Fractured: The Diamond Club World

By A.C. Nixon and Diamond Club

Revenge is sweet, right? Wrong.

Maybe I should start from the beginning. Not bragging, but I’m remarkable at my chosen vocation, and I have been for ten years. During that time, I’ve accomplished heists most believed impossible.

But after ten years, I left the game before my luck ran out. So, what happened? The Diamond Club, an elite organization of the best and brightest in the trade, extended the coveted invitation.

Well, too little too late.

To prove a point, I stole the Winston Ruby—or rather, that was the plan—until the gem’s sexy as sin owner caught me in the act. Now, to maintain my freedom, looks like I’ll have to complete one last heist.

Something tells me this is going to be the toughest job of my life.

If you love brash, slightly awkward women and seductive men with secrets, then you’ll love Fractured—A Diamond Club novella.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.C. Nixon
• Release date: May 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386212683

Book preview

1

C harlie girl , you can do this. One last job, and then your life is your own.

Well, technically my life was already my own, unless you counted my loving and globetrotting parents. But it was all good. Soon I’d be living and working in Antwerp, with the perfect job. Maybe I’d even find a perfect guy.

The man didn’t have to be literally perfect, just perfect for me.

Sitting in the loading zone of the of the elegant and overpriced Upper East Side low-rise, I killed the engine and inhaled two calming breaths before flipping the visor down. After a quick adjustment of my Yankees cap, I grabbed the clipboard and slipped out of the plain white van.

The building managed to look both nondescript and lush, the syrup-colored bricks blending the building into the night like a chameleon. Even the topiaries, manicured to within an inch of their lives, standing sentry on the sidewalk, warned us mere mortals way. Too bad I couldn’t take a hint.

Ironic, how my perceived lack of money equated to invisibility for the rich and snobbish. That’s why I made it my duty to relieve the most unpleasant of the lot of as much of that wealth as possible.

You know what? I still slept like baby at night.

I stepped into a lobby as understated as the exterior. Tall gorgeous plants, comfortable and slightly worn leather chairs, and dark round end tables topped with reproduction Tiffany lamps made the space feel more like the reading corner in someone’s salon.

Hey, little lady. A bit late for a delivery, a middle-aged man who looked like he could be Archie Bunker’s younger and friendlier brother said with a smile. He stood, adjusting his holster, his fingers brushing across the snap securing his black 9mm to his hip. The move looked instinctual, rather that threatening or malicious. Heck, I wondered if he even realized he did it.

You know how it is. Work is never done for us schmucks—but from the looks of it—I waved the thick envelope that held papers that appeared official—we’re not the only ones working tonight. I gave him my biggest grin, the one that belied the fact I hated people commenting on my height, or rather my lack thereof.

Occasionally, my short stature was a bonus. No one ever viewed me as a threat. Big mistake.

The guard and I proceeded with the niceties. I showed him my fake badge adorned with my fake name and the fake package with a real name of an attorney on the tenth floor. I pushed my decorative glasses up my nose, thankful for my soft Italian leather driving gloves.

Here you go. My new friend slid a temporary passkey to the elevator across the desk.

Thanks. I smiled. For the first time in my career as a procurer of items belonging to others, my throat tightened at the thought of anything happening to the guard and his job. Ironic, I know, but who says a thief can’t have a heart?

Maybe something good would come from this. Even with an armed guard and the keyed elevator, the procedures didn’t require anything as basic as a phone call. These apartments sure better be nice, because the security sucked.

Dear God, could you look any worse?

I wasn’t hearing voices. My best friend and literal partner in crime finally broke radio silence. The earpiece was so tiny, it could easily be mistaken for a hearing aid, but rarely did anyone even notice it.

The camera’s in the front left-hand corner of the elevator, right above the buttons. Necol’s voice was all business, but let’s see how long that lasted.

I hit the button for the tenth floor and pretended to read the envelope.

Okay, now that you can’t argue, can I just say how stupid this is?

That was a record for her impatience. Since I couldn’t answer without looking psychotic, she railed on.

Why are you risking everything that you’ve worked so hard for? It’s time to give up that silly dream, and get on with your life. Necol sounded frustrated, and I didn’t blame her.

