I thought we were safe when two valet attendants headed straight toward us. I wasn’t sure if one of them was Bentley’s guy or not but I wasn’t going to chance it. I pulled out my phone and ducked my head, pretending I was texting so they couldn’t see my face. Bent turned his head also, acting as if he were searching for someone. We had done this enough to know that if witnesses couldn’t see our faces, they couldn’t remember us if the police questioned them.
The two attendants walked by, too busy talking about their tips to notice us. When they were gone, I stuffed my phone back in my pocket, my body tensing with anticipation. Seconds later, I saw the target. A 2014 Lotus Evora S. Laser Blue. Slick, beautiful, and fast.
A few more feet and we were beside the car. I waited beside the driver’s door as Bentley went around to the passenger side. He grabbed the key from on top of the tire where the valet had left it and tossed it over the roof to me. I caught it in one hand, making a fist around the key. With just a push of a button the Lotus’s doors unlocked.
I opened the door and slid into the dark gray driver’s seat the same time Bentley got in on the passenger side. Damn. The car was beautiful. The seats were racing seats, the back coming up and around my body to hug me tightly. The dashboard was simple, just the way street racers preferred them. I ran my hand down to the gearshift, wishing I could have taking Sam’s virginity in this instead of my shitty-looking muscle car. This car had sex written all over it.
“Holy hell,” Bentley muttered.
I snapped my head up, expecting trouble, but Bentley was staring behind the seat. I glanced back. A suitcase was sitting there, thongs, bras, and t-shirts spilling out of it.
“Someone’s going on a trip,” I mumbled.
“Looks like she’s hightailing it out of town. Not that I blame her. What kind of sick fuck loads his daughter’s car with drugs and lets her drive it around?” Bent said with disgust, facing forward again and watching out the window for trouble.
I glanced at him, surprised at the anger in his voice. “It’s Morrow. Enough said.”
“Yeah, but still…” Bent muttered sounding pissed.
Ignoring him, I inserted the key in the ignition and turned it. The Lotus’s engine purred to life. Time to roll. I wrapped my hand around the leather-covered gearshift again, this time seeking some action. Pressing in the clutch, I shifted into reverse and backed out of the parking spot.
The feeling of unleashed power rumbled through the car. Like a horse that wanted to be set free, the Lotus wanted to run.
I held back and resisted the urge to fly. Not wanting to draw attention, I coasted through the parking lot and out onto the rain-soaked street. It almost killed me not to floor it, but I had to play it safe.
For now.
“Six minutes,” Bentley said, counting down the minutes until we met Rollins.
I glanced into the rearview mirror. A car was behind me, its lights shining right into the back window. I played it cool, slowing down at a red light. The engine hummed, antsy to go. Bent watched the car too in the side mirror, careful not to move his head too much. We had played this game too many times not to know the rules. All we had to do was act normal and pretend we had every right to be behind the wheel. If we did that, nobody would notice two thugs driving a stolen car.
The light turned green and I gave it the gas. Not too much, not too little. As soon as we turned the corner away from the clubs and the other cars, I wound out the engine. I shifted, kicking it up into a higher gear, then let off the clutch and floored the gas, timing it perfectly. The Lotus took off, the engine barely having to work. We hit fifty miles per hour in three seconds tops. I dropped a gear and drifted around a corner, picking up speed as the car straightened out. A long freeway, void of traffic, loomed in front of us. A driver’s dream come true.
“Five minutes,” Bent said.
“Guess we need to hurry then.” I hit the gas and the car took off. Eighty. Ninety. One hundred. I held it there, not wanting to gain too much attention but having a hell of a time. I couldn’t hear the road beneath the tires or the wind whipping by. All I could hear was the engine, speaking to me like we were one.
In minutes we were on the other side of town. The industrial area. Closer to Sam and my old neighborhood.
I blocked the thought of her from my mind. I couldn’t think of her right now. If I did, I was bound to get distracted and I couldn’t afford to. Only way I would survive this was to be focused.
