I shook my head, repeating the same thing to myself for the thousandth time—this would be fine. We’d already decided.
Maksim slammed the door just as Moretti’s daughter kicked up her foot, almost landing her heel in his face. Three seconds later, I was in the front seat, and he was flooring it out of there, all of us focused on one goal: getting her to the house and out of the city.
“Mmm!Fuuuuuu-off!”
The backseat was chaotic. The kidnapped girl screamed and screeched, headbutting the man holding her like she was a toddler.
At the same time, what had I been expecting? That she’d come easy?
Yeah. I wanted easy and simple.
I squeezed my eyes shut and turned away from them, forcing down all my doubts. Stealing a person was a first, not just for me, but for all of us. We were all thieves, but we stole cars, never souls. Maseratis, Range Rovers, Ford Trucks, BMWs, Mercedes—you name it, we’d stolen it. A young woman had never been on our hit list before.
Death was easier than holding someone captive. Death was simple and quiet. And I loved that. I built an entire empire on those principles. Simple. Easy. Quiet.
Our first job ever—a black BMW M5 that we stole on the outskirts of Moscow at the ripe age of fifteen was very quiet, very simple, andverylucrative at the time. It was just us two—me and Andrei, the man who was my best friend and would become my lifelong partner. We stole that dream ride and sold it a few days later for more money than we’d ever seen in our lives.
No consequences, no repercussions, just pure adrenaline.
We were hooked. In the span of two months, we’d go on to steal six more cars and we sold them all for cash.
Simple. Quiet.
We landed in Miami at the end of that summer, filthy rich, with cash strapped all over our bodies, our hoodies and innocent teenage faces hiding all the evidence. We didn’t declare anything and no one asked.
Our fate was decided.
It was a no-brainer—we were phenomenal at stealing cars and getting away with it, and we obviously integrated the business model into Florida. We’d been thriving ever since, almost twenty years now.
And while we may have blown a few—many—brains out over the years, we’d never descended to such dire actions as kidnapping.
Moretti’s daughter thrashed in the backseat like a fish out of water, and I wondered why there was just one man holding her down.
“Zip tie her ankles,” I commanded and turned around just in time to see her kick up with renewed energy. Something brightyellow flashed right in the middle of her tanned legs. Her thong. I turned back around, quickly refocusing on the road.
Definitely a thong because her round ass cheeks were bare. But yellow? What a strange color choice for a tho—
What the fuck was I even dwelling on?!
“Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!”
I fumbled with my phone but managed to dial Andrei, hoping that he was already waiting at the house. “We’re on our way. You there?” I asked in Russian.
“Yeah.” He switched to English with a sigh. “I went to an ultrasound with Olga today, Sasha. I’m having a daughter. And we’re kidnapping someone else’s?” he chuckled, sounding both sad and resigned.
“Congrats! You always wanted a daughter! Your boys will love having a younger sister.” Andrei’s wife was pregnant with theirthirdchild, which was mind-blowing to me. They did nothing but fuck—to have three kids?
“How long will you be?”
“Maybe an hour.” I hung up the phone just as her ankles were zip tied, and the Moretti girl was finally subdued.
In an eerily silent car, we all traveled down the freeway while I let my mind wander to the incongruity in my life. Andrei was at an ultrasound with his wife in the afternoon, and in the evening, we were meeting up to explain to the young girl that we kidnapped her.
And what about Gianna and her bullshit threats?I’ll go to the cops!That psycho could do whatever she damn well pleased, but she had balls—to accuse me of abusing her, knowing full well I’d never—nevertouched her in a way she didn’t want.
Finally, my mind snapped back to the issue at hand: the young woman in the back of my car…
…wearing a yellow thong, apparently.
