by Jewel, Bella
“The uniform’s arranged?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“You pick it up tomorrow.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay. Good.”
“Have you texted Kelly yet?”
I pick up the phone he gave me on Saturday night to correspond with him. I can’t use my own phone to talk to him. Not anymore. And with the police already involved, there’s no point in using code. They can see every message I send.
Me: The lady is locked in. Friday. 8:00 p.m.
He replies in an instant.
Kelly: Be safe.
My eyes close, my fingers squeezing around the phone in my hands.
You’re not going to prison. I promise you.
Kelly
It’s just after 7:00 p.m. on Friday, a full moon already on display, as I slide in the front passenger seat of Mitch Valentine’s black Subaru WRX STI while Fox slides in the back. Though I prefer vintage muscle, this is a car I’m itching to get behind the wheel of. It’s built for the unexpected. It won’t just handle whatever you throw at it, it will go above and beyond it. The Rex is a car forged from rally roots, and it’s a fucking beast.
Valentine is in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other on the gearstick, eyes ahead as he waits.
“I approve,” I say.
He turns his head. “I live to please you.”
“Good.” I nod. “I’m glad we got that out of the way.”
He stares at me for a moment before turning his head to Fox in the back. “I didn’t say you could come along.”
“Yeah?” Fox replies, clipping his seat belt. “That’s my brother’s old lady boosting a Bugatti tonight. She’s out there alone, having to play this the fuck out with us taking a backseat, for me literally, and that means you ain’t got a say.”
My chest expands. Fox has my back, and I’ll be honest, it feels real fuckin’ good because I’m on a ledge right now. I haven’t seen Ace for a week. I have no idea what she’s thinking and feeling.
“Where do we go from here?” she asked me as we lay tangled together on her bed the night of my brother’s wedding. She was on her back, one hand behind her head, the other resting on the naked cheek of my ass as she stared at the ceiling above.
I lay on my belly beside her, my head turned her way, my hand slowly trailing over the curve of her tits and stomach, our skin cooling in the aftermath of seriously hot sex. “This is where I leave you.”
Her body stilled. “What do you mean?”
“It means I might’ve been cleared to take you to the wedding because Marchetti’s eyes are elsewhere tonight, but we’re down to the wire now. He made it clear he doesn’t want me involved, so now we make it look like I’m not. It means you go about your everyday life like nothing has changed. You go to class. You go to family dinners. You plan your last three boosts with Echo, and you deliver those cars alone.”
My eyes closed at that point. I couldn’t even look at her, knowing this was how I had to leave her. I couldn’t even look at myself. I knew it was the only way we could end this for good, but sitting on my hands made me feel like a useless piece of shit.
I forced myself to keep speaking. “Someone will deliver a new phone to your letterbox tomorrow. Use it to talk to me. Text only, babe. No conversations.”
Ace shifted and I opened my eyes. She was rolling on her side to face me. She tucked her arm beneath her head, looking at me as though she saw right through my controlled façade. “I can do this.”
“I know you can,” I said, brushing hair from her face. Ace wasn’t just cool under pressure, she was ice. I’d seen her in action, and it was beautiful. She was born for a life behind the wheel, but she wasn’t invincible. No one was. And this situation she was caught in the middle of wasn’t just unpredictable, it was deadly.
There was nothing else I could say, so we lay there looking at each other as the minutes ticked by. “You should go,” she said eventually.
My body burned with frustration because leaving was the last thing I wanted to do. But she was right. My palm slid from her chest to the naked curve of her hip, pulling her toward me. I put my mouth on hers, kissing her long and slow, for minutes. Then I shifted to the side of the bed and rose to my feet, finding my clothes and putting them on, the air between us heavy.
Finding my keys, I walked to the doorway and turned. Ace was sitting naked on her bed, one leg tucked beneath the other, lips swollen and hair a tousled mess. Her eyes were dark in the night and watching me silently.
I carried that look with me out the door as I left, and it’s haunted me ever since.
