by Jewel, Bella
“There’s nothing wrong with safe!”
“Says the girl who’s driving a stolen Charger with a motherfucking Sentinel on her tail!”
A parking lot looms ahead, overlooking the crashing waves of the beach. It beckons. I’m tired. Drained. I’m the best car thief in the business, but I can’t outdrive Kelly. Stealing this car is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. But what Echo did was dumb too.
“Did you think I’d never find out? That I’d exist in some little bubble with Kelly and live happily ever after? He’s a Sentinel. They’re rapists. And murderers!”
I pull in and stop the car. Kelly roars to a stop behind me, sideways, blocking me in. Putting the gear in neutral, I tug the handbrake on and turn the key. The heated engine shuts down, ticking in the still of the night.
“They’re not. I researched them, Ace. Did you think I wouldn’t do that? Grinder was an exception. He was the one that came after you with a gun, the others were just trying to get his car back, but I couldn’t tell you that. You wouldn’t listen even if I tried. You both just painted all of them with the same brush.”
I glance in the side-view mirror through my open window. Kelly is stepping out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. My breath rasps in the silence as his feet crunch on the gravel, the sound getting louder.
“Grinder was kicked out of the MC. They took his cut and burned the Sentinels tattoo from his skin. The fact that he’s still alive in prison is a miracle.”
My eyes meet Kelly’s in the mirror as he gets close. The anger in them is bright, but there’s hurt in there too.
“Kelly’s not some polite, respectable guy. He’s got a lot of rough edges, and a past that … that …” She seems stuck. “But he’s not Grinder, Ace. None of them are.”
“What hurt you?”
“The past,” he answered. “It can be a real shitty place to visit in your head sometimes.”
I swallow the lump of unease in my throat. Is it possible that Echo speaks the truth? I should believe her, right, because she’s my best friend, but it’s too much to process right now. I need somewhere quiet to think and here, with Kelly approaching, is not that place.
He reaches the driver’s side of the car. I’m treated to hard, bare skin, and a trail of hair that leads down to the low waistband of his worn jeans before he crouches, laying both forearms on the open window.
Mere mortals would cower beneath the blazing glare in his eyes. And because I am, in fact, a mere mortal, I do. Just a little.
“I have to go,” I say to Echo, and without moving my gaze from his, I fumble behind me, hitting the ‘end call’ button.
Kelly sets his jaw. He looks like he wants to speak but doesn’t know where to start.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask, because I’m not sure how he can be who he is and not know who I am. Has he not put the pieces together?
His tone is flat. “You’re Ace Jones.”
“That’s right. Do you know who Ace Jones is?”
“I was trying to learn,” he grinds out, “but then the bitch fucked me and left, stealing this here Charger, and now I’m wishing I never knew her at all.”
I bite the insides of my cheeks, holding back a heated retort, because after my conversation with Echo, I’m starting to think that maybe I deserve that, and that maybe he deserves an explanation.
“My grandfather is Racer Jones,” I say quietly.
“I met him already, remember? So yeah, I know.”
“And my brother is Mason Jones. The Ghost.”
Kelly’s face is blank for a moment, and then he stiffens, every muscle turning rigid. He studies me as comprehension dawns. “You’re Ace Jones.”
My lips press together.
“Dammit.” He rises, slapping his hand against the side of the Charger. I can’t see his expression now, but his anger is palpable. He stalks two, three, four steps away, swiping hands through his hair before turning to look at me. “I’m falling for a fucking car thief?”
Did he say falling? “Wait, what?”
“You stole Romero’s car!” he yells.
“Yeah. I did!” I fumble with the door handle. It flings open and I step out, slamming it behind me. “And I’d do it again,” I yell back, stalking toward him, my finger jabbing in the direction of his chest, “because I went to bed last night with a hot, sexy man…” my voice rises to a shriek “…and I woke up with a fucking Sentinel!”
“Yeah?” He gets in my face, not holding back. “Well, I went to bed last night with a hot, sexy woman and woke up with a thieving whore!”
My gasp is so hard and swift I choke on it.
“You weren’t lyin’, were you, babe?” he says with a sneer while I wheeze and splutter. “You’d do anything to get what you want!” He waves a hand at the car I stole right out from under his nose. “Even fuck some guy from the same MC that shot your brother in the back and paralysed him for life.”
I stumble backward, his words a figurative punch to the face. “I can’t …”
“You can’t what?” he growls.
My belly heaves. I turn and bend at the waist, hands on my knees as I throw up. Torturous heaves rack my body until there’s nothing left. I’m gasping and wiping tears from my face when a warm palm slides along my lower back. I flinch.
“Babe,” Kelly says quietly.
“Don’t touch me.”
“You didn’t know either, did you? That I’m a Sentinel.”
I turn around, stumbling on weak limbs and face him, shaking my head. “Not until I woke and saw the tattoo.”
Kelly grabs me and pulls me against him. My face mashes to his chest as his arms circle tight around me, a shackle I can’t escape from. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Figured you’d think I wasn’t good enough.”
