The Thief

by Kate McCarthy

Kelly falls into step beside me, close enough that his arm brushes mine. Electrical zaps shoot through the limb. “In your dreams, Ace.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Students crowd the stairs by the library. Kelly walks ahead of me, and they basically part like the Red Sea. I walk through with ease behind him. Huh. That was … kinda badass. “Because we need to talk.”

  We fall back into step beside each other. “About how much you like me?” I say, deliberately obtuse, because I’ve been expecting this. He wants to know—

  “Why were you out stealing a car that night?”

  That. He wants to know that. He must really want answers to be visiting me out here on campus. “You came all the way out here just to ask me that? Have you forgotten how to text?”

  I pick up speed. His long strides keep up with ease.

  “You sayin’ you’d answer me if I messaged?”

  I snort, almost at a gallop now. “No.” But I probably would’ve read your message a thousand times over like I do all the others.

  Kelly grabs my bicep. I come to a stumbling halt, eyeing his man-handling paw with a glare. That hand has touched me intimately. Those fingers have been inside me, his skin rough and calloused, scraping my sensitive skin. My cheeks flush.

  “What’s goin’ through that head of yours, babe?”

  “You,” I blurt out, thoughtless and maybe a little breathless.

  He exhales. “Jesus.”

  His eyes are blistering. I look away before they burn me to ash.

  “Once wasn’t enough,” he mumbles.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “I said, let me give you a ride.”

  My mouth falls open but inside I’m trembling. Kelly is naked on his back on my bed. I’m straddling him, his cock inside me, and he’s thrusting upward. I’m barely hanging on. I’m … Yeah, that foggy haze of lust clearly hasn’t lifted. I can barely see through it.

  “Home,” he adds with amusement, as though he can see inside my head.

  I start walking again, giving him no response. I can’t do this. I have sex planned tonight. And two orgasms. Two. The bus schedule is on a sign post up ahead. I head toward it with quick strides.

  My bicep is grabbed again. “Kelly!” I huff, coming to a halt for the second time. “I don’t need a ride.”

  Titters erupt from the students loitering in the busway.

  His grin is all-knowing. “Oh, I think you do.”

  My lips pinch. “I don’t. I have a bus to catch.”

  He lets me go, his brow furrowing. My stubborn attitude is wearing him down. Good. Let it wear him down to dust for all I care. At least that way he’ll stop harassing me. I can’t have him involved in my business.

  “No girl of mine catches the damn bus.”

  “No girl of …” I trail off, madly trying to supress the wild flush of pleasure. Along with it comes a bit of annoyance. We’ve had sex once. It doesn’t make me his property. Though the thought of being his property … “I’m not your girl. You…” I jab his chest “…might be falling for me…” jab, jab “…but I’m not falling for you …” Jab.

  He folds his arms, brows arching. He’s looking at me like I’ve been placed here for the sole purpose of his amusement. “Because I’m a fucking Sentinel?”

  “That’s right.” I add a sneer to emphasise my point. “Because you’re a fucking Sentinel.”

  Kelly outright laughs. Then in one smooth, easy motion, he winds his arm around my waist and herds me from the busway. “I forgot how entertainin’ you are.”

  His arm tightens when I wriggle for freedom. “I’m not your private circus performer.”

  “Babe. Don’t give me ideas.”

  I’m being steered toward the huge student parking lot, Kelly navigating the pedestrian crossing as cars slow down to let us pass. I shift out of his hold but remain close to his side as we walk, as if he has a magnetic force field that keeps pulling me in. “I should push you into oncoming traffic,” I grumble, halfway across the road.

  He snorts. “Not if I push you first.”

  “You wouldn’t—”

  Kelly grabs me around my lower waist, lifting me into a fireman’s hold before I can blink. I shriek and flop against him as he strides along. Traitorous laughter bursts from my lips.

  His voice is so very deep and masculine and amused. “I would.”

  A lipstick escapes from my half upturned bag. It drops to the ground and rolls away. “Oh my god. Kelly.” I smack my fist against his back to make him stop. “My lipstick.”

  We’re over the crossing now. Cars surge forward. I gasp, watching my tube of glossy Ripe Peach Bellini roll under a wheel and break into a thousand pieces. My fist whacks him again. “You heartless bastard!”

