Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(31)

But as she drew closer to the finish line, she was worried.

While making replicas of a famous painting was not illegal by any means, if someone tried to pass them off as the real thing… that was illegal. And the last thing she needed was to get arrested for something like that—she wouldn’t be able to work in her field again.

But, Gabriel had asked that she not change anything about the painting, wanting to ensure that it stood unparalleled next to the original. He was technically her employer for this, so it wasn’t like she could argue this with him, but the artist inside her didn’t like the idea of not marking them in some way.

Just in case …

Grabbing one of the thinner brushes, she dipped it in white paint, carefully scrawling her name along the very bottom, making sure it blended, though not completely, with the image at the bottom. It could easily be skipped over when one was just looking at the portrait, but easier to see once studied.

At the very least, it eased her conscious.

Cleaning her brushes, Amber made quick work of putting away her supplies and materials, then washing her hands with soap and paint thinner.

It was the nights like these when she watched the paint leech from her hands, running in colorful swirls down the drain that she felt the most happy.

She was creating something, even if it had already been done, but there was even an art to what she was doing. Not everyone could do the same.

Finished for the day, she grabbed her bag as she sent off the pick-up text, waving goodbye to the others as she headed out. Instead of going for the metro as had been her custom, she hailed a cab, riding all the way out to the Upper East Side, heading for a nightclub in the heart of the city.

Having a best friend that was married to a Russian Mob boss wasn’t something everyone could say they had, but Amber was just lucky that way. Mishca Volkov was what happened when you moved to a city and fell in love with the first man you met.

It only felt like months ago that she was sharing a brownstone with Lauren near NYU, enjoying the life of a college student, but after she had moved out—and because Amber was no longer in school—she thought it better to move and start living off her own dime instead of her parents’.

But outside the glamour that Mishca’s life presented, there were the darker, scarier parts. It was hard to know what all happened behind the scenes, but what little she had been privy to scared her.

Mishca had been shot once.

Lauren kidnapped.

All of Luka.

Amber didn’t think she could handle that kind of lifestyle, constantly worrying that someone might try to kill her just because of who her spouse was, but so long as Lauren was happy and content, she couldn’t complain.

After paying the cabbie, Amber slung her bag over her shoulder as she climbed out, stepping up onto the curb in front of Club 221. The line was already starting to form, security in clean suits standing at the door, gradually allowing people inside.

Though she wasn’t dressed for the atmosphere by any means, the security guards barely spared her a glance as the door was opened and she was allowed entry—paid to be friends with the owner.

Amber followed the familiar pathway to the back office where she found Lauren on the floor with Sacha as he walked from the desk, to her, and back again, each time bringing one of the pencils along with him like a gift.

“He knows Friday nights are daddy’s night,” Lauren explained with a soft smile. “So if Mish is late, he throws a fit.”

Ah, he was nearing the terrible two’s. She had enough cousins with children so she knew how epic some of those meltdowns could be.

“If you want to reschedule—”

“Of course not,” Lauren said quickly. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, and we need to catch up. Mish should be here soon.”

Smiling broadly, Sacha toddled over to her, holding his hand high as he waved. “Hi.”

Feeling like her face was going to split open from her own smile—she really did love kids at this age—she sat down so they were eye level. “Hi, Sacha.”

He pointed to himself, making her laugh.

“Yeah, you’re Sacha.”

He pointed to her.

“I’m Amber.”

“Amber. Amber. Amber. Amber,” he said over and over again, going back to his trek across the floor for more pencils.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Lauren said with a light laugh. “The baby fever is written all over your face. Just remember that they’re not always this cute.”

Sacha made that hard to believe. Whenever she was around him, he was always in the best of moods with the sweetest smile.

“If you’re really feeling the urge, you can babysit for a night and we’ll see how you feel in the morning.” Lauren shook her head. “But then again, he’d probably be good for you.”

Amber had a cousin that had been like that as a baby, drove her mother crazy.

“But tell me about the guy! Don’t hold me in suspense any longer.”

Now Amber was kind of regretting that phone call. Earlier in the week, when she had called to arrange this hangout, she had slipped and told Lauren where she had been the night before, and since it was with a man, Lauren had demanded details.

Then, she had been rather giddy to share. Now, not so much.

“There’s not much to tell, really. It was only like a one-time thing.”