Grif remained quiet, the storm in his gaze building force. Any moment, he would snap.
“Break time,” Dan said, crossing the distance over to Grif and grabbing him by the hand. When Grif froze, Dan almost stepped back. The man was like a right hook begging for a jaw to snap, positively buzzing. Dan tilted his head and started off in the direction they’d taken the other night, down the hall toward his bedroom. All the Outlaws expected answers, but he could tell the weight of the situation smashed into Grif like a truck on the freeway.
Whatever boldness gripped Dan in the moment ebbed once he stepped in front of Grif’s bedroom. Grif reached past him to push the door open, but Dan ducked inside first. He didn’t bother with talk—that’s not what Grif needed right now. Dan turned to face Grif, and his hands descended to the button of his jeans. The snick of the zipper echoed through the room, but by the time Dan brought it down, he’d dropped to his knees.
Dan ran his hand along Grif’s length, which had already begun to stiffen under his touch. The storms in his eyes hadn’t lessened, but Dan didn’t mind him like this, all wild and raw. He understood more than most the pressure of leading, when everyone expected you to make a call you couldn’t and how much it pounded at the walls until you wanted to just scream and scream and scream.
He leaned forward and slipped his lips around Grif’s cock. The firm length grew even harder inside his mouth as he began to suck, and the earthy scent made Dan’s own pants tent. He couldn’t help but unzip even as he continued to deep throat Grif. Dan took himself in hand, enjoying the sensation of that massive cock in his mouth.
Grif’s fingers combed through his hair, once, twice, until he gripped it tight. He thrust in time with Dan’s mouth, his erection hitting the back of his throat. Dan’s hand moved faster and faster along his own cock as he continued to suck Grif’s. Sheer power brimmed in the way Grif’s hips bucked, in the ferocity of his thrusts as he fucked his face, and the tight hold he kept on his hair, as if he owned every inch of him.
Dan surrendered to the hurricane force, closing his eyes as he stroked himself even quicker, as the cock stretched his limits, and as Grif rammed into him again and again. Fuck, this felt so damn right, here on his knees in front of Grif Blackmore. Dan’s cock stiffened as his own release mounted. He rode the lust coursing through his veins, making him mindless with need. Grif fucked him even harder until he yanked on his hair, his hips stilling after he slammed back in.
A moment later, the hot, salty liquid spurted into Dan’s mouth, and he drank every drop. The way Grif’s cock pulsed and the audible sigh of relief did him in. Dan’s breath hitched in his throat as his cum spilled onto the floor in front of him. Grif tugged out of him, and Dan swallowed the remainder, wiping a hand over his mouth.
Grif yanked him from the ground like he weighed nothing and dragged him in for a mind-melting kiss. Dan sagged in his arms, boneless in the wake of his orgasm and helpless against the sheer power this man whipped around. He moaned into his mouth as he circled his arms around his neck, leaning against the muscled fighter’s body.
“You’re fucking perfect, you know that?” Grif murmured against his lips. “How did you know?” Grif separated from Dan to bend down and snag a towel from one of the clothes piles on the ground. He offered it over, and Dan began to clean himself up.
When Grif’s gaze burned into him, he glanced up and shrugged. “You looked like you were hitting overload. I’ve been there a lot lately and just recognized the signals.”
Part of him wanted to ask Grif about the Tuesday hang-up, but with the locked-box way Grif guarded his past, either the man would volunteer the information, or he wouldn’t.
“Well, shit,” Grif said, sweeping a hand through his hair. “If I’d known that would help take the edge off in the middle of an argument… I’d still be screwed, since I’m not fucking any of my Outlaws. Besides, they’d prefer to squabble until they lose oxygen.”
Dan clasped the front button of his pants and began smoothing the fabric. Whatever fierce instinct had taken over when he’d seen Grif’s anxiety had now calmed.
“We should get back out there,” Dan said, taking the first steps toward the door. Not like what they’d been up to wouldn’t be clear to the others.
“Wait,” Grif said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Dan stilled, soaking in the heat from his palm.
“Tuesday is when I lost them. I’ve never done a job on that day.”
