Tobias gazes on long after the RV disappears from sight, and I study his profile as the sun starts to tint the morning sky.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Roman.” Stepping away from me dressed in running clothes—sweats, a thermal and T-shirt, and worn Nikes—he grips his foot behind him in a hamstring stretch. His massive build is becoming slimmer and more defined due to his vigorous runs, and I can’t help my thorough appraisal of his efforts.
“What about Roman?”
“Of what a fool he was, of what he missed.” Satisfied with his warm-up, he steps forward and cups my wings, my eyes falling to his full lips as he speaks. “Of how I wish you could have met my parents. But if they hadn’t died, I probably wouldn’t have you.” He leans in and releases a wary breath. “Of how I hate some of the ways you perceive me, and I’m going to change it.”
“That’s a lot to be thinking about at seven in the morning.” When his eyes drop, I instantly feel guilty, but I’m drained from the whirlwind of the last twenty-four hours. Posture defeated, he steps away, retrieving his earbuds from his pockets and slips them in before flipping through his phone, tapping to start a playlist as he speaks.
“Just how my mind works,” he lifts his eyes to mine, “I thought you wanted that.”
“I did, I do. I’m sorry.”
He grips the back of my neck and pulls me quickly to him, brushing my mouth with a kiss that leaves me aching. It’s then I recognize the opening notes of Archives “Again,” a song I know by heart, streaming through his earbuds. “See you after work.”
Within seconds, he’s jogging down the road in the direction my mother left, my heart lurching after him.
Age Twenty-Eight
Vegas.
The devil’s playground.
As far as devils go, I brought all my favorites with me. And tonight, I plan to let them reign.
Our mark?
Elijah Rosenbaum, a thirty-six-year-old VP who belongs to a small but webbed network of ambitious thieves. He robs his own corporation for sport while he spends his free time terrorizing women. His newest victim, Amelia, sits at his side, a twenty-three-year-old former cocktail waitress who left her station at a Boston bar thinking he would be her Prince Charming. Right now, she definitely realizes she needs a white knight, but she’s going to have to settle for a few rogue birds.
It’s becoming more evident to her by the second that abandoning her life was a catastrophic mistake. Her eyes dart around in fear as she sits, a new captive across from us in ringside seats Elijah will no longer be able to afford after paying our bill.
Since round one, Dom and I have had eagle eyes on them both, scanning for any security he may have that we might have missed. But it’s become apparent Elijah has gotten away with his evil deeds far too long to take cautious measures. At this point, he deems himself untouchable. And it’s clear that’s not just an assumption by his behavior as he revels in striking fear in the heart of his companion. Every time her eyes wander past the apparent six fucking inches he will allow, he checks her with a hands-on approach. Both times that he’s hurt her, she’s burst into pained tears, only to be threatened to keep quiet when she reacts to his methodic torture.
“Motherfucker,” Dom growls next to me. “If he hits her one more time, I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“Easy,” I clip, glancing over at Dom to see his shoulders tense, his fingers flexing with his need to pounce.
We’ve been butting heads recently due to his temperament and use of more extreme measures. He’s a ruthless renegade and a lethal one at that. Over the last few years, he’s hardened his edges, his patience dwindling, his fuse becoming shorter. At twenty-two, he’s nearly caught up to me in height—his build slightly smaller—but when he strikes, he makes sure the pain is unforgettable. I see a lot of myself in him, but we differ a lot in opinion on tactics, which has made our last few jobs more difficult.
“I’ll make a deal with you, brother.”
“I’m listening.” His eyes are zeroed in on Amelia, who’s frantically searching for a way to escape her bad company.
“You keep it together until we can get him alone, and I’ll let you give him a thorough lesson in manners on how to treat a lady. It’ll be your show tonight.”