“Fine,” Valentine says to Fox, drawing me from the memory. His Subaru growls with pleasure as he pulls away from the kerb out the front of the clubhouse—the one place we know with absolute certainty is free of watching eyes. Marchetti wouldn’t risk a war with the Sentinels by keeping tabs on us. “But keep your mouth shut.”
“The only thing I’ll shut,” Fox retorts, more aggressive than the engine of this car because he’s just as pissed as me about having to sit on his hands, “is your face if you fuck this up.”
Valentine glances across at me. “You had to bring him?”
I bare my teeth.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.
My phone pings from the back pocket of my jeans. I tug it free and read the screen.
Arcadia: Thirty minutes.
“Thirty minutes,” I say aloud, my blood pulsing thickly through my veins. I roll my neck and shoulders before typing a reply. I want to tell her she isn’t alone. If it all goes to shit, I’ll be the first one there to get her out. Instead, I keep it short because I’m not the only one reading these messages.
Me: Roger that.
Valentine drives us to the docks. All we can do is wait in the shadows, making sure she enters and leaves the facility without any trouble. We park beneath a leafy tree down a side street, far enough from the entrance to remain undetected but close enough to keep it in view.
He switches off the engine, plunging our surrounds into darkness.
“Waiting is shit,” Fox says from the backseat after we’ve sat there for no more than thirty seconds.
“This whole thing is shit,” I mutter, every muscle in my body tensed so tight it’s giving me a throbbing headache.
Valentine shakes his head. “You two can walk home.”
“We didn’t have to come to you,” Fox gripes. “The only reason you’re getting this collar is because of me and Ace. And Kelly.”
“Nice of you to include me,” I add mildly.
“I can be nice.”
After five minutes of bickering because we’re wound up and stressed, Echo’s Ford rumbles down the street. She pulls up twenty metres down the road from the entrance to the docks.
We watch silently. A bare minute later, a white truck with a tilt tray arrives. It’s too far and too dark for me to see inside, but I know Ace is at the wheel. My heart pounds hard in my chest as the truck starts to slow, the indicator coming on to turn inside the parking lot of the port.
Valentine has binoculars stuck to his face. I grab them.
“Fuck. Kelly!”
I put them to my eyes, adjusting the lenses as Ace comes into focus. Her hair is tied back in a loose knot and she’s wearing a long-sleeved collared shirt in pale blue with the Royal Port Shipping Containers emblazoned on the left breast pocket. Black Raybans cover her eyes and earbuds rest in her ears. It’s all I get a glimpse of before the truck turns.
The inside of the Subaru is wired as we watch. She passes through the first boom gate because it’s always left open. The second boom gate requires a pass card. The truck rumbles toward it, the red brake lights coming on as she reaches the entry point. Her window comes down, and she runs the pass over the scanner. The gate lifts instantly and she’s inside.
“I have no idea how she managed to pull that off,” Valentine says with a trace of amazement.
“What about the owner?” Fox asks from the back.<
br />
“Echo confirmed delivery with him earlier this afternoon. He’s waiting at the warehouse,” Valentine answers.
I toss the binoculars in his lap and put my hands behind my head, stretching. “He’ll be waitin’ there a long time.”
Fox chuckles.
Valentine’s fingers tap against the wheel, betraying his agitation. “He’ll get his car returned,” he says, his eyes not moving from the spot where Ace’s truck disappeared. All she has to do now is hand over the order. They’ll direct her to where the container is waiting to be loaded, and they’ll set it on the back. Then she just has to drive out the same way she came in and deliver the car to Marchetti.
“Eventually,” he adds, “because for now it’s evidence in a crime.”
Fox sits forward, resting his elbows on the tops of mine and Valentine’s seats. “How long do you think it’ll take?”
Too long. “Half an hour or so.” I hunker down, setting a foot on the dash. Valentine shoots me a dirty look. I drop my foot and tip my head back against the seat. “Maybe more.”
