Blitzed (30 page)

"
O
ur father was French
," I said, looking at Jordan with respect and something else in my eyes. It was strange, how a simple decision that had been made in an instant to merely preserve a limited haul's success had evolved into something else. There was a growing possibility in my mind that what I wanted to explore was worth more than the limited profit we'd make from the swords.

"You told me that already," Jordan said with a small smirk. She was still a bit rattled from telling her story of the violin audition, but she was recovering well from it. "And that your mother was Romani."

I nodded, chuckling at my poor start. "That is true, isn't it? Well, he was an art thief, one of the best in the world. For nearly thirty years, he pulled off jobs that nobody else would even touch. He even got a few pieces from the Louvre's collection, although he never went into the main museum. He was far too skilled for that. Instead, he would often make them disappear like magic during transports, when they were taken for cleaning, things like that."

"So how good are we talking?" Jordan asked.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I said. Jordan looked at me like I was bragging, and I held up my hands, nodding. "I'm being honest. Father was . . . he was amazing. There are rumors, ones that even he wouldn’t confirm for us before he died that some of the supposedly world's greatest pieces hanging in galleries are forgeries slipped in by him in order to cover up his activities. I do know that in his home were a few pictures that also hang in various museums in New York, London, and even Moscow."

"So why follow him into the business? You said he had plenty of money, why not live the life of the trust fund child?" Jordan asked, certainly perplexed.

Francois shifted around uncomfortably and ran his hand through his hair. He got to his feet, then sat down before standing up again. “Excuse me, I think I need to get some fresh air."

I watched Francois pull his coat on and leave, closing the door loudly behind him. He crunched off into the woods, leaving behind myself and a very perplexed Jordan. "What's with him?”

I shook my head sadly. While he and I rarely spoke about it, I wasn’t ignorant to Francois’ inner demons, and the feelings he was struggling with. "There are things in our family history that cause stress between us. Some of it is related to what I’m telling you, and some of it is related to things that, well, will seem outlandish to you."

Jordan thought about it for a while, then nodded. "Is it really that much stress between the two of you? You seem to get along most of the time, like most brothers I know."

“We do, but let me continue," I said. "It’ll be easier that way. So, our father was a great art thief. As part of our culture growing up, both the Roma and the way he raised us, it was considered only natural that Francois and I follow in his footsteps. This has led to some of the stress between us, as Francois enjoys the process, while I’m more of your mindset. Even if we have to abandon this job, we have gotten enough money just from the work the two of us have done to make us rich men for the rest of our lives. I only agreed to do this job with Francois in order to help set him up further. He wants to be as secretly famous as our father was. It’s my duty as the lead brother to support him.”

"Lead brother? What exactly does that mean,” Jordan asked.

I sighed, knowing I was treading on thin ground. If I told Jordan the rest of the tale, even if I left out the names and specific details, she would be able to piece together enough for even a half decent police officer to track us down. Still, looking across at Jordan's inquisitive face and beautiful brown eyes, for some reason I trusted her. "This will be easier if I put it this way. Let me tell you a story. It's a strange tale, one filled with action, adventure, love, and rivalry. If someone filmed it, it could be better than The Princess Bride, although no studio would believe it.”

"It started nearly eighty years ago. The Nazis were in control of Germany at the time, and in their expansion, they started what came to be known as the Holocaust. While the Jews were the biggest targets of Nazi obliteration, another group that was highly targeted were the Rom. Backed by their war machine, the Nazis stole hundreds of priceless artifacts from the Romani, many of which were thought lost to history. Fifty years later, one particular group of Rom tracked down the location of the most precious of their artifacts, a gold and ruby artifact that belonged to their ancestor, who received it from the great Kahn himself. The leader, you could call him the King of the Gypsy tribe, was desperate to get it back. This King, though, despite what the average person thought of the Gypsies, wasn't a natural thief. His people, while nomadic and proud, generally tried to get by using legal means. Still, he knew that sometimes for the Rom to receive justice, he needed to go outside the law. When he learned of the location, he knew there was only one man who might be able to get the item back.”

"Your father," Jordan said, leaning forward, caught up in the tale. "The art thief was your father?"