Technically, this job is Dom’s find anyway, a tip-off from one of Elijah’s victims who was confiding tearfully to a friend at the MIT library. Not only did she spill about her ill-treatment, but she spent minutes recounting Elijah’s reckless bragging about his corporate conquests and wealth—which perked Dom’s ears. And because of that exchange, this mark fell into our laps. After some thorough research, we knew Lady Luck was on our side, which is why Sean and I met Dom in Boston to spend a few days with him before we followed Elijah out to Vegas for the fight. It’s the perfect location, a remote city in the middle of the desert with no ties to Dom’s life in Boston. Elijah will have no idea who to seek revenge on, not that he’s capable.
Just fifteen minutes in a hotel room and we’ll be half a million richer. The kicker? If caught, Elijah will take the fall no matter where the money lands or how it’s spent. That’s the perk of robbing thieves.
Elijah is precisely the kind of prick we target. His greed and misdeeds make him easy money and a job none of us will lose sleep over. Along with the half-million, we’ll gain a list of contacts and co-conspirators that will secure us a new list of targets to smoke in the future.
Dom sits next to me, posture rattling, his eyes fixed on our mark as sporadic shouts sound around us for the two men in the ring. The reigning champ is a bit larger in comparison to his contender, Lance Prescott, an up-and-comer I read about with an impressive record—a wildcard with an evident chip on his shoulder, who seems to be dancing with the devil in his eyes. And my literal money is on him. Scanning the arena, I spot Sean as he strolls up with a fresh beer and takes his seat at my right.
“All set,” he says, before sipping his beer, Elijah’s hotel keycard tucked away in his pocket as he eyes them across the ring. “Is he still fucking with her?”
Our view is obstructed by two women in spiked heels as they saunter past us, their eyes trailing over the three of us with blatant interest. I shift my attention past them to the fight as Lance nails his opposition with a sick combination, stunning him.
“Damn, man,” Sean says, elbowing me, “are you fucking asexual now, or what? I haven’t seen you with a girl since,” he snaps his fingers, “what was that chick’s name?”
“Chesty-toria,” Dom supplies with a smirk.
Sean closes his eyes. “Yeah, man. I remember those titties well.”
I roll my eyes as Sean nudges me, the foam of his beer dangerously close to spilling on my suit.
“You were what, sixteen?” Sean goads. “Seriously, man, it’s time to get a back scratch, at the very least.”
“He’s got a couple of girls in France he sees to itch it,” Dom supplies, earning my glare as he cants his head to get a view of Sean past me. “You forget Christian Louboutin here is a double agent. Maybe he prefers French women.”
“Maybe I prefer privacy,” I snap. “End of,” I turn to Sean, “and you’re annoying me.”
“That’s what little brothers do,” Sean snarks. Ignoring him, I glance over at Elijah, who’s focused on the fight, relieved that I won’t have to pry my brother off him for the moment. Mark or not, Dom’s not going to last much longer.
Sean lets out an exaggerated sigh, fidgeting next to me until I cut my gaze his way. “What?”
“We’ve been in Vegas nine hours, and you haven’t had one taste of that pathetic girl drizzle you call a drink.”
“I don’t drink on the job,” I eye his beer. “You should try it sometime.”
“Live a little, man. Don’t you think we deserve it?”
“I’ve got plans for later.”
“Oh, yeah? Did you schedule your first smile?”
My glare lands on the side of his head, his smirk disa
ppearing in his cup before he obnoxiously gulps down his beer. “Ahhhhh, delicious.” He sloshes the liquid around. “I would offer you some, but you’re probably allergic because it tastes a lot like a good time.”
Dom chuckles next to me and shakes his head.
Spending time with Sean and Dom is completely different from dealing with Antoine in his pit full of vipers. As relaxed as I am with the two of them for the most part, it’s sometimes hard for me to acclimate from one role to the other.
Here in the States, I’m not constantly on guard the way I am in France, but the stakes are just as high.
Sean plants his elbow on his knee, cupping the side of his face as he gazes over at me, batting his lashes. “I just can’t at all understand how you don’t dazzle the ladies with your glittering personality. Wait, Dom,” he palms my chest, brushing my nipple with his thumb, and I slap his hand away. “I think I saw the twitch of his lips.” He lets out an exaggerated sigh.
I snatch his beer and tip it, smiling into the cup as Sean’s own smile vanishes.