Ten minutes pass by. Ten minutes of me checking my watch every thirty seconds. I press fingers to the bridge of my nose. “Fuck being a federal agent,” I mutter. I’d rather have a tooth pulled than deal with this covert surveillance bullshit every day of my life.
Valentine smirks. “An agent who gets to slap cuffs on Tony Marchetti and put him away for life, you mean? That kind of federal agent?”
“Yeah, but you can’t put your hands on him,” I point out. Maybe I might not get that chance either, but once Marchetti’s on the inside, he’s fair game. Fox and I share a mutual glance.
“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see that,” Valentine says, shaking his head at the both of us before returning his gaze to the docks.
My brows rise coolly. “See what?”
“Exactly.”
I check my watch again. Fuck.
“What’s the plan for the Firebird?” Fox asks, filling the tense silence.
“They can’t find one. They’ve got two weeks. Ace says they’ve got their eye on a ’69 Pontiac GTO. It’s valued higher. Marchetti will probably go for it. That’s all I know,” I tell him because that’s all the information she’s sent through. I don’t even know if she’s scouted the Testarossa yet—the final car on the list. All her focus has been on the Bugatti. One car at a time. That’s all she can do.
“As long as it’s not located at the docks,” Fox mutters.
I’ll second that.
The truck reappears fifteen minutes later. Valentine picks up the binoculars before I can snatch them back, holding to them tighter than a squirrel holds his nuts. “Fucker.”
I sit forward in my seat, squinting. It may be dark out, but there’s enough lighting not to miss the container sitting on the back as the truck rumbles through the exit boom gate.
My chest expands with pride. That’s my fuckin’ old lady right there, drivin’ out of the docks with a goddamn Bugatti Veyron tucked up in the back like a little baby. A grin splits my face wide as she pulls out on to the main road, moving at a slow, steady pace.
“You males and your blazing testosterone. When you think about boosting cars, you picture “The Fast and the Furious,” with rubber burning and cars drifting through corners. Ninety-nine percent of the time, this is how it’s done. Quietly. Below the speed limit. I’m the best because I fly under the radar.”
Ace sure got that right. But she’s not just the best, she’s a goddamn legend. “There goes my little Chunks.”
Fox exhales as we watch her motor up the hill and over a crest. “That was fuckin’ hot.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kelly
“You’ve got to be fuckin’ shittin’ me,” Fox snarls, his eyes glittering with wrath. He rises slowly from his chair beside me.
It’s the Sunday after the Bugatti boost, and we’re at the clubhouse. We’ve been kicking back with a beer at one of the outdoor tables and talking smack all afternoon. Work is mostly our topic of choice because any mention of Ace winds me up too much. I almost bit Fox’s head off last time he asked about the GTO she was scouting for her next boost. We were sittin’ at home on the couch eating Chinese takeout and I stood up and kicked at the coffee table, flipping it over and sending noodles and rice flying clear across the room.
His response had been to mildly lift a brow and say, “This is what happens when you go and catch feelings, you stupid wanker.”
And it’s clear I’m handling those feelings like a giant man-baby, but we’re in a pressure cooker situation. There’s only so much I can take right now before I lose my shit and explode.
“What?” I ask, following his line of direction.
My eyes land on Murphy walking through the gates of the Sentinels’ compound. She’s wearing tight black leather pants and a loose white collared shirt tied at the waist. It’s sheer, making it obvious she’s braless and tattooed beneath it. Her face still holds the innocence of Bambi, but the bitch has balls just walkin’ right on in like she owns the joint.
“No fuckin’ way.” I stub my cigarette out in the ashtray in front of me, rising as smoke blows hard through my nostrils. I’m not a smoker. I already do my body enough damage with the shit I do, but this forced separation with Ace has me lighting up like my life depends on it.
One of our Sentinel brothers pulls her up before she gets too far. She looks our way as she speaks to him. Then he turns to look at us, a question in his eyes. I give him a short nod. He nods back and walks away, our silent communication finished.
Murphy starts toward us, and Fox takes a step forward. “Let me handle this bitch.”