“Yep. The greatest art thief in the world for nearly thirty years, who had gone into semi-retirement. The Gypsy King approached the art thief, asking him to steal back what had been taken from them generations ago. At the time, it was in Russia, taken from the Nazis by the Soviets as they swept through Eastern Europe in 1945. Nestled within a bunker deep in the Ural mountains, it wasn't even publicly shown, except to the rich Russians who had influence with the government. Needless to say, it was a dangerous and difficult job.”

“So what did he do?”

“It took some convincing, considering my father had more money than he’d ever need already. So instead, he offered one of his daughters in marriage.”

“An arranged marriage?" Jordan asked, shuddering.

I nodded. I'd grown up with it, and it still seemed wrong to me, despite the happy ending to the story. "It is a different culture, at a different time. My father, he was a lonely man. He didn’t feel he could trust anyone enough to bring them into his heart, and because of this was looking at the rest of his life in miserable solitude, surrounded by material riches only. When he met the King's daughters, though, he was enchanted, for they were beautiful, nearly as beautiful as you. He agreed to the King's terms, and undertook the mission and was successful.”

"So which daughter did he choose?" Jordan asked, smiling. She was into the story, viewing it like an adventure tale, which I suppose it was. "I assume she’s your mother."

I smiled, leaning back. Every good story deserves a twist. “That was the conundrum. After the mission, the King hosted the thief with his family, giving the him time to choose between the two daughters. Despite the cold-hearted sound to his offer, the King wanted his daughters to be happy with their future. So he wanted them to be comfortable, and maybe even like the man they were to marry. However, as time went on, the thief found himself more and more torn. He’d fallen in love with both of them, and couldn’t choose. He approached the King, telling him of his problem, and an agreement was reached. Let the daughters choose.”

"Both declared that they had fallen in love with the man and neither were willing to give up her claim to him either, for the rivalry between the two was strong."

"So what happened?" Jordan asked. She was fully into the story, leaning her elbows on her knees and looking as innocent as you could be. My heart flared, and I knew I was in dangerous territory. "How did they find a solution?"

"Well, under Rom culture, a groom must offer a dowry to the bride's family. So the art thief thought, and he realized that his material riches were worthless next to the treasure of the two women who loved him. So, he divided the profits of his entire career into three parts. He kept one part for himself and his new family. The other two parts were offered to the Gypsy King as dowry for both of his daughters. The King, now rich beyond his wildest dreams and seeing that his daughters were happy, agreed."

Jordan sat back, shaking her head. "Amazing. So how does this lead to you being the
lead
brother, as you put it?"

“I’m older than Francois," I said simply. "The timing is a matter of mere minutes, but under the laws of the Rom tribe we belong to, I’m the older brother, and, therefore, was declared the heir apparent. When my grandfather died, I was declared the King."

"You are the Gypsy King?" Jordan asked me, her eyes widening. "For how long?"

"About two years now," I said quietly. "When my Grandfather died, the title passed on to me. Father was already passed on, and it is a patriarchal culture, my mother couldn’t take over. So I was deemed King. It has been . . . a difficult change to my life."

"And it has led to tension between you and Francois," Jordan said. "I can’t imagine it."

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown," I replied softly, looking down. "I just . . . I wish I had someone to help me bear the weight."

It wasn't a come-on line. I wasn't trying to garner sympathy or a reaction. I didn't even mean to say the last bit. I guess I said it because Jordan was the first friendly face that seemed interested in my story since I didn't know when. Everyone else in my life was either family, strangers who were untrustworthy, or criminals only interested in my pilfering abilities.

The first thing I noticed was her shadow falling across my hands, which were clenched in my lap, twisting over and over, trying to work out some of the stress I constantly felt. She knelt in front of me, taking my hands in hers. It was amazing, feeling her soft skin contrasted by the hard fingertips of her calluses from being a guitar player. My fingers relaxed, letting themselves be slowly pried apart and soothed in her touch. Reaching up, she let go of my hands and lifted my chin slowly to look her in the eye, cupping my cheeks in her hands. They were amazing, a rich brown flecked with golden sparks that lent her already beautiful face a tender aspect.

