The Thief

by Kate McCarthy

  Kelly takes a step forward. I open his jeans and shove them down along with his boxer briefs, leaving them to bunch around his strong thighs. His cock is thick and juts out. I take it in hand, feeling the silky hardness. It jerks at my touch, and his hands fist at his sides.

  “Think I might explode if you lick it,” he mutters, gruff, so I touch my tongue to the head, licking my around the tip. “Shit.”

  Kelly yanks off his pants and steps out of them. Then he’s on me. Determined hands wrenching at my panties, pushing me up on the bed until he’s between my legs, kneeling. He doesn’t bring his mouth to me. He lifts my hips, bringing me to his mouth as though I weigh less than a feather.

  “Oh god.” My palms are sweaty, shaky, as he tongues my clit, licking and sucking with a savagery that sends my pulse through the roof. It’s so intense. So good. There’s nothing delicate about it. His beard scratches the sensitive skin, his mouth relentless. His fingers dig in to the backs of my thighs. The night is quiet except for the panting of my breath and the sounds of him devouring me.

  He drops me back to the bed and slides a thick finger inside. I suck in a sharp breath and an orgasm builds. His mouth returns, sucking hard as he slides in another, stretching, thrusting, curling.

  “Kelly,” I pant, rubbing against him, riding his tongue. He groans. “Kelly. God.”

  Then he’s gone. I turn my head, my eyes fluttering open. He’s crouched over his jeans, facing my way, frantic, tugging a foil packet from his pocket. He tears it open with his teeth, and I watch as he rolls it on with quick, jerky movements. Then he’s back on me, surrounding me, pushing his way in.

  He’s thick. Big. It’s uncomfortably good. I bring my knees toward me, and it seats him deep, so deep I feel the pulse of him inside me. I close my eyes. He thrusts and my clit throbs to the same beat as my heart.

  “Ace. Look at me.”

  Kelly moves again. A harder thrust.

  My eyes open.

  “That good?”

  He rocks his hips, watching me.

  “More,” I whisper, my own hips rising to meet his, feverish and needy, my clit aching and my need for friction desperate.

  Kelly rocks harder. My hands clutch at his back, fingers digging in, impatient. I expect him to laugh at the torment he’s subjecting me to and enjoy my frustration, but his brow is creased and his breath is erratic, as if he’s barely holding on.

  “Fuck,” his mutters, his voice gravel.

  He draws out and punches back in. I gasp, the bed bouncing from the force.

  “Yes.” I suck in a breath. “That.”

  Kelly ducks his head, his teeth nipping the sensitive skin of my earlobe. “So fucking good,” he rasps, pulling out again.

  “Mmm.” I’m delirious and shaky. He pounds in again. And again. The bed judders. My skin burns and he watches me fall apart. It’s intense, and raw, and so good. “Don’t ever stop.”

  His thrusts come faster, harder, and his brow creases tighter. “Don’t ever want to.”

  My legs lock around his hips as pleasure builds. Sweat sheens our skin. The sheets beneath me are damp and strands of hair stick to my neck. Every sensation is heightened, every breath harder to take. Then I’m coming, and he’s sweeping me up in his arms as lights dot my vision.

  For a moment I’m weightless, and then Kelly’s seated on his knees with me straddling him. Thick biceps wrap around me, clutching me to him, one hand against the back of my head, the other my lower back. He thrusts upward, holding me tight, rutting into me with powerful force.

  Waves of pleasure wash over me as I ride out the aftershocks. His lips find mine, kissing me as his body goes hard. He groans into my mouth, rocking and straining, every muscle rigid as he comes.

  I’m dizzy when we end the kiss. He presses his forehead to mine, our breaths harsh and ragged.

  Kelly’s eyes are closed but mine are open.

  I’m crazy for you. Just like the song. Exactly the way Madonna croons it. Crazy, crazy for you.

  Rather than drawing away, his head ducks into my neck and his arms pull me tighter, a steel band locking me close. His lips brush my skin as he speaks. “Only nine hundred thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine more of those to go.”

  Laughter bubbles out of me.

  Eventually we peel our sticky skin away from each other and flop to the bed. My eyes close. “This place, I haven’t even had the tour yet, but it’s like a dream, right?”

  “Yeah, babe.”

  “You’re so lucky.”

  Kelly grunts. “Would give it all back if I could.”

  I peek open one eye, turning my head to look at him. His gaze is on the ceiling above. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “Kelly?” I prompt, because his statement doesn’t feel like nothing. It feels like a whole lot of something.

  His voice is harsh. “Leave it.”

  “You brought it up.”

  “Not gonna argue about it.”

  My eyes close and I leave it be. For now. I feel the bed dip as he rises. The bathroom door closes. The sounds of the toilet flushing and tap gushing filter through, and then the bed is dipping again. My eyes peek open. He’s on his side now, facing me, naked, every inch of him glorious.

  “Tell me about your Mustang,” he asks.

  My lips turn downward. “There’s nothing left of it.”

  “I’m sorry, babe,” he says and rubs my arm, his voice drowsy.

