Chapter 2
1288 Words
Chapter 2
Canvas of Lies and Gunmetal
Lex Vega had survived Brooklyn alley brawls, police chases, and one memorable night involving a stolen motorcycle and a SWAT team. But sitting across from Julian Saint-Claire in a dimly lit Parisian café, his polished oxfords brushing her scuffed boots under the table, she felt dangerously out of her depth.
“So,” she said, swirling the dregs of her espresso like it held answers, “you want me to vandalize your company’s headquarters? During a shareholder meeting.”
Julian leaned back, his gray eyes glinting in the candlelight. “Not vandalize. Perform. Think of it as… immersive theatre. A live critique of corporate greed, with my board members as your unwitting audience.”
Lex snorted. “You’re asking me to commit a felony.”
“I’m asking you to make a statement.” He slid a manila folder across the table. Inside were blueprints of Saint-Claire Industries’ flagship tower, security schedules, and a photo of a vault-like boardroom. “The meeting starts at noon. The vents in the ceiling are large enough for you to access. You’ll have twelve minutes to paint the walls before security arrives.”
She flipped through the pages, her pulse quickening. The challenge was good. The risk was better. But trusting Julian? That was suicide.
“Why not hire a hacker? Or a hitman?” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Why an artist?”
Julian’s smile was a razor. “Because only art can humiliate them. I want my partners to sit in that room, surrounded by your truth, and know they’ve been unmasked.” He paused, his gaze dropping to the silver locket she always wore—a relic from her mother, its engraving long faded. “You understand what it means to scream into the void, Lex. Don’t pretend you’re not tempted.”
She slammed the folder shut. “Triple the commission. And I want a clause in the contract: if I get arrested, you pay my bail and do my dry-cleaning.”
“Deal.” Julian extended his hand. When she took it, he didn’t let go. His thumb grazed her knuckles, calloused from years of gripping spray cans. “But there’s one condition.”
“Of course there is.”
“You wear a wire. Everything said in that boardroom is evidence.” His voice dropped. “And if things go sideways, I need to hear you.”
Lex yanked her hand back. “You don’t get to listen to me breathe, Saint-Claire.”
Before he could reply, the café door burst open. A gust of wind scattered napkins and startled the barista, but Lex’s attention snagged on the man who strode in—tall, broad, and wearing a trench coat too heavy for September. His eyes locked on Julian.
Hired muscle? She thought. Or worse.
Julian followed her gaze, his posture stiffening. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“What? Why—”
He grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the back exit. The trench-coated man lunged, a pistol glinting in his hand.
Oh, hell.
Lex ducked as a bullet shattered the espresso machine behind them. Patrons screamed, overturning chairs in their scramble to flee. Julian shoved her ahead, his hand firm on her lower back as they bolted into the alley.
“Who the f**k was that?!” Lex yelled, sprinting alongside him.
“Not my biggest fan!” Julian snapped, glancing over his shoulder. Two more men rounded the corner, guns raised.
Lex cursed, digging into her jacket pocket. Her fingers closed around a can of neon-pink spray paint—her lucky colour. She whirled, shaking the can violently.
“What are you—?” Julian started.
“Run!” she barked, spraying a thick, blinding arc into their pursuers’ faces. The lead man howled, clawing at his eyes as pink mist coated his skin.
Julian stared, a laugh catching in his throat. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re dead if you keep gawking!” She grabbed his tie, yanking him into a side street.
They wove through labyrinthine alleys, their footsteps echoing off damp stone. Lex’s lungs burned, but adrenaline kept her moving. Julian kept his pace, his hand never leaving hers—a fact she’d dissect later when bullets weren’t whining past her ear.
Rounding a corner, Lex spotted a graffiti-tagged dumpster. “In here!” She hauled herself over the edge, Julian tumbling in after her. Rotting lettuce and cigarette butts cushioned their fall.
“You’ve done this before,” Julian muttered, his breath hot against her neck.
“Only on Thursdays.” She peered through a rusted hole in the dumpster. The assassins paused nearby, arguing in low, furious French.
Julian shifted, his thigh pressing against hers. “They’re a Syndicate.”
Lex froze. “What?”
“The men. They work for the Blackthorn Syndicate.” His voice was calm, but she felt the tension coiled in his body. “They’ve been trying to infiltrate my company for months.”
The name hit her like a fist. Blackthorn. The same syndicate that had framed her father destroyed her family and left her orphaned at sixteen. Her fingers instinctively clutched the locket at her throat.
“You didn’t think to mention this before someone shot at us?!” she hissed.
Julian’s gaze flicked at her locket. “I didn’t know they’d come for you.”
“What’s that supposed to—”
One of the assassins kicked the dumpster. Lex stifled a yelp as the metal reverberated. Julian’s arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer.
“Silence,” he breathed.
She wanted to shove him off. Instead, she counted the seconds, her heart thundering in sync with his.
After an eternity, the men moved on. Lex exhaled, shoving Julian away. “Start talking. Now.”
He studied her, rainwater dripping from his hair. “Blackthorn wants a prototype my company has developed. A quantum encryption chip. They think it’s in the boardroom vault.”
“And is it?”
“No.” His knuckles brushed the locket. “It’s in here.”
Lex recoiled. “What?”
“Your mother’s locket. It’s a biometric lock. Your fingerprints, your DNA—it’s why Blackthorn’s been hunting you. Why did I hurt you?” His eyes darkened. “I needed to reach you before they did.”
Betrayal curdled in her gut. She’d worn that locket every day for a decade. A *chip*? Her mother’s last gift—a weapon?
“You son of a b***h,” she whispered. “You knew who I was from the start.”
“Yes.” He didn’t flinch. “And I know what Blackthorn did to your family. Do you want revenge? This is your chance. Help me destroy them, and I’ll give you every name, every ledger, every secret that buried your father.”
Lex’s vision blurred. She wanted to scream. To paint the walls with his lies. But the truth was a hook in her ribs, pulling her closer.
“Why me?” she said hoarsely.
Julian cupped her face, his touch startlingly gentle. “Because you’re the only one who can’t be bought. And I need…” He hesitated, vulnerability flashing beneath his armour. “I need someone I can’t corrupt.”
A siren wailed in the distance. Lex shoved his hand away. “If I do this, it’s not for you. It’s for me.”
“Naturally.” He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll continue this at my penthouse. Unless you’d prefer another dumpster?”
She climbed out, ignoring his offered hand. “Lead the way, patron. But if you double-cross me, I’ll paint your obituary myself.”
- Writer