I struggle, my hands pushing against him. “Don’t—”
“I’m sorry.” His arms tighten further, and the fight leaves me. I still, turning my head to face the crashing of the waves. “Grinder is … what he did was fucked-up and it’s on us, because we let him in. We made him one of us and for some reason he thought that was licence to do whatever he wanted. He might be in prison, but we made him pay for what he did,” he says, his voice a rumble in his chest as he holds me.
“How?” I croak.
He swallows. “We … emasculated him.”
“You what?”
“Babe. We cut his motherfuckin’ dick off.”
My stomach pitches all over again. “You did that?”
“Not me, personally. But I condoned it.”
I struggle again and Kelly loosens his hold. I shift back so I’m able to tilt my head upward and look him in the eye. His brow is furrowed. Is he worried what I think of him now?
“It’s not enough. He’s still alive.”
Kelly
My insides do a double-take. I was expecting revulsion, and yet she’s still here, talking to me. Club business is something I do my best to stay out of. Although I’m a member of the MC, I’m still that same solitary bear that walks alone. All I knew was that he raped a girl, and he shot a man they call The Ghost, a man who stole his car. Ace’s name maybe came up once, but it was not something I paid attention to—nor added two and two together after meeting her. She was wearing glasses that night in Fix and studying finance for fuck’s sake. That is not the persona of a car thief, though she certainly fits it now with her black outfit and sticky fingers.
“Unfortunately, yes, he’s still alive,” I say eventually.
“Echo says…” she pauses to grimace “…she says that you burned his tattoo away?”
“We did.”
“So you basically tortured him.”
My lips press together. What am I supposed to say to that? It’s not something enjoyable, to physically brutalise another human being. There’s a grimness to the task. A knowledge that it’s something that has to be done. And after, you walk away a little heavier in the soul. Mine has more than enough marks on it now. Too many to cou
nt.
Ace steps further away from me, hugging her arms around her middle. “Where do we go from here, Kelly? I’m a … thieving whore and you’re a—”
My brow arches. “Fucking Sentinel?”
“Yeah.” She gives a weak laugh. “That.”
“Maybe you can tell me what your plan was after stealing Jake Romero’s car.”
“There was no plan. I woke up and I panicked. And she was there, under that cover like a beautiful red treasure. From there … I don’t know, I lost my mind a little, I guess.” She shakes her head, and there’s a beat of silence between us that makes my chest tight. I want her all over again. Even the crazy parts. Because she sure as fuck is crazy, getting in that car and handling it the way she did. If I hadn’t been so mad, I would’ve stopped to admire it. Ace takes a step backward, bringing her closer to the Charger. “I should go.” Her voice firms. “I need to go.”
She turns and walks. My eyes drop to her ass, just for a moment, but it’s a long enough moment that she gets her hand on the handle of the door before my brain catches up.
“Whoa, whoa whoa!” I call out. “If you think you’re getting back in that car and driving away, then you’ve got a screw loose, lady.”
Ace pauses. “I promise I’ll drive it back to Rehab.”
“Yeah, like I’m gonna trust you.”
We end up driving back to Rehab together in the Charger, Ace in the passenger seat. Lee’s car is locked up tight at the parking lot. Considering it was his brilliant idea to stalk the girls in the first place, he can go get it tomorrow.
The drive is quiet, the only sound a deep purr from Romero’s car. He brought it in early yesterday for a simple oil change. Even the tiniest hairline scratch on the immaculate paintwork will give him a stroke. The fact that it’s still in one piece is the only reason I’ll still be breathing tomorrow when he comes to collect it.
We’re only a few blocks away when Ace finally decides to speak.
“Sooo …” she drawls, glancing at me sideways. “You’re falling for me?”
Dammit. She had to remember me saying that, didn’t she? “Nope.”
“You can admit it, you know.” She waves her arms to encompass the interior of the car. “This is a safe space, and I am an … an empathetic person.”
“Har! Empathy my asshole.”
Amusement emanates from her smug face. “You like me.”
“I used you. Remember when I said I wasn’t sure?” I point out, out-smugging her smugness. “Well, now I’m sure. Consider yourself used. Your pussy was wet and tight and very accommodating, but now my dick and I must move on to other pastures, ones of the non-thievin’ variety.” A light-bulb dings on in my head. “Holy shit!” We pull into the parking lot. I don’t have the automatic garage door key on me—it’s inside—so I park it out front and switch off the engine. “That’s what you were all doing out there last night.” And I say last night because dawn has begun to break over the horizon, a riot of orange and hot pink that makes the bonnet of the Charger blaze like fire. “You were going to steal a car!”
She gasps and the sound is phoney as fuck. “We were not!”
“Save it.” I open the door and step out. Turning, I bend to look at her, my eyes narrowing. “I’m on to you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Arcadia
My phone vibrates a message. I glance down at the screen from the lecture hall in front of me. Professor Braune, or Professor Yawn as she’s known in student circles, is waxing on about the beauty of quantitative analysis to make informed financial decisions. It’s her introduction, and she’s been talking for … I check my watch … approximately twenty minutes. And rather than being seated near the front by the exit (the thief in me is always looking for an easy getaway), I was late and had to make my way up the stairs to the three vacant seats near the back row. The sea of students in front of me are all surreptitiously checking their phones, their heads tilting downward at random intervals.