Well, shit. Dan didn’t need to ask who “they” were. He’d seen the shattered-glass pain in Grif’s eyes at the mention of his murdered parents. He’d heard the battery acid edge to his tone when he talked about what had happened to them. Dan reached up to rest his hand over Grif’s, and he squeezed tight. Those words, faint, exposed, and wholly real, gave his heart a violent tug. If he wasn’t careful, he might tumble headfirst for this man.
“I’ll tell Brennerman no dice,” Dan said, even as he teetered on the edge of an abyss. “I’ll make sure he moves the date.”
Grif’s arms wrapped around him, and Dan found himself pulled back into his chest. Grif’s lips whispered against his neck.
“No, you won’t. Tomorrow, we’ve got a heist to complete.”
Twenty-Three
Grif Blackmore was doing a job on a Tuesday.
After all of the obstacles, all of the fucking backstabbings, and all of the complications, they were finally going to nab their prize. Dan had given the greenlight.
Once they completed this job, they’d extract themselves from their debt to Nevarra and then distance themselves from the slimy mob bastard.
Grif readjusted the formfitting black fabric of his shirt, unused to wearing the same clingy shit his Shadows did. He patted himself down to feel the bump of his pistol tucked into a waistband holster. As for his knives, he’d slipped two into the straps inside his boots and kept more hidden along both sleeves.
On a normal job, nerves swept out like humidity after a rainstorm. Grif slid into his zone, calm, level, and so single-minded he banished spare thoughts or idle worries.
Except today, he couldn’t avoid the hollow punch to his stomach, the same phantom sensation of what descended the day his parents died. Nights like this one were meant for devastating news and shattered futures.
He sucked in a sharp breath as he stared at himself in the mirror. The crease of worry smoothed from his brow, and the flicker of fear dissolved as Grif Blackmore donned his mask. Tonight, he was Locksley, the leader of the Outlaws. These were the pure moments, beyond the doubts and worries. Beyond the memories. Grif lived for the execution, the blade swinging down to claim his life, and the daring he seized as he thwarted death one more time.
He patted himself down again before he headed for the door. No matter that today was Tuesday and his traitor stomach twisted with unease—Grif Blackmore had a job to do.
He strode through the corridor, the warm murmur of voices in the living room a siren’s lure. As he stepped in, six gazes bore down on him, each with the weight of expectation. Tonight, Grif welcomed it.
Alanna rocked back and forth on the floor, crouching like a restrained spring, and Tuck sat beside her, testing his wrapped foot with a series of stretches. They both wore thieves’ black, their weapons, cords, and necessary equipment attached to their utility belts and tucked into pockets and holsters. While they wouldn’t blend with corporate, they could move easier and reduced their chances of being seen.
Leo sat in front of Scarlet’s laptop, and she leaned in behind him to point out different things on the screen. She wore basic black like the rest of them, but she kept her pixie cut stylishly spiked, and her namesake lipstick popped.
John stood in front of Dan, demonstrating the use of the pistol he prepared to hand over. Dan had showed up in a pair of running pants and a black tee so tight he could see every toned ridge of his abs. The mere sight of the man got Grif hard, which was a problem when he needed his other head in the game. Dan’s gaze snagged on his, the same hunger flashi
ng in his eyes. His heartbeat kicked up a notch, and he couldn’t ignore the shift in the way he viewed Dan Torres.
One step at a time.
“All right, kids,” Grif called out, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. “We’ve got ourselves intel to steal.”
Scarlet straightened from her crouch by Leo. “We’ve got this stud situated at home base.”
John passed the pistol over to Dan and approached. “And I’ve got ground control.” He pressed one of the earbuds into Grif’s palm. “We’ll be connected every step of the way.”
Grif didn’t miss the careful glance John made to Dan—he understood the risk of bringing an untested soldier to a battlefield. However, Tuck’s injury prevented him from going by his lonesome without severe risk, and Grif wouldn’t sign over one of his Outlaws to a death sentence.
Alanna hopped up from her crouch on the ground and strode toward the door. “Let’s get this party train rolling.”