  “So get a new one.”

  “They don’t make that colour anymore.”

  He sets me down and I realise we’re at his bike. I forgot the motorcycle parking lot is closer to the lecture halls. It’s how almost a quarter of the students get around. There’s a mountain of bikes as far as the eye can see, but there are none like his. Kelly’s bike is an eagle amongst a flock of pigeons. My eyes roam the gleaming black paintwork with longing, remembering our last ride together being a biblical experience.

  I give one last feeble protest. “Mason—”

  “Is in Melbourne.”

  “Echo has a big mouth,” I mutter.

  For obvious reasons, Mason is unaware of my encounter with Kelly over the weekend. It’s not like I can say, “Oh hey, remember back when you accused me of sleeping with a Sentinel? Well, you were right. I did. My bad.”

  My brother would blow a gasket, but his anger would pale in comparison to the hurt and disappointment it would cause him. I don’t want to disappoint Mason, even though technically I already have … he just doesn’t know it.

  No amount of reasoning will make him see Kelly any different. Echo may have gotten through to me with her “all Sentinel’s aren’t Grinder” spiel, but where I’m stubborn, Mason is like the Immoveable Object.

  I stare at Kelly, knowing my brother won’t see him in the same sexy light I do. Kelly is hotter than a heatwave, the kind that blows through unexpectedly, its humidity sucking all the oxygen from Earth’s atmosphere. But he’s also kind, and funny, and he treats me like I’m his favourite candy. It’s hard for a girl to resist all that.

  “Wake up, Ace.” Kelly is clicking his fingers in front of my face, his lips curved in a smirk. He’s caught me in a trancelike ogle.

  “I’m awake,” I snap hotly.

  “Well, somebody’s frustrated. Don’t worry, babe. I got what you need.”

  His comment is loaded with sexual innuendo. My eyes drop, expecting to see his hand on his junk in a lewd gesture. Except he’s not. He’s holding out a helmet. Momentarily forgetting my claustrophobic tendencies, I snatch it from his hands and plonk it down on my head. Then the world goes dark and my lungs squeeze.

  Kelly rips it from head. My hair goes everywhere, and I gulp in some air.

  “Well that’s not gonna work, is it? I’m an idiot for not remembering about your phobia.” His voice is gruff as he brushes wayward strands from my face. “You okay?”

  His concern overrides my embarrassment. I swallow a heated retort. “I’m fine. Really. I’ll get the bus.”

  With one hand, he takes hold of mine and pulls me close, with the other he tugs his phone from his back pocket and starts tapping. “Just give me a few.” He sends a message and it pings an almost instant reply.

  Kelly puts the phone away and looks down at me. “Now, where were we?” His lips touch mine, the contact brief but it’s enough to have my thighs clenching together. “Oh, that’s right.” Setting my hand free, he palms my cheeks and kisses me again. “I was giving you what you need.”

  I draw backward, just a little, so I can meet his eyes. And when I do, I can’t help divulging more than I should. My voice comes out a whisper. “I don’t steal cars, Kelly. Not anymore.”


  Kelly’s exhale is so deep it flares his nostrils. He’s looking at me as if doesn’t know what to make of me. And I get it. Because it’s pretty obvious we were out stealing cars, and there was that whole … incident with the Charger. His hands fall away from my face.

  “My grandfather taught me the life. I inherited every skill he has and more. And I love it. The rush. The ride. God! My heart beats so hard in my chest I think it will explode.” Shame rises, heating my cheeks. “It’s all I’m good at. But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t. I don’t want to go out in a blaze of glory or end up in prison.” I wave a hand at all the buildings behind me. “That’s my life now. Education. Finance. I’m trying to grow up. Be responsible. I’m trying to go straight, Kelly.”

  “Okay.” He looks away, rubbing his lips together for a moment, contemplating my admission. Then his gaze returns. “So tell me, and give me the respect of an honest answer, what were you all doing that night?”

  My head drops. Having to be honest sucks. It sucks so fucking bad. But I can’t lie. Not now. Not after that. If I do, there’ll be no coming back from it for us and for some reason, I’m not ready for that. I lift my chin. “We were stealing a car.”

  “Dammit, Ace!”