Bent pointed out the spot where we were meeting Rollins. It was situated between a large gray warehouse and an abandoned ironworks shop. The faded sign on the small industrial building was marked “Anderson’s Car Parts.” No other cars sat in front of the metal building, only Rollins’s black Mercedes, appearing dark and mysterious in the night. Looking very out of place in this decrypted neighborhood.
Neither Bentley nor I spoke as I turned the corner into the parking lot. Our eyes stayed on our surroundings, watching for any sign of trouble.
The tires of the Lotus on the wet blacktop made little sound as I pulled up next to the Mercedes. I saw Rollins pop his door open and unfold his large frame from the driver’s seat. He scanned the area then turned his dark eyes on us, crossing his arms over his massive chest.
As soon as we rolled to a stop next to him, Bentley got out, leaving me with the car running. A second later, Rollins stuck his head in.
“Don’t touch the shit,” he muttered in a deep voice, balancing a few bricks of drugs in his large, right hand.
“Don’t worry. I’m not interested,” I shot back. I didn’t care who he was or where he got the drugs from - I was tired of people thinking I was trash that would do anything illegal.
Rollins huffed like he didn’t believe me but then turned his attention to the drugs. I watched with disinterest as he moved the passenger seat forward with a crank of a handle. Next, he angled his big body inside so he could reach the floorboard behind the front seat. He grabbed the edge of the carpet and tugged. The material gave, exposing the metal frame of the car. A little area had been cut out. He lifted it and stuffed the bricks of drugs in the small compartment. Closing the metal hatch, he flipped the carpet back down.
“Done,” Rollins said, backing out of the car.
Bent immediately reappeared and righted the passenger seat. “Let’s go,” he said as soon as the seat was in place, dropping into it and fastening his seat belt.
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I was itching to see Mick’s face meet my fist.
I pulled back onto the street, feeling the fury build in me. In my rearview mirror, I saw Rollins get back into his Mercedes, folding his large frame behind the wheel.
The Lotus shot down the empty, dark street with hardly a sound. Broken streetlights flickered and went out as we passed them, some no more than a faint yellow glow in the night. But I only needed the Lotus’s headlights to guide me. Hell, I think I could have found Mick in the pitch dark; I was so consumed with absolute rage. Like a bloodthirsty animal on the scent of his prey, the hunt was on.
The sound of the wet pavement under the tires of the car was nothing compared to the solid beating of the cold blood through my veins, urging me to hurry. Make him pay for what he did to Sam, the demons inside me whispered. Make. Him. Pay.
I clenched my jaw and focused on driving. We were almost to the rendezvous point when Bentley broke the silence and asked the question I knew was coming.
“You want to tell me what the hell is going on between you and Sam?” he asked calmly, keeping his eyes on the buildings flashing by. “You fuckin’ kissed her.”
I gripped the steering wheel tighter. Here we go. Time for a knock-down, drag-out fight with Bentley.
“We’re together,” I said, just getting to the point.
“Shit,” Bent said in a rush of air. “Goddamn it, Walker! Jesus H. Christ, what the hell are you thinking?” He turned in his seat to stare at me, pissed off mad. “You better not fuck around with her. I know how you are and
---”
“You don’t have to worry,” I said, interrupting him.
“Don’t have to worry!” he bellowed. “I sure as fuck will worry! You drink. You have a record…” He counted each offense off on his fingers.
“You don’t think I know how fucked up I am?” I shouted at him, losing my temper. “How much I don’t deserve her?”
“You love her?”
I downshifted with an angry jerk of my hand. “Does it matter?” I asked coldly, cutting my eyes over to him. Unable to say the words he wanted to hear.
“Stop answering my questions with a goddamn question, Walker. I hate that crap. Do you love my sister? Simple yes or no answer.”
I flexed my fingers around the steering wheel, gripping it tighter. “Nothing is simple with her.”
“With her or with you?”