  We chatter softly and drift off. I don’t remember falling fast asleep until I’m woken by someone talking.

  “Please, stop.”

  It’s a whisper. Pained and thick with fear.

  My eyes blink open. It’s still night, and the light of the moon filters through the window. I rise up on one elbow, rubbing at my face. Kelly hasn’t moved from his side. “Make it stop.”

  He’s talking in his sleep? I jostle his shoulder. “Kelly.”

  “Please. I’ll do anything. Just stop. Stop. Please.”

  “Kelly,” I say again, firm and loud, a sick knot forming in my belly at his words.

  He doesn’t wake. Instead, a solitary tear tracks down from the corner of his eye and plops to the pillow. “You left and it wouldn’t stop. You left and never came back. You left. I had no choice.”

  “Kelly.” My pulse races with distress. Make what stop? Kelly, what happened to you? “Wake up.”

  My panicked voice gets through, and he rolls over sleepily, facing the other way. My eyes drop to his back, and my heart stutters before it comes to a complete stop.

  “No.”

  Bile rises, climbing my throat as I stare at the Sentinel tattoo laid bare before my eyes. A trembling hand rises to cover my mouth.

  “Oh my god, no.”

  13

  Arcadia

  I scramble from the bed, grabbing at my clothes that are scattered about the floor, all the while my chest is tight. I can’t catch my breath. I can’t think, because if I do, I’ll throw up, or scream, or pummel him with my fists, and I can’t do any of those things. I can’t wake the sleeping beast. Looking into those beautiful blue eyes—traitorous eyes—will hurt too much.

  I shove my feet inside my panties and yank them up my legs. My pants go on, one leg at a time, my bra … well, just fuck that thing. I’m tugging my shirt over my head as I double-time it down the stairs on silent feet.

  I’m running down the hallway when my eye is caught by the covered car inside the workshop. I come to a stuttering halt, and a slow, determined, angry smile forms on my lips. Fuck you, Kelly, and fuck the Sentinels.

  After searching for the button that activates the automatic doors, I punch it. They whoosh open. I step inside. The space is beautiful. His equipment is top notch, the tools tucked away, gleaming in their compartments. Wonderful things happen in this workspace. Amazing transformations. I swallow the lump and grab the car cover in my fist, yanking it away in one fell swoop. It flutters to the ground behind me and I stare, my mouth falling op
en.

  The Dodge Charger sits there in all her glory—glossy candy-apple red paintwork and wheels black and wide, their tread wider and bigger than Australia’s national debt. The white stripes through the middle proclaim her hotter than shit.

  Who does she belong to?

  I run my palm along her curvaceous sides, a gesture of worship.

  His name is Jake Romero.

  My breath puffs out through my lips as I make my way around her front, caressing, my mind racing.

  What else?

  I reach her front and turn, staring.

  Bounce it. Too much trouble. Too many contacts.

  Right then, at that table in Fix, I knew, I knew that we’d meet again, me and this beautiful lady. And here we are. I stare her down, letting her know who’s boss as if she were a living, breathing creature.

  What contacts?

  King Street Boys. Sentinels. Valentines.

  All the signs were there. Right there in front of me. I just refused to see them. Mason has been so overly protective since the shooting, so overbearing. He smothers me with it. And every person he saw riding a Harley was eyed with suspicion and a tight jaw. But he was right. This time he was right, and like the little boy who cried wolf, I discounted his declaration with scorn, thinking only of myself and what I wanted. Thinking only of how Kelly made me feel—desired, alive, vital—and how I wanted more of it. Greedy bitch.

  I hiccup. A sob. What I’ve done is building inside of me, a wild storm that I know will unleash soon, faster than I can contain it. My eyes flick to the board by the door. The keys are right there, making it appear so easy, but only a fool would swipe them. The gleaming Dodge Charger in front of me is a brumby—a wild Australian horse found in the Northern Territory. She’ll let you get close, draw you in, nostrils flaring as she slowly lulls you into a false sense of security, but the moment you climb on for a ride, she’ll buck you so hard that every bone in your body will shatter the moment you hit the ground.

  I have to move fast. Once I press that button to open the garage door and start the car, Kelly will wake.

  With keys in hand, I slide them in the ignition without getting in. Once I’ve hit the button by the entrance and the garage door begins to whir upward, I run, scrambling around her side, almost sliding across the bonnet. I’m inside and the engine roars to life as freedom reveals itself in front of me. Wide open road beckons.

  The clutch goes in, I drop the gear, and my foot hits the accelerator, punching it to the floor. The Dodge Charger surges forward, her back-end skidding left … right … left, before righting as I hurtle through the front parking lot. I jerk the steering wheel sideways and fishtail out onto the street.

  My heart is pounding right through my chest when I take a glance in the rear-view mirror. Kelly is running out through the open garage door, his chest bare, hands on the fly of his jeans as he yanks the zipper upward.

  “Fuck!” I see him yell. Then he turns, running toward the car we drove here earlier that night.