"You don't always have to be alone," she said, leaning in. Her kiss was soft and supple, and of course, I was happy to kiss her back. Reaching out, I took her hand in mine and held it until she pulled away. "In spite of everything, you seem to be a good man, Felix."

I shook my head. "I wish it were so, Jordan. But I'm not a good man. I just try to do my best."

She gave my hands another squeeze and then looked up at the ceiling. Her expression changed, like she was conflicted about something. "Why is this so damn difficult?"

T
hat night
, long after I'd gone to bed, I tossed and turned underneath the two blankets that the boys had left me. My mind whirled, and my body ached.

Part of it was that, despite the extra clothing and the two blankets, I was cold. Maybe I was just feeling it more, or perhaps it was that the snow which had held off the night before had gotten more intense, but I shivered underneath my blankets. I could have used a warm body to snuggle up against, or a warm fire, neither of which were available in the bedroom.

That desire for a warm body was the other reason I couldn't get any sleep. I'd only known these two men for a few days. Yet in that time, I'd kissed Felix, and worse yet, had sex with Francois. It was unlike me, and it was messing with my head.

What was it about the brothers that got through all my emotional and sexual defenses like they were made of nothing more than tissue paper? It couldn't have been just their looks. Both were definitely my type, with dark brown hair, a certain light swarthiness to their looks, and sensuous features highlighted by wide mouths and full, pouty lips. But I mean, I was in rock and roll, that look wasn't exactly rare among rock singers. Everyone and their brother tried to copy either Elvis, Mick Jagger or Steven Tyler with their facial look. If I went gaga for every guy with pouty lips who I met, I'd have become a backstage groupie long ago.

I didn't know what it was, but I did know that my body yearned for their touch. I tossed and turned, my body coursing with warm desire until I could take it no longer. Getting out of bed, I pulled on my pants and sweater. I went over and knocked lightly on the door, hoping one of them was awake. "Guys?"

"It’s unlocked, Jordan," Felix replied from the main room. "Come on out."

I opened the door to find Francois lying on the sofa, his jacket rolled up underneath his head to provide a pillow, snoring lightly with his sweatshirt laid over his head to shade him from the firelight. "Hi," I said softly to Felix. "Thanks for not locking the door."

Felix shrugged. “You’ve earned enough trust for that at least.”

"I've been lying in there confused,” I replied, sitting at one of the chairs arranged around the tiny dining table, which had obviously been designed for just the two of them. We'd eaten meals by one of us standing at all times. "Felix, things have been weird since meeting you two."

"Weird as in this is the first time you've been kidnapped?" Felix asked with a light laugh. "I hope we're giving you a good impression of criminals."

I laughed silently, aware that Francois was sleeping just a few feet away. "Yes, that’s a first for me. You two are the nicest criminals I’ve ever seen. Which is kind of the problem."

"How so?" Felix asked. He had made a kettle of tea, pouring himself a cup from the steaming kettle that was sitting on top of the stove, warmed by the fire burning inside. "Want some? It's nothing famous, but it is decent."

"Sure, why not?" I said, watching as him get me a mug. He handed it over, his eyes lingering on me, and I could see the memories flash through his mind. "Felix, about earlier . . .”

"I was as surprised as I’m sure you were,” he said, cutting me short. He seemed apologetic for his actions, while I felt the same way, especially with what I had to tell him. “I’m not normally one to be so quick in my affections."

"Me either, but there is a problem. You see, earlier, when Francois and I went to gather wood . . .”

"You kissed him as well?" Felix asked, unsurprised. "Francois has more of a honeyed tongue than me, that’s for sure, so I’m not surprised. I think it’s because he’s more playful. I’ve been accused of being too uptight, and more than once called an arrogant ass, sometimes deservedly."

"Uhm, it was a little more than a kiss," I replied, blushing. Felix looked at me levelly, not answering for a moment while he took a deep drink of his tea. He must have had a throat of leather, the tea was still steaming. "I've been lying back there, torn over what has happened today. When we kissed earlier, I did it because I wanted to. When Francois and I had sex, it was because I wanted to. Now, I'm lying in that bed wanting both of you to just join me and keep me warm, to feel both of you. And I'm asking myself why, why? I've never been in this situation before of being attracted to two men, two brothers of all things, at the exact same time, and certainly not so soon after meeting them."

“Maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome?" Felix asked in light humor, setting his mug aside on the floor next to him and stretching his long legs towards the fire. "You know, where the hostages end up identifying and falling for their kidnappers? I've read that some have even written love letters to their kidnappers for years after they are incarcerated."

"No way," I said, shaking my head. I took a sip of the tea, and found it light and herbal, if still so hot I could barely tolerate it. "First off, isn't that supposed to happen after a long time or lots of stress? You two have been so relaxed with me that I feel more like a houseguest than a hostage."

"Thanks, I guess. If I can ever retire from theft, I know I have a good future as a hotel owner," Felix remarked. He stretched his arms and interlaced his fingers behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. “Maybe a small bed and breakfast in the Alps?"

"Felix, I'm serious!" I hissed. “What’s happening to me?”

He unlaced his fingers from behind his head before relaxing them on his chest, studying me curiously. "I could ask you the same question. I've been sitting here after Francois fell asleep, unable to get you off my mind. I should be thinking about any of a dozen other things, including just what the hell I'm going to do if my business partner tries to pull anymore shit with getting us out of Los Angeles. I should be trying to figure a way to turn this job into more profit, and how I'm going to get out of the country. Instead, I keep thinking of how your hands felt holding mine, and how your lips tasted when you kissed me. Even now, after telling me that you and Francois have been intimate, I can’t feel anger. Instead, only a sense of perhaps karma."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Have you two competed for women before?"

Felix shook his head. "No, but remember, I am King. He is the current heir apparent, but Francois is only my half-brother. Our grandfather had two daughters, remember?"

Felix's words struck me dumb as the implications sank in. "So you and Francois are only half brothers?"

"As well as cousins," Felix added. "It’s led to some complicated things within the Rom culture roots, but Father, to his credit, raised both of us as equals, his two sons that he loved. I’ve tried my best to continue that with Francois as we have grown older and become adults. But sometimes I have to act as King and not just as his brother."

I nodded my head. "It’s a strange, interesting world that you live in, Felix."

Felix nodded and picked up his mug from the floor, finishing his tea in another long pull of the herbal mixture. "So what can I do to help you, Jordan?"

I looked over at Francois, who was lying on the couch. The fire wasn't much, but it was warmer than the bedroom. "Can I sleep out here on the floor? I promise I won't try to run away. I just need to be warmer, and I’d prefer to not be alone.”

Felix considered it for only a moment then nodded. "Let me help you with the blankets."

I smiled. “Thanks, but if you steal these in the night, we’re going to fight. You may be the King, but I need my blankets.”

* * *

I
woke
up the next morning wonderfully warm and enclosed on both sides, as both brothers ended up sleeping on each side of me, Francois in front of me while Felix held me from behind. I sighed and stretched, feeling not just warm but protected, which should have been weird considering the situation. However, that was how I felt. “Good morning gentlemen. What's for breakfast?"

Francois groaned and turned his head to look me in the eyes. "First a walk in the woods to work out these kinks. If you're going to invite Felix and I to sleep with you again, can we try the bed next time? I know it’s small, but this floor is not too comfortable."

"You’re the one closest to the fire, Francois," Felix muttered sleepily from behind me.

“I didn’t exactly invite you two to cuddle up with me, but it was a welcome surprise. Who's building up the fire?"

"I am," Francois replied, "Felix did it yesterday, it's my turn. Would you like to prepare breakfast?"

"Not unless you happen to have a week's supply of Pepto Bismol," I countered. "Sorry boys, but I can't cook worth a damn. Microwaves and sandwiches are the extent of my skills."

"Then we’ll have to teach you," Felix said. "No proper Frenchman goes as long in life as we have without learning how to at least make a decent bechamel sauce."

I laughed and snuggled back into Felix's arms, while at the same time pulling on Francois. "So I guess you boys had a talk."

