Chapter 7: Chapter 6: Thieves Live on Borrowed Time

“You alright, Cass?” Wynn asked from the driver’s seat.

“Just drive.”

I spent half the trip home hunched over, massaging my temples, debating how to handle Becca. Under normal circumstances, I already had the answer. I typically don’t find decision-making difficult. My circumstances with Becca were the exception. Intuition told me to trust her; logic told me to preserve my defenses.

“Have your fill of this life yet?” Wynn asked, shattering my train of thought.

I shot him a glare for speaking after I told him to just drive. Don’t take it out on him, a cooler part of me said. I closed my eyes and reminded myself that he wasn’t the source of my frustration. “What are you talking about?”

“You seem out of it. Knowing your thing for Rebecca—” 

“I don’t have a thing for her.”

“Why’d you have me secretly take pictures of—”

“Let’s not discuss that,” I said, reeling from the memory. “What’s your point?

With a soft voice, Wynn said, “Being a thief is getting in the way of your wants, right?”

My insides knotted and a memory from two years ago flashed into my head.

We were to formally begin our crusade, starting with a museum job. Before we debuted, Wynn broke up with his girlfriend. When I asked why, he said he had to. That he’d be a bad partner if he didn’t. 

I told him it was nonsense and noted how loyal and faithful he is.

His reply spoke volumes: “I’m that stuff for you. I can't protect you and be open about everything with Megan or any other girl. Not if it's going to be anything legit. You're the only person I can be completely honest with, and we both know nothing is going to go down between us.”

A part of me wished it did, if only to appease him. Nevertheless, nothing of that nature has ever happened between us. Not because he's male or anything of that sort; I simply don’t view him in such a light. Still, he was and is more than a bodyguard to me. 

Regardless, he spoke from a place of experience.

“I figure you’ll tire of all this thief stuff sooner or later,” Wynn continued. “When it comes to the technical stuff, you’re great at crime. However, you lack a certain ruthlessness. You genuinely care about collateral. You’re uncomfortable with even the idea of death. You have emotional attachments all over. You aren’t all that committed to being a criminal.”

“Just because I’m different from most criminals doesn’t mean I’m not committed. I have already broken the law on numerous occasions. I’m simply uninterested in being a common criminal.” 

“The law won’t see things that way. If we’re caught, we’re done, simple as. So, if you’re thinking of turning back, I suggest you do so sooner rather than later. Thieves live on borrowed time. The chance to turn back might not be there anymore if you take too long.”

“You make this sound like suicide.”

“Kind of is,” he said. “You are knowingly risking everything.”

“If you believe this is suicidal, why serve me? You’re free to do as you please.”

“I am doing as I please. I want to help you through all this.”

“Why?”

The purr of the engine seized the space meant for Wynn’s answer.

You are reading story The Confessions of Cassidy Cain (Grandmaster of Theft #1) at novel35.com

“Wynn,” I said, my voice stern, “why do you wish to help?”

“There isn’t any one reason.”

“I’m only asking for one.”

“Who’s asking: Cass or ‘The Young Mistress’?”

I raked my hands through my hair then took a breath. “Your friend Cassidy.”

He sighed. “You know how good I am at hurting people. Marius made me good at hurting people. By contrast, you… This whole crusade isn’t only helping our clients and beneficiaries. This is a positive use of who Marius made me.”

I furrowed my brow and wished I could rid Wynn of all the pain his father had imparted. “Marius has no say over who you are. He simply taught you skills. Skills are merely a tool. When and how you utilize those tools is what defines you."

Wynn chuckled. “That’s what I’m talking about. Everything we do actually makes me believe that sometimes.”

“If you do believe it, even if it’s not all the time, why do you wish for this to end?”

“Because it will end. This can’t last forever. I’m glad we are doing what we are, but what’s it all leading to? This ends one of two ways: either we end it on our terms and quit while we’re ahead, leaving tons of people in need without help, or things catch up to us and we wind up in jail. Or worse. Doing some good before everything ends is the closest to a happy ending a criminal can get.”

I bent my gaze to the window and stared out to the forest we cruised past. 

While those endings weren’t unthinkable, I deemed them unlikely. I never accepted a job which we couldn’t navigate. I approached theft in a manner which echoed how I played Nijal; with careful planning, intensive preparation, and swift improvisation where required. We took calculated risks. 

“Do you believe in me with regards to this job?” I asked.

“I’m not down with sending you into her carriage but that aside, you’ve got things locked down. Like I said, you’re solid when it comes to technique. I just don’t think this life suits you. I don’t want you to feel like you’re sacrificing for it.”

Heroism involves sacrificing oneself for others, I lamented.

My mind rewound to an interview I found involving Narcissa and The Maker’s Tear. The article was titled “The Restitution Controversy: Narcissa Richmond Refuses to Return The Maker’s Tear to the Dilmurid!” Perhaps you’ve seen it? I can’t imagine you’ve not, given the subject matter. 

Regardless, I recalled it and the truth it showcased: Narcissa knew about the circumstances surrounding The Maker’s Tear. She knew and she didn’t care. She cared only about how the circumstances could profit her.

My nails stabbed into my palm. I couldn’t accept that. Nor could I dismiss it. I wouldn’t be any better than Narcissa if I turned a blind eye. 

“We should concentrate on the task at hand for now. You raise some valid points, but seeing as I have this one under control, they’re irrelevant. Let’s revisit this topic after we’ve recovered The Maker’s Tear.”

Wynn gave a thumps-up with his right hand then reclaimed hold of the wheel.

I stretched my neck, which was shockingly stiff, and sagged into the cushion-soft seat. I had contended with far more emotions than anticipated that day. Here’s hoping everything proceeds as anticipated from now on, I thought.

It should go without saying that my hopes were dashed.

PART 1 END