“Anyone else noticing a pattern here?” He looks between the two of us as I down his drink, and he narrows his eyes. “Every fucking time I have a bottle, you take it away,” he growls when I hand him back his empty cup. “Do you know how fucking long I had to wait in line for that, asshole?”
“Appreciate it.”
Dom chuckles next to me, and I glance over at him, noting the rare smile on his face. At twenty-two, his future is so much brighter than mine, his worries fewer these days, making all of my efforts worth it.
It was all worth it, just to see him thrive. Dom looks back at me and draws his brows.
“What?”
I shake my head as Sean again palms my chest. “Three o’clock, T. Brunette built like a brick shithouse. Damn, is she smoking, and she’s only got eyes for you.” He turns to me. “She’s jonesin’ for some of that mean man meat.” He chuckles, and his brows pinch. “Aren’t you even going to look at her?”
“Roberts,” Dom clips.
“Yeah?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Sean kicks back in his seat, restless as usual, the mirror image of Tarzan, who’d been forced to comb his hair and told to sit still.
“Here’s an idea,” I say, “why don’t you watch the heavyweight fight taking place feet in front of you.”
“I’ve had haircuts more entertaining than this,” he whines. “These are boring until they stop waltzing in the third or fourth round and really start throwing. I don’t even know why we’re here anyway. We’ve got everything in fucking place. We didn’t need to waste cash on this bullshit.”
“Because we have a job to do,” Dom growls, growing as irritated as I am, “but if you’re a good boy, I’ll let you get a lollipop after.”
“Can it be stuck to the ass on that one?” Sean gestures toward a woman walking past us, this one a stunner with mile-long legs. “We’ve gone over this a thousand times. Seriously, how often do we get to do this? Never. We’re in Vegas, together, and we’re watching a boring-ass boxing match.”
He rambles on next to me as I press my shoulder to Dom’s. “What the fuck is going on with him?”
He eyeballs Sean past me and flicks his gaze to mine. “He got his feelings hurt.”
“I told you that shit was going to backfire.”
“You know, assuming makes you an asshole, right?” he retorts. “We’ve only shared a few, and I live in Boston at the moment, remember?”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“Why would he?” Dom’s eyes roll over me. “You don’t bleed like that.”
His words sink in as I turn my attention back to the fight with more patience than I had a minute ago. Despite being the quintessential ladies’ man, and though he jokes a lot, Sean has a lot of depth, and he takes life a lot more seriously than he lets on. With Dom in Boston for college and Tyler serving in the military, when I’m not in Charlotte or France, I spend my time with Sean and the rest of the chapter in Triple Falls. In that time, we’ve become closer, talking about mostly everything, a lot about life and shared philosophy. And the fact that Sean’s acting up because he’s hurting, and he didn’t feel like he could tell me, cuts deep. Not that I can blame him, I don’t do relationship talks. The sad truth is, I can’t really identify with their reality most of the time. I glance over at Sean and inspect him more carefully, and now that I know, I can clearly see the sting in his eyes, along with the ache coming from him.
Sean’s smile slips considerably when he glances over to me. “What?”
“You all right?”
His eyes harden past my shoulder at Dom for snitching before his gaze slowly travels back to me. “Can’t put a lion on a lily pad and expect him to roar the same way, right?”
We stare off for several seconds before he looks away. It’s then I understand, it’s the club, my rules, that caused this, along with the expectation that they remain just as focused and unattached.
Guilt latches on, and after a few seconds of watching Lance throw, I bump my knee with his. “We can talk about the rules. Maybe make a few changes.”
Sean shakes his head. “It’s not a bad idea for others, but it’s too late for me.” Subconsciously, he runs his hand along his shoulder where his ink lays beneath. “It’s better this way. I’m not ready to nest yet. But she was…,” he shakes his head. “I’m good, man. It is what it is.”
As Sean predicted, the fight begins to gain momentum as Lance starts to dominate the round. I dart my attention back to Elijah, who’s in Amelia’s face, berating her as she glances around, humiliated and terrified, just before her features twist in pain.