  This is it. This is the part where I get broken into a million pieces. But I can’t seem to care. Instead, I seize the gearstick and punch my foot on the clutch, jerking it up a gear. Like a horse smacked with a riding crop, the Charger howls and gallops forward. I wind the window down and air rushes in, circling the small space and blowing my hair in every direction.

  “We have a tail.”

  It’s me and Mason all over again. My palms form a sheen of sweat. I take a sharp turn, and my hands slip on the wheel.

  “Your nine lives.”

  Mason glanced across at me then, fear forming in his eyes, the kind of fear I’d never seen before. Not for himself. For me.

  “They’re up.”

  Blood spilled over his back, soaking his shirt and dripping down his sides. It puddled beneath the both of us, the metallic scent so thick in the air I choked on it. The shrill sound of sirens in the distance haunt me every time I hear them.

  Mason was always an over-protective brother, but after that night it became my turn take care of him. When he was in the hospital, I never left his side. I slept curled in a chair. When he woke and learned his fate, he died. My brother died because the one I have now is not the same. There’s no more laughter or wild abandon. There’s no more teasing. My brother doesn’t live anymore. He just exists.

  His anger in the bathroom this morning was more emotion than I’ve seen from him in years.

  “Kelly Daniels is a Sentinel!”

  The rage and the pain I’ve been holding at bay surge forward. A sob breaks free, and another, and I punch through another gear before swiping at the tears on my face.

  “My brother is a paranoid fool.”

  That’s what I believed. What I told— Realisation hits me. Echo’s face. Her face when I told her what Mason said. She knows. She fucking knows.

  I grapple with the wheel as I yank for the phone in the back pocket of my leather pants. She’s listed in my favourite contacts. I waste no time dialling, putting the phone on speaker, and shoving it in the centre console.

  She answers, sleepy, humorous. “Did you get to the boinking?”

  Rage squeezes the breath from my lungs. “You bitch!”

  “What?”

  “You knew!” I suck in air, another sob escaping. “You knew. I let him touch me. I let him inside me.” His hands trail down my sides, rough and delicious, caressing. My skin erupts in shivers. Bile rises. “And you knew!”

  “Ace—”

  I don’t understand it. My best friend. The one person I thought I could count on above all others. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Ace—”

  “Don’t.” Her betrayal tastes bitter on my tongue. “Just … don’t.”

  “Ace, where are you?”

  I laugh. I tip my head back as the car roars along the windy road toward Bondi Beach, and I fucking laugh hysterically. “What, you don’t know?” My hands grip the steering wheel, my sarcasm thick. “I’m in the Charger.”

  “What Charger? What … Oh my god. Ace.”

  I glance in the rear-view mirror.

  “We have a tail.”

  Kelly is roaring up behind me. I inhale a shaky breath and let it out. “This is on you. Whatever happens next is on you.”

  Echo’s voice is hard. “Don’t you dare.”

  “Fuck you, Echo!” I yell.

  “Fuck you too, Ace.”

  We go silent, my chest heaving because I haven’t taken a proper breath since the moment I woke in Kelly’s bed. Hair blows across my face, and I shove it away.

  “You didn’t see it.” Echo’s words are a bare whisper that I almost miss.

  Kelly flashes his lights behind me. Pull over. Ignoring him, I take the next turn hard, the Charger’s rear-end careening out behind me.

  “See what?” I bark.

  “You!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I’ve reached the winding road along the cliff tops by the beach. The scent of the salty ocean invades the car, and the temperature drops several degrees, meaning an easterly wind is blowing in hard. A storm is coming.

  “I’m talking about you, Ace!” she yells. “You go on about how your brother ‘died’ after the shooting, but you don’t see.”

  “Oh my god, Echo! See what?”

  “You did too.”

  My foot slackens on the accelerator and the Charger slows.

  “You don’t laugh anymore either. Instead, you … you walk around wearing goddamn beige skirts and flat shoes and those ridiculous reading glasses, with your nose stuck in some finance book. You’re hiding from life, Ace. Hiding like a fucking coward! Neither of you died, and yet you both act like you’re buried six feet under. I’m sick of it. Fucking sick of it.”

  “I laugh.” My mind travels back through the last two years, scrambling to remember the last time I laughed, really laughed, and I can’t. No. Wait. Kelly. He makes me laugh, and the realisation sinks my heart, because Kelly is a lie.

 
“Not really. I mean it’s there on your lips, and in your voice, but it’s not there in your soul, Ace.”

  “Don’t give me any philosophical bullshit,” I interject.

  Echo keeps talking like I never spoke. “I saw your face when you met Kelly. You came to life. I saw you look at that man like you had a goddamn vagina again. So I decided not to tell you he’s a Sentinel, because I knew you’d shut back down. You need to start living again, Ace. Stop punishing yourself for what happened to your brother! You put every cent you owned toward his medical bills, and his rehabilitation, and outfitting the house to cater to his disability. And when he told you to stop stealing cars, you went and enrolled in the most boring university program alive because it was safe.”

  “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.”