“Hold up,” Grif said. “Let’s go through the bullet points before we go rushing off into danger.”
Alanna huffed but stayed put. The woman was impatience personified.
Grif strode over to the window, feeling the press of everyone’s gazes as he went. He turned around and crossed his arms over his shoulders. “Tuck and Dan, you’ll be on patrol. If you catch sight of Doncaster and his men or any other fuckers who want to tank this operation, alert us and then get the hell out of there.”
Dan’s brow wrinkled. “What about you guys?”
“We’ll be getting the hell out too, in our own way,” Grif affirmed, staring him down. The idea of Dan out there in this volatile landscape they’d willingly chosen prickled under his skin, but he wanted to help, and they weren’t in the position to turn assistance down. “Leo, when we arrive, we’ll need you to be on task after Scarlet connects his computer to their systems. John, you’re our point man. We’re counting on you to make sure everyone gets out of this with their brains intact.”
“With any luck, the two of you will be sitting pretty while I do all the work,” Scarlet said, heading to join Alanna by the door. Like that would happen.
Grif snorted as he strolled behind them. Dan’s gaze pressed into him, his worry radiating clear in the air.
Fuck it.
He whirled around and closed the distance between them. The rest of the crew might give him shit for the next century, but he’d been dealing with them for a long while. Grif gripped the back of Dan’s neck and pulled the man toward him. His lips descended, pressing against Dan’s soft mouth, which opened in invitation.
Dan melted against him, the heat between them incendiary. He tasted syrup sweet, and the scent of his coconut and lime cologne amplified Grif’s arousal. Something powerful reached inside his chest and tugged, an old cord he remembered from long, long ago. Grif had operated by listening to gut impulses from the start, and when he had chosen each of his Outlaws, he’d followed his intuition. The same intuition told him Dan was worth holding on to.
Grif’s grip around his nape tightened for a second, and he swept his tongue through to deepen the kiss before he pulled back.
“Don’t take any stupid risks,” Grif murmured against his mouth.
“Already did.” Dan’s eyes gleamed with a knowing that settled inside him, one that brushed across his skin like fresh sunlight.
Gagging noises came from behind him. “If you guys are done making out, we’ve got a job to do,” Alanna called from the opposite end of the room.
Grif’s lips quirked into a half-smile as he let go of Dan and headed for the others. When they made it through this—and they would—they needed to have a conversation. Because Dan Torres was someone he wanted to keep.
The Aon Center loomed overhead, as forbidding as ever. They’d hopped out of the taxi a couple of blocks back, the static silence in the cab enough that the driver kept glancing out the window as if he might tuck and roll.
The weight settled over him, the thrill of danger he’d been addicted to from a young age. Not like he’d expected a penchant for climbing buildings and sneaking into abandoned ones would lead to a life of crime. The air grew crisp with a bite, and the cool breezes threaded past him, whipping the ragged edges of his hair around in the process. He scanned the Aon Center, searching for a glimpse of light from the inside, any warning signs Dan’s intel was off. However, from the tinted windows outside, the upstairs section where Torres Industries was located remained as pitch-dark as the surrounding night sky.
Alanna prowled ahead of him with the grace of a panther, her dark eyes burning in concentration. While she might be a loudmouth at HQ, here the woman was in her element, one of the shadows that slunk along the edge of the building or in the alleys. Scarlet strode a step or two behind him, keeping close. She hated field work, but they would need the direct extraction of hard copies to pull this heist off.
He headed toward the main entrance of the building, careful to monitor the area as he went. Any of the cars parked along the side of the road could contain their enemies, and any bystanders could become possible threats. Thanks to Dan, they might have the keys and cards to get into the building without a hitch, but any Samaritan in the street could call the cops over watching a group of “suspicious individuals” entering the building.
Grif’s fingers slipped against the grip of the pistol in his waistband for the thousandth time since they’d exited the cab. The cool polymer surface was a reminder, one he needed to keep him grounded.