I didn’t answer. There was no time anyway. The location we were supposed to meet Mick at appeared ahead. It was a private airstrip, sitting empty and surrounded by a barbed wire fence. Miles from the heart of the city. The airport was used by the privileged in town, the ones who could afford to have private jets at their beck and call. Hangers sat quietly in the night, their huge metal doors closed. Locked tight against intruders. One lone spotlight cast a yellowish glow down on the area. A couple of single-engine Cessnas sat near one of the hangers, the white paint of the planes sparkling with raindrops under the light.
“This where they fly the items out?” I asked as we pulled into the area, remembering what Bentley said. His people worked in international trade – the illegal kind. Drugs. Cars. Art. People. They made it happen for their clients. Bent picked up the cars; others handled the rest.
“This is it,” Bentley answered, his eyes skimming the area, his tone aloof. I could tell he was out of sorts with me for not answering about Sam, but it could wait. A black truck sat near one of the hangers, its windows so dark the driver was hidden in shadows. It didn’t matter. I knew who it was.
I contained the violent need in me for retaliation and parked a safe distance away. A heavy mist had returned, weighing everything down. It made no sound as it hit the car and pavement but it brought a sense of foreboding, like a climatic scene from an epic action movie. It set the mood perfectly for the violence that was about to reign down on one dirty cop.
Bentley and I got out, watching Mick closely as he climbed out of his truck. He left it running and the driver’s side door open, all signs that he planned a fast getaway. But there would be no getting away for him. He wasn’t leaving in one piece. I would make sure of it.
“Well, hello losers,” he said grinning, readjusting his baggy jeans around his thick waist.
Seeing his face made the beast in me come alive, kicking and screaming for blood on my hands. A red haze invaded my vision. This slime ball had hurt Sam. Put his filthy hands on her. Marked her with his fists. Tried to touch something that was mine.
He was going to die.
I roared, rushing forward. Bent jumped forward, grabbing my arm in a death grip and yanking me back. I shouted with rage and fought him, wanting to mix Mick’s blood with the rain on the ground. I kept my eyes locked on Mick but tried to jerk my arm out of Bentley’s grasp, wanting to destroy. Kill. Rip apart.
But Bentley held on, strong and determined. I roared again, hating my best friend for keeping me away from Sam’s attacker. But then he whispered one word. One word that cooled me down. “Sam.”
Bent had promised revenge for her and that’s what I would get. I just had to be patient.
I shrugged off his grip and faced Mick, rolling my shoulders to force them to relax. I had to be ready. One signal from Bentley and Mick was mine.
“We got your stuff, Mick. Take it and get the hell out of town,” Bent shouted, his body as taut, ready to jump forward and end the man that hurt his sister.
“Be happy to, boys,” Mick said with a laugh, hiking up his jeans again and ambling toward us.
I clenched my fists, wanting so badly to mess up his face like he messed up Sam’s. His smile widened when he saw my rage, giving him sick pleasure. But as he passed Bentley and me, greed filled his eyes instead. He hurried to the Lotus, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. His movements were jerky, almost jittery, like he couldn’t control himself. He was high, I realized, strung out on something. The thought of him being that way when he attacked Sam made me physically sick. How she got away, I don’t know but I sent thanks to the god that others prayed to. For once He did something for me. He saved Sam.
Bent and I watched as Mick threw open the passenger door on the Lotus, unconcerned if he scratched the paint on the high-dollar car. His upper body disappeared inside as he started rummaging in the back. I imagined him leaning over Sam, touching her, hitting her, and I lost it. I took a step forward, seeing the perfect opportunity to take him out, but Bentley caught my attention. He nodded toward the chain-link gate leading from the street. A black Range Rover was coasting around the corner, its lights off and its windows dark.
I knew they were the people Bent worked for. He had clued them in on what was going down tonight. With one phone call, Bentley informed them that Mick was going to steal what they wanted. He was supposed to work for them, not against them. Backstabbing meant death in this business and Mick had just signed his own fate.
He backed out of the Lotus, not realizing that we had company. The two bricks of drugs were in his hands. A huge smile was plastered on his face, but it slid away when he saw the black Range Rover.