"We did, when my watch alarm woke me up to find you laid out on a blanket in front of me," Francois said. “We figured this was as good as locking you in the room, and would keep us all warmer in the process.”

He snuggled back against me, and the three of us stayed there like that. Felix nuzzled his nose against my neck, and just as his lips found the sensitive spot behind my earlobe, my bladder decided it was time to strike and tell me it was time to get up. With a groan, I pushed away both men and rolled to my knees. "Sorry guys, but I’ve got to do my morning necessities.”

Sadly, the cabin didn’t have indoor plumbing, which meant walking to a frozen old-fashioned wooden outhouse anytime I had to go. It wasn't until I'd patted myself dry, pulled my pants up, and was opening the door before I realized that I was outside, at least twenty or thirty feet from the cabin, by myself. I could make a run for it if I wanted, and there was nothing the boys could do to stop me.

Part of my mind screamed that I should make a go of it. Hell, the worst that could happen was that they caught up with me, took me back, and made me stay in the locked room for the rest of the week. I hadn't seen evidence of a gun from either of them, and I didn't think they were the type to actually kill me.

Still, my feet refused to turn, and instead I made my way back to the cabin with barely a hitch in my step. I opened the door to find Felix pulling his gloves on and tucking a curl of his hair into his cap. "Come on, you guys have got to be better on security than that," I jokingly admonished. They looked at each other, Felix literally face palming himself while Francois twirled his spatula in his right hand. "Come on Felix, let's go get some wood."

As I led Felix toward where I thought we'd found the downed tree the day before, he started chuckling. "What?"

Felix shook his head. “I’m wondering what Father would have thought of this. Probably would’ve called me foolish, then taken a look at you and understood. Why didn't you run?"

"Maybe you two boys are the most interesting thing in my life in as long as I can remember," I replied. I pulled a pine needle from a nearby tree and twisted it around my finger, enjoying the scent of the trees around me. "And you have to admit, there’s a certain charm to your lifestyle."

"There is, even I recognize that," Felix said. "Of all the things that I enjoy, I think the idea that I live by no laws other than those of my own choosing is the most appealing. I mean, I have duties, but those duties are also of my own choosing. I don't worry about the social conventions or laws of those outside of my family and my culture. There’s a lot of freedom in that."

"You see? That really speaks to a girl like me. I mean, that's rock n' roll condensed into a single paragraph. Tell me, Felix, what would life be like if, say, and I'm just asking for pure imagination and to pass the time as we walk here . . .”

Felix cut me off before I could continue. "You'd be treated like a princess. But that may not be what you'd expect."

"How so?" I asked, the look in Felix's eyes filling me with warmth and curiosity. "No tiara?"

He laughed again, shaking his head. "Not in the least. Also, no castle either. When your millions come from the proceeds of criminal activity, buying a chalet in the countryside isn’t exactly the way to keep a low profile. On the other hand, there are things I have done with my father's money that I think are greater than a mere estate."

"So are you homeless?" I joked, "Or do you live in a gypsy wagon?"

Felix started for a second, then chuckled. "You know, I have to learn to let go of some of my insecurities around you. I know that you aren’t intending to offend me with your comments."

I grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry about that. I have a tendency to tell jokes that probably end up with my foot in my mouth more often than not. You should have met me back in high school — I pissed off three-quarters of my high school at some point or another."

Felix waved it off. "It’s okay. I do have a house, more than one, it’s just that while none of them are run down shacks, they’re nothing special. On the other hand, I do have one wicked ripper of a Winnebago."

I couldn't help it, maybe it was just his French and Romani accent, maybe it was the fact that Felix's joke was so obvious but still so serious at the same time, but I just burst out laughing. Within a few seconds, I was leaning over on the nearest tree, giggling my guts out while he stood next to me with a bemused expression on his face. Finally, when black spots were dancing in front of my face and my knees felt like jelly, I was able to calm down by taking large, whooping gasps of air. Looking at Felix, who watched the whole thing with his arms crossed and a slight smile, I staggered the two steps over and leaned against him. "I think this is the point where the suave Frenchman sweeps the girl into his arms and goes for the score.”