“Fuck this,” Sean stands suddenly, “I’m getting another beer.” I tap my wrist to remind him of the time.
“Yeah, yeah,” he musters a grin, “all work and no play makes T. a very boring boy.” He playfully smacks my chin, empty cup in hand, as he walks past the two of us in the opposite direction of concession.
“Where the fuck is he going?” Dom asks, as we both trail his gait, which becomes sloppier with every step he takes.
“Is he high?” I ask.
He shrugs, his eyes latched to Sean with concern. “No more than usual.”
Confused, I watch him as he begins to stumble into the rows of people surrounding the ring, reeling back as he’s pushed off a few, lifting his hands in apology, before he ambles around the corner. It’s when I see him closing in on Elijah that I realize his intent.
Dom curses, catching on when I do, pulling his cell from his pocket and furiously texting Sean. Sean stumbles around the ring, his drunken gait impressive, especially when he subtly taps his pocket in the midst of his performance, letting us know he’s ignoring Dom’s texts before subtly flipping us the company logo.
“Tell me this is not happening.” I clench my fists as Sean stumbles his way toward our mark.
“I’m afraid it fucking is, brother.”
“I’m going to kill him,” I growl as Sean gets into position and sets the bait, feet away from Amelia, his eyes trained on her, waiting, a signature grin in place.
“Motherfucker,” I growl. “Text him again.”
“It’s too late.” Just as Dom says it, Amelia spots Sean and on instinct beams back at him, just as Elijah catches onto the exchange. I curse as Amelia’s face blanches, and she burst into tears.
Dom goes to stand, and I grip his arm and yank him back in his seat. He turns to me, his posture drawing tight, his eyes darkening, livid. “He just fucking elbowed her in the stomach. Why isn’t anyone helping her or saying anything?”
Sean ambles to the side as if the ground is moving beneath him. He’s already starting to gather attention, odd looks from some of the front row, and it’s only a matter of time before he draws the attention of house security.
“Sadly, it’s human nature, brother, and you have to keep a lid on that temper and wait for the right time to strike, or else you’re just another dumb fucking thug looking to
get caught,” I tell him as Amelia cups her face and sobs into her hands.
Sean remains idle as I fight to keep from aiding him myself, just as his gamble pays off and the entirety of the arena jumps to their feet. In the ring, Lance has managed to get his opponent on the ropes and is doling out punishment with a series of blows, raining hell with his blurring fists. With all eyes on the ring, Sean leaps into action, stumbling straight toward them before he fakes a trip, his head landing in Elijah’s crotch. Elijah grips Sean by the arms in an attempt to push him away; just as Sean lifts and head butts him so hard, Elijah’s mouth goes slack as he sinks down in his chair. With Elijah half-conscious, Sean manages his recovery by artfully fumbling over his feet and faceplanting in Amelia’s cleavage. Her eyes widen with shock as he nuzzles her a split second before he stands, apologizes, and saunters off. Amelia smiles in the direction Sean fled just as Elijah slowly comes to before searching for the freight train that just hit him.
Dom shakes in hysterical laughter next to me, and I lose sight of Sean, who slips into the standing crowd. It’s the roar of laughter that spills from Dom’s lips, a rare sound, that has me turning to face my brother, and at his reaction, my anger fades, and I’m unable to help my smile.
“Fuck, that was priceless,” Dom’s chuckle begins to slow as he claps a hand on my shoulder. “That’s our boy,” he proclaims proudly, his smile cracking his face wide. “That shit alone was worth the money we paid for these seats.” Both our pockets rumble with an incoming text, and we check them at the same time to see a text from Sean. It’s a real-time picture of us, Dom laughing, me smiling at him.
“Slick motherfucker,” Dom muses, sending a reply as I gaze down at the picture to get an idea of where it was shot. Looking in the direction, I scan the crowd, spotting Sean sitting a few rows back from Elijah and Amelia, a pride-filled smile on his face. Grinning, I lift my chin to Sean as Elijah and Amelia walk past him toward the exit, and he lifts his back before standing to follow.
“Let’s do this,” I say to Dom as he gets to his feet.
The Finish Line Page 24