She was absolutely, positively right.

But strange thing about dreams, they’re difficult to release. At least for me.

When I’d finally received that coveted envelope from the Diamond Club, I expected an invitation. But no, that would have been too easy. They’d issued a challenge, a test. Which was complete bullshit. I’d pulled off some remarkable jobs, not only here in New York, but around the world. If they knew enough about me to put me on their elusive radar, then damn it, why not just admit me, why the hoops?

Some people worked their way through college in a coffee shop. Some even resorted to stripping. Not me. Goodness, that was way too dull. Calling myself a cat burglar would be…I don’t know, a demotion of sorts. I considered myself a tiny Valkyrie with a fascination for shiny things that unfortunately belonged to other people.

Did it make me an awful person?

Nah.

The elevator doors finally opened, and I blithely stepped through them, heading for my last adventure. Not surprisingly, the hall and sleek doors were the color of black coffee and screamed money to those familiar with quality. If I knocked, the sound wouldn’t be hollow, but deep and resonant.

My feet had yet to sink into the tan carpet when Necol resumed her interrogation. Are you sure about this? she asked one last time. At least I hoped it was.

I’m doing it. Are you in? I knew she’d be in. She was always in. If I ever accidentally committed a murder, she’d help me hide the body. I snorted, because if I killed someone, it meant they needed to be dead.

You owe me, you little skank, Necol said with a tired sigh.

I walked down the hall, trying my best to look bored. Two seconds later, the beautiful sound of sirens screamed out, and the overhead lights flickered on and off, which was my signal to get this party started. Normally, the wail of fire engines would cause hesitation—not tonight. Necol had hacked into the gas company’s computer system. What kind of magic she worked, I had no idea, mostly because my eyes glazed over when she slipped into what I liked to call a hackgasm. All I knew was that New York’s finest would show up to investigate a gas leak, requiring the evacuation of all the buildings on the block.

Okay, hallway and elevator cameras down. Access door to the roof is unlocked. Necol let out a soft whistle. Have fun now! Because afer this, I think it’s time for both of us to move on from this life of crime.

Gotcha, I replied, and for once, I meant it. This job was a big FU to those jerks at the Diamond Club.

I hopped back on the elevator, shifting my weight as I counted the seconds and reviewed the plan for the millionth time since Necol and I finalized it a week ago. A normal woman would have ignored the thick paper signed by the management and gone on with her life. But who said I was normal? If I was going out, why not do it with a bang?

The elevator stopped, the well-oiled gears silent and smooth. After stepping out of the mirrored boxed, I glanced to my right, finding the door for the fire exit. Only I didn’t plan to go down, like everyone else would in a few minutes. My path would take me past the twentieth-floor penthouse to the roof, and the real beginning of the adventure.

I paused with my fingers wrapped around the doorknob. I didn’t have to steal one more bauble or trinket. Honestly, I never needed to work again, but the thought of sitting idle…

Nope, couldn’t do it. If the door was locked, I’d turn around and go home, retreat to a life devoid of thrills but filled with safety. I held my breath for a couple heartbeats, then turned the knob.

It wasn’t locked.

I jogged, taking the stairs two at a time, my even breaths and the quiet slap of my tennis shoes against the cement the only sounds in the stairwell. Once I reached the stairs, and could go no farther, I peered behind me, watching the automatic lights dim like dominoes. For some reason, I stood, waiting for the shadows to consume me, and only then did I press my ear against the cool gray metal separating me from the roof.

Silence.

I opened the door, reluctantly reentering the sticky August night. Even though I planned to move, New York would always be home, and I would miss it. However, life goes on. If you’re lucky.

Crouched low, I jogged across the asphalt roof until I reached the pointed cover of the ventilator shaft. I loved these old buildings, and this one in particular. Unlike the movies, the spaces were small and cramped. However, thanks to prohibition and industrious bootleggers, the hollow area in the center of the building was wide enough to safely lower booze to the basement level for the speakeasy that used to be housed in its depths.

I removed the rope from my backpack, looking around for something sturdy to secure it to, and spotted a durable-looking pipe. A couple of tugs