  Kelly turns away, hands on his hips.

  “You don’t understand.”

  He spins back around, eyes hard. “So explain it.”

  A motorcycle thunders toward us. We both turn our heads. The rider is a Sentinel, wearing a cut and a black helmet, his beard long enough to hit his chest. He rolls to a stop beside us and cuts off the engine.

  “Great timing,” Kelly mutters to him as the guy peels his helmet off, revealing salt and pepper hair and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. And though Kelly’s tone is sarcastic, I couldn’t agree more.

  The man smiles at me. “You Ace?”

  It’s a lovely smile. I can’t help but return it. “I am.”

  He holds out a hand. “I’m Hammer.”

  I take it in mine. It’s scarred and calloused. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hammer.”

  “No. Just Hammer.”

  He gives my hand a quick squeeze and lets go. Then he thrusts a helmet at me. It’s smaller. Feminine, with an open face, yet it’s still black. “Thanks.”

  Hammer smiles that genuine smile at me again. “You’re welcome, pretty lady.” His gaze shifts to Kelly. “All good?”

  Kelly nods. “All good.”

  Hammer’s bike roars to life. “I like her already,” I hear him say to Kelly before he drives off, disappearing down the slope of the parking lot the same way he came in.

  15

  Kelly

  The ride to Ace’s house is sweet. Sweeter than the last time because there’s less inhibition in Ace this afternoon. Her arms wind a little tighter and her chest presses a little harder against my back, as if she’s remembering our skin-on-skin contact. I sure as shit am. There’s an ease to being with Ace I’ve never had before. A friendship that makes me relaxed enough to be myself but also pushes my emotional boundaries to a breaking point. It’s intense.

  I park the bike behind Echo’s Ford and no sooner are we inside then she’s upon us, her pink hair reaching impossible heights and her eyes grim. Echo messaged me a week ago as we drove off, leaving them all standing in the street staring after us. It was a sweet message that went along the lines of:

  Echo: Take care of her as if she’s the Queen of England or your life is over.

  It didn’t faze me. It was more reassuring than anything. If you have friends like that in your corner, then you’re doing okay.

  The Charger Incident in the early morning hours gave me a whole new perspective. Ace isn’t just sweet and funny, she’s wild and unruly. She has a heavy heart, a messy soul, and a reckless mind. She’s an all or nothing girl. If I want to take this any further, I have to either back off or dive in and swim my ass off.

  So like an idiot, I dove.

  It started with me going by her house this morning at the risk of another run in with Mason … only no one was home. Undeterred, I messaged Echo after I finished in the workshop just after 2:00 p.m.

  Me: Where is she?

  Echo: I don’t know who you’re talking about.

  I called bullshit. Echo appears to be rather protective. Not in a mama bear protecting her cub kind of way because Ace is no defenceless animal, but in a lion guarding his herd kind of way. The ferocious protecting the formidable.

  Me: Whatever she’s got going on, I want in.

  The purpose for Ace, Echo, and Racer’s late-night outing was nefarious. Of that I was sure. Add to that a burnt-out Mustang and it became dangerous. Ace had trouble on her doorstop, and there was no helping her if I lacked all the information.

  Echo’s reply took twenty minutes.

  Echo: Sydney University. East Wing. Lecture hall 2B. Bring her home instead of the damn bus, and I’ll wait for you both there.

  Echo: PS Mason is in Melbourne.

  Echo: PPS Delete these messages #orelse

  I didn’t delete the messages. Ace isn’t stupid enough to not realise how I found out her exact location. I didn’t reply either. Mostly because I don’t have a vagina. And I don’t do hashtags.

  Now we’re in her house and there’s nowhere for Ace to run, and nowhere to hide. I think she senses an ambush because her face takes on an overly bright expression. After dumping her bag and jacket by the small table near the door, she all but hurdles the living room couch to reach the kitchen.

  “Coffee anyone?” she sing-songs, lifting the electric kettle from its placeholder.

  Echo shakes her head and points to the coffee table that rests in the middle of the living room. It’s a sturdy dark timber affair decorated with a bottle of whiskey and three glasses. “Ace, we’re going to need something stronger than coffee.”

  Ace ignores her friend and looks at me. “Coffee, Kelly?”