“Have at it,” I tell him, watching her approach.
“Fox,” she says, reaching us, and then looks at me. “Daniels.”
My brother folds his arms. “You got some balls comin’ in here, lady. What do you want?”
She replies, flicking at the choppy mess of dark hair that barely reaches her shoulders. “You aren’t going to offer me a beer so we can sit and chat about what I want like civilised people?”
Fox gives her a death stare, laying it on hard and thick. “We look like civilised people to you?”
Murphy shrugs, a small smile playing on her lips. “You look like a couple of guys I wouldn’t mind having a chat with.”
A harsh breath punches out through my nose. “Cut the bullshit, bitch. What do you want?”
She looks at me. “I want to make you an offer.”
Murphy works for Marchetti. The only reason she’s here is on his behalf, and whatever Marchetti is offering, he can light it on fire and shove it inside his own ass. I pretend interest, folding one of my arms and using the other to scratch at the beard on my chin. “What kind of offer?”
“A monetary offer,” she elaborates, keeping her cards close to her chest.
Fox shakes his head. “Spit it out, Murphy. We got shit to do.”
Her eyes shift to our half-drunk beers on the table and back to us. “Clearly.”
His jaw locks. My brother is usually an easy-going larrikin, while I’m the hothead, but she’s riling him with ease. “Don’t play games you can’t win. Tell us the offer and then fuck off.”
She takes a deep breath and divests her flirty cover, folding arms over her mostly exposed tits and flattening her eyes. “Fifty K for the Sentinels to back off.”
“Back off of what?’ I ask, because we can play cards too.
Her dark eyebrows arch. “Tony thinks you deliberately got yourself involved with Arcadia Jones so you could muscle in on his deal. Maybe cause some trouble. He sees you’re not sniffing around her anymore, but he’s not convinced you’ve changed your plans.”
“Yeah? And what do you think?”
Murphy takes a step closer. “I think you care about her—a lot more then Tony realises. He believes Ace is just some cheap throwaway whore to you. But I saw your face the night he knocked her around. It was not the face of a man who doesn’t give a shit.
And after what Tony did, I’m thinking that maybe you want a little revenge, and it wouldn’t be above you to piss all over his deal in order to get it.”
I laugh. I tip my head back and I fuckin’ laugh. She thinks that all I want to do after what he did is piss on his deal? My amusement dies off, and I’m left with simmering rage, nostrils flaring as I work to contain it. I don’t give two shits about his deal. I want the motherfucker dead, and I don’t care if that means climbing into bed with the Feds to get the job done. After this is all over and they slap their dinky little cuffs on him and put him behind bars, the only way Marchetti will be leaving that prison is from the inside of a body bag while Ace and I walk away, free and clear.
Fox speaks for me while I stand there, my jaw working as I stare at Murphy. “Two hundred K,” he counters.
Her eyebrows skyrocket and my brother smirks. “What can I say? Our compliance comes with a hefty price tag.”
“Hefty? Don’t you mean ridiculous? One hundred.”
“One fifty,” he shoots back.
Murphy shakes her head. “One hundred, no more.”
“One twenty-five and a fuck.”
A burst of laughter escapes me. I should have been expecting that. Fox always gets growly whenever his cock takes charge. And while Murphy’s mouth falls open, her face mottling a mixture of red and pink, he remains impassive beside me, hiding the amusement I sense bubbling away beneath his skin.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard,” he says coolly. “One twenty-five and my dick in your pussy. And that offer is final.”
Murphy’s lips pinch, and she looks to me. My shoulders lift, my expression telling her it ain’t my circus and not my monkeys. This is the Fox show now. I walk away laughing, leaving him to it.
I resume my seat and kick back in the chair, sticking both feet up on the table and crossing them at the ankles. They argue while I sip at my beer before it gets hot, and I admit it doesn’t look good for Fox when she stalks her way from the compound with a face so mottled with anger I wouldn’t be surprised to see it catch fire.