The terrace beside the building spread out, one he’d ducked and raced through a mere week ago. Nothing stirred from behind the trees, no shifting shadows or rustles in the bushes. Traffic zoomed on by behind them, the normal screech of tires and honks of impatient drivers a comfort.
A sleaze like Brennerman wasn’t the only one who deserved payback tonight. Doncaster and his crew had caused them enough problems in the past, and he’d be damned if they stole another job from him. And Nevarra; well, the insidious bastard had earned one hell of a retribution.
Except, the universe was a petulant bitch, and chances were, the head of the mafia would evade justice yet again. He’d scam them for the money he’d maneuvered them into owing, and then continue to strong-arm other crews like theirs.
Grif’s footsteps barely echoed on the pavement with the silent strides he observed. Together, their squad made their way to the glass door entrance, the darkened inside glaring out at them like a sullen void.
“I’ve got a line to the camera feed the security guards are looking at,” Leo’s voice came in loud and clear over the comms. “So, if one of you happens to take an elegant nosedive, there won’t be any evidence left, but you’ll still need to avoid direct view of the cameras. Once you get up to Torres Industries, I’ll set a loop on their feed to avoid detection.” Normally they operated with Scarlet at head of tech command either at the penthouse or a remote location, but Grif appreciated the convenience of having her in the field with them today.
“We marked all the spots out to avoid them,” Grif murmured. “Tuck, are you and Dan en route?” Unlike their crew, who’d nabbed a taxi, Tuck and Dan were driving up for their patrol, so a getaway car lay somewhere in the vicinity if necessary. No rock left unturned.
“Minutes behind you, as promised,” Tuck responded over the comms. “Let us know if you spot anything on the way.”
Grif didn’t bother answering as he approached the glass entrance of the Aon Center. Alanna and Scarlet flanked him on either side, moving like spirits in a cemetery. He cast another glance behind him, soaking in the dimly lit windows of the nearby hotel, the steady shhhrup-shhhrup of cars gliding by and the shadows that splayed from the carved shrubs like darkened teeth. No telltale shifts in the breeze, no furtive motions.
All clear.
Grif slipped past the main entryway to the side door that lay off the path painted the same pale color as the bricks. He stuck the master key Dan had given him into the lock. They could’ve just picked it, but given the ne
wfound access to the building from the CEO, they took any advantage they could.
The door creaked open, and once they stepped inside, Grif snagged his night vision goggles and slipped them on. He took the second to adjust to the shades of green, white, and black before him and then strode down the corridor. This was a different entrance than he’d arrived through before, but they’d mapped out where it dumped them, which was familiar territory. Between the blueprints to the building Scarlet had scrounged up and the notes he and John had both made during their visit here, they’d learned every inch of the Aon Center.
The air conditioning buzzed with a steady hum that resonated through the building, and already, the cool blasts made his skin prickle. Grif continued to flex his fingers as he walked forward, one and two and one and two. The corridor came to an end, leading them to another metal door. This one didn’t need a key, and he cracked it open to peer through.
The right side of the foyer spread before them, one which led to a set of elevators as well as the stairs. Elevators were too big a risk and too well-monitored, so they’d trained for the steps even though Torres Industries was achingly high up. None of the Outlaws were slouches though—Grif made sure of that. The beams of moonlight trickling in through the wide windows gleamed against all the metal fixtures and the glossy tile floors. The quiet permeated every pore of this place, and the vaulted ceilings ensured any noise would echo.
The orbs of the security cameras hung from the ceilings, and Grif followed the path he’d mapped out based on the blueprints. Avoiding detection from security was a game they knew better than blackjack, but like with everything in their jobs, the key was preparation.
One by one, they snuck out from the door, and he led them toward the steps. Grif clung to the far wall, watching the orb the entire time. Not like they needed any distractions from over-eager security guards before they even reached Torres Industries. Besides, Leo might be able to scrub data, but too many gaps would look suspicious. In the view of his night vision goggles, the room was a subterranean green, but they allowed him to view the foyer with the clarity of flicking the lights on. There were some low-level lights interspersed throughout the building, but he needed the visibility given their task ahead.
Midnight Heist (Outlaws Book 1) Page 18