  “I’ll take the whiskey.” Obviously. I know Ace well enough already to know I’m going to need it.

  “Well I’m having one,” she declares to the both of us and fills the kettle from the tap. While she’s busy putting her coffee together, Echo takes a seat on the armchair. I follow suit, seating myself on the double sofa, the coffee table between us.

  “So …” Echo drawls, casually unscrewing the cap on the bottle and pouring generously. She shifts the bottle to the next glass. Pours. The cap goes back on and after returning the bottle to the table, she nudges one of the glasses toward me.

  I lean forward and pick it up, expectant, elbows resting on my knees. Echo is about to overshare, and I want to hear all of it.

  She downs half her whiskey in one gulp, makes a face, and continues. “Ace is being blackmailed by Tony Marchetti.”

  Sonofabitch. I reel backward in my seat at the same time I hear a mug smash to the tiled kitchen floor.

  “Echo!” Ace shouts.

  Ace’s friend reclines back in her seat, glass in hand, an expression of self-satisfaction on her face.

  “What are you thinking?” Ace shouts again.

  She races toward me like the kitchen is on fire and snatches the glass from my hand. She downs it and erupts in a coughing fit. The empty glass is thrust back in my general direction. I take it back, managing to maintain a mild expression while anger rises inside me like hot lava.

  When she’s finished wheezing, she pins watery eyes on Echo, oblivious to the tension beginning to emanate from my body.

  “You can’t go blathering my personal business to all and sundry!” My jaw ticks. I’m not all and sundry. “This is my situation. Not yours.” She points at me. “Not his. Mine! I fight my own battles. I don’t drag other people into my mess for them to fix it for me. If you think for one second—”

  “I did think!” Echo shouts over the top of her. I reach across the table for the bottle and busy myself pouring a whiskey while they duke it out. “This is me thinking! I’m not telling Kelly so he’ll fix this. We’ll get Tony his cars.” His cars? I take a si
p and swallow with disapproval. It’s not the good stuff, but I’m definitely willing to overlook it in this particular situation. “But if we have the goddamn Sentinels behind us, then—”

  “They’re not the goddamn Sentinels,” Ace interrupts. “They’re the Fucking Sentinels.”

  Echo huffs. “If we have the Fucking Sentinels,” she enunciates loudly, “behind us, then Tony’s going to think twice about burning any of us to the ground.”

  My eyes narrow as the final piece of the puzzle slots into place. And it figures. That’s the Marchetti modus operandi. They like to burn everything and everyone who fucks them over.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Ace’s decibel level is high enough to make me wince. I take another sip of whiskey. And another. The cheap flavour improves with each mouthful, probably because it’s burned my taste buds clean away. Ace splays her arms out wide. “The Sentinels aren’t guns for hire!”

  Well … technically that’s true. We aren’t contract killers, but if a Sentinel brother or their family has trouble, then that becomes our trouble.

  Echo looks to me, an expectant expression on her face. I’ve done my part, she’s telling me. Now go do yours.

  My jaw ticks. Nice try, Echo, I tell her with a hard, silent response while Ace perches her butt on the edge of the couch as far from me as possible, her arm stretching to impossible lengths to reach the whiskey bottle, but that’s not how this works.

  After a considerable amount of strained quiet, in which I’m reviewing their argument in my head, I set down my offensive glass of alcohol, stand, walk to the kitchen bench, turn and lean against it so I can eye them both from above, and fold my arms.

  “Kelly—” Ace begins.

  I cut her off. “Let me get this clear. You steal cars—”

  “Used to.”

  My nostrils flare. “You used to steal cars. Considering Tony Marchetti is involved, and yes I know who he is,” I add before Ace can interrupt me again, “that must make him the chop shop you delivered to. But now you’re busy trying to put that life behind you, workin’ hard at gettin’ yourself a quality education, and Tony Marchetti has decided he doesn’t like that—the business is too lucrative and he’s got a reputation to maintain. So he’s asked you to steal a bunch more cars, and I say cars because Echo mentioned it was more than one. You refused. So instead of gettin’ someone else to do his dirty work, he’s makin’ you do it—because you’re the best in the biz—by threatening to burn you…” my hands curl into fists “…and everyone you care about, to the motherfuckin’ ground if you don’t.”