, not even able to finish my sentence.

  College was supposed to be different for me. I was going to have a new start. A new me. It wasn’t working out that way, though. My plan was to blend in. Too bad I did it a little too well. So well that no one noticed me at all. Well, not until tonight. But the bad men noticing me had nothing to really do with me. That had everything to do with my father.

  “They’re dead now. They’re not going to do anything to you.”

  “There were m
ore of them.” I recall the second van. “You almost let them make off with me,” I remind not only him but myself. He was so mad. I think back, running through everything that happened. It was all so quick and jumbled together at first, but now it’s all settling in my mind.

  The memory of how I had to beg him to save me is front and center. The tears start to well up in my eyes again. It shouldn't be a shock. I lift his hand from off my leg then pull both legs up into the seat with me. I wrap my arms around them as the coldness starts to return.

  3

  Mateo

  She’s in shock. I can tell by the way she shuts down and hugs her knees tightly to her body. I’ve seen that look plenty of times.

  “Where can I drop you?”

  She winces as the words leave my mouth.

  “I mean—” I clear my throat and try to gentle my tone. “Is there somewhere safe I can take you?”

  She presses her forehead to her knees. “I don’t know.”

  I don’t know this girl, not even a little. But she’s injured, in shock, and clearly in need of more than I can give. Even so, I want to help her. I don’t know why. It’s completely out of my wheelhouse–I don’t help people. I help myself.

  Shit. It makes zero sense that I dropped that goddamn vase. What was I thinking?

  “I guess I could go back to my dorm.”

  “No. Those guys were professional. This wasn’t some random kidnapping. They know where you live, without a doubt. You can’t go back to that university.”