The SUV rolled to a stop. Two big, suit-wearing guys exited the front and another from the back. A second later a short, skinny guy emerged. He had closely shaven black hair that accented the unusual oval shape of his head. A long, deep scar ran from under his nose down across his lips, splitting his upper lip in two. It caused him to have a permanent scowl, giving him a look of malice. He straightened his expensive suit jacket with short, precise motions and glanced around the area with boredom, looking out of place in the working man’s area of town.
“Hey, Tuan. What are you doing here?” Mick asked with nervous laughter, balancing the bricks of drugs in his hands as he stood by the Lotus.
Tuan - who I assumed was the head honcho – ignored Mick. His eyes slid over Bentley and me instead. He gave us a short nod in greeting then turned his beady eyes on Mick. With slow strides he closed the distance between him and Mick, his men right behind him, keeping an eye on the surroundings.
“Rodriguez,” Tuan said in greeting when he stopped in front of Mick. He looked down at the drugs in Mick’s hands, the split in his upper lip pulling as his mouth worked. “You stepping on my toes, Mr. Rodriguez?”
Mick held out the bricks to him. “No, sir. Just thought I would save you the trouble and get them myself. Just trying to earn extra brownie points, you know.”
Tuan grunted with disbelief, his eyes missing nothing. His dark gaze flicked over to me, flat and without emotion. In his eyes I saw death reflected back at me. The blood in my veins went cold. This was who Bentley was working with? This man was the devil.
“So where’s the rest of it?” Tuan asked, turning his cold stare back on Mick before looking down at the drugs in Mick’s hand.
“There is no more,” Mick lied, the smile on his face twitching with nervousness. “That’s all Morrow had in the car.”
“Mmm,” Tuan said, signaling one of his guys to come forward. “Then I’ll just take this and my men can discuss with you what happened to the rest of it.”
Mick rocked from foot to foot nervously as the big goon stopped beside Tuan, staring down at Mick with a menacing frown. He held out his hand and Mick handed the drugs over. Once they were safe in his man’s possession, Tuan turned on the heel of his expensive dress shoes and headed back to his Range Rover. He gave his other men a slight nod as he passed them, the signal to end Mick.
That’s when all hell broke loose.
A loud metal screeching sound pierced the night. I swung around, ready to take on the ne
w threat. The large metal doors of a nearby hanger opened, exposing a group of black-clad men. Tuan’s thugs reached under their suit jackets, their hands coming back with guns, as the men ran from the hanger, crouched low to the ground with weapons in their hands.
“Hold it right there!” shouted a deep, baritone voice. “FBI! PUT IT DOWN! PUT IT DOWN! PUT IT DOWN!”
I recognized that voice. It belonged to the same man that had driven the Mercedes with kid gloves. Rollins.
Fuck. He was a Fed. It had all been a setup.
I felt my stomach churn as Rollins ran from the hanger, his big body jogging toward us. In his hand was a pistol, held at eye-level in front of him. His other hand was cupping the butt of the gun, keeping it steady as he aimed at Tuan and his men.
Behind Rollins were close to fifteen FBI agents, covered from head to toe in black assault gear. They raced from the hanger, their footing sure, their guns trained on us. They shouted, “PUT THE WEAPONS DOWN! PUT THE WEAPONS DOWN! FBI!”
I froze, slowing lifting my arms in the air. I knew the routine. I had been through it before with cops. Stay still. Arms up. No sudden moves.
I was going to jail.
But Bentley had other plans. He grabbed my arm and jerked me back. I swung around and followed him, running low to the ground. It wasn’t the first time I had run from the law but I’d be damned if I would go easily this time either. The only thought that went through my mind was if they caught me, I would go to prison. I would never see Sam again. I would never touch her or kiss her until I got out. I couldn’t face a future like that – one with me behind bars, unable to be with her. I would rather die first.
So I ran.
Bentley followed right behind me. We had only gone a few feet when a shot was fired. The blast of the gun ricocheted in the night, coming from the direction of Tuan’s men. Return fire erupted from the SWAT team, spraying bullets across the area.