Echo: Where are you?
Me: Hell. I’m in hell.
It’s Friday afternoon, a week after I lost my mind and stole Romero’s Dodge Charger. Kelly went inside Rehab after we returned. I (wisely) chose to stay outside and message Echo for an extraction. He may have been waiting for me to eventually follow him inside, but instead I was collected twenty minutes later, and that was that, apparently. I’ve been lying low since then, and my interaction with Kelly has been non-existent. I know, because initially I checked my missed calls and messages every ten minutes. Eventually, it reduced to every hour. And then just once a day.
Today I haven’t bothered to check them at all because the sexual spell he had over me has lifted. That’s right. It lifted. No more lust. Sex dreams be gone. Kelly and I were nothing more than a departure from reality. We simply veered from the road at the same time, causing a collision. A collision of naked limbs and sweaty skin, and his thick, heavy cock thrusting inside my …
I bite my bottom lip before I moan aloud.
Now we’re back on course, following our separate paths. Kelly with Rehab and me with Professor Yawn and the delights of mathematical investigations. My sigh is loud and heavy.
Echo: You’re on campus, then.
Of course I am, though her message is unusual because she always checks my phone to track my whereabouts. She’s great at invading my privacy that way.
Me: Yes. Being all cowardly.
I can almost see her eyes rolling at my jab. Did she think I would quit my degree overnight because of her revelatory opinion? I’m not hiding from life. This is my future. A chance for a respectable career. I’m doing the right thing, dammit.
Echo: What subject are you in right now?
Is pretending to take an avid interest in my course load some sort of weird, roundabout apology for telling me I look ridiculous in my banker attire and reading glasses? I’m still wearing said glasses today instead of my contact lenses, but I chose my outfit today without any thought at all. Pale denim jeans, so worn down there are rips at the knees and beneath both butt cheeks, and a beat-up brown leather jacket that I cast to the empty seat beside me because the heat is on.
My underwear is the only thing I chose with care. My cheeks burn, thinking of the offensive bra I ditched back at Rehab. So I may be sitting here in a ten dollar grey-ribbed tank top with a lace up tie at the bust, but my breasts are encased in the finest lace and pushed up somewhere near my chin.
Between that and my messy bed hair, most students are staring at me like I’m the new girl. Ignoring the rubbernecking gawks at my chest, I push my glasses up my nose and stab my fingers on the screen, texting a reply.
Me: The subject is how to choose better friends, so stop messaging me because I clearly need to pay attention.
Echo: I’m so totally butthurt.
She’s not butthurt. The bitch is probably shoving a donut in her face while she flicks her gaze between the twenty thousand computer screens (give or take) in front of her. She consults for a computer security company, sometimes at their offices in the city and sometimes from home. Echo has her finger on the pulse of Sydney. She’s basically the Eye of Sauron. And unfortunately, she gets to work her own hours, so that leaves her free to harass me at any given moment.
Me: There, there.
Echo: Is Mason still away?
Mason flew to Melbourne on Tuesday. He’s spending a week undergoing tests with a specialist, and Echo knows it. The intent is to discuss the possible treatment of electrical stimulation on his spinal cord. It’s impossible to remain optimistic. Every day he visits the doctor, or the physical therapist, he returns home in that damn chair with his head hanging a little lower than it did the day before.
Me: Your inquisition is ruffling my suspicious feathers.
Echo: Calm your mind, little bird. Just making sure we’re still on for sex tonight.
My lips twitch. Sex is code for steal a car. You can’t actually text let’s steal a car. If the authorities ever got their hands on my pho
ne, they’d simply think me a lesbian. And because Echo is basically hotter than a stripper on a pole, it’s unquestionably believable.
Me: We are. Think you can manage a double orgasm?
Code for boosting two cars in one night. This deal with Tony Marchetti is a noose around my neck. Every day it squeezes a little tighter. The sooner I can deliver the goods, the sooner I can breathe again.
Echo: I can. Because I am a sexual God.
I snicker quietly to myself and tuck my phone away. The next hour and a half finds me tapping my fingers against my knees, impatient to leave. We already planned for one car, but two requires extra time and brain power. When the lecture ends, I’m already packed up, tote bag dangling from my shoulder and jacket in hand. I shoot from my seat. Unfortunately, so does every other student in the room.
With us all leaving en masse, it feels as though I’m caught in a landslide. We’re a veritable surge of people rushing the exit. The doorway isn’t wide, and it seems there’s some kind of blockage outside causing everyone to slow down.
I’m elbowed in the side. “Ouch,” I grumble to the guy who did it, but he’s already pushing forward.
I reach the doors and sunlight hits my eyes. Shading them with my hand, I discover the cause of the traffic jam. My pulse leaps and my feet freeze to the ground, causing those behind me to stumble. Kelly is leaning against the outdoor column by the exit. One leg is drawn up, his foot pressed casually against the wall. He’s wearing a sleeveless white tee and jeans, along with his motorcycle boots and Sentinels cut. His hair is tied back and arms folded, expression hard and flat—a warning not to get close.
