Page 62 of Heist in Paradise

His words still haunted me. The flat rejection of them, like he’d been waiting for me to screw up for a long time.

My anger returned, sharp and unrestrained. “Don’t,” I warned Ryle.

The stupid kid only grinned wider. “But I’ve missed Jadoc.”

An aneurysm burst behind my right eye. Madoc went still.

“What,” I growled, “the fuck did you just call us?”

Ryle stopped bouncing, sensing he’d swam into infested waters. “Um…nothing.”

“Did you give us a couple name?”

“No,” Ryle scoffed. He shuffled back, hiding behind a bemused Callum. “No way. Nah huh. Never shipped you. Never will.”

There were about to be two bodies hidden in this house.

Before I could pummel him to death, Nate made a startled noise and jolted, as if a hot poker had stabbed him. He shuffled forward and fished out Kane’s cellphone. His glassy eyes widened. “Ah, shit.”

What now?

“We might have to jump to the third act,” he said, rising unsteadily to his feet. “Kane is expecting a delivery. ETA thirty minutes.”

Callum frowned. “A delivery of what?”

Nate winced. “Well, I doubt it’s a family-sized pepperoni.”

“It’s another shipment.” My voice dropped, my gut sinking. More girls.

Part of me knew it’d been too good to be true. A clean death, a quick getaway. A hundred million dollars strapped to our backs.

A newfound urgency rippled through me. Olivia.

Madoc moved before I could. “I’ll get her.”

“She’s probably still—”

“I know,” Madoc said without turning back.

He knew.

Because he’d seen us.

There was no time for shame, or whatever confusing emotion wanted to tangle me up. The flash drive burned a hole in my pocket. The ghosts of the girls filled the room, demanding vengeance, urging us to act.

A hand settled firmly on my shoulder. Callum, the anchor I always relied on when I started to drift. “We’ll do whatever you decide,” he said.

He was giving me a choice. I looked at each of them, finding only acceptance. I could walk away, and they would follow. We could start fresh. Take our money, return to the Compound, drink until we forget.

Nobody expected us to be heroes. We weren’t the good guys who swooped in and saved the day. We were thieves. Thugs. Whatever morals we had were loose at best.

I made the heinous mistake of catching Ryle’s eye. He’d stopped smiling.

I groaned. “Jesus. Don’t do that to me.”

Ryle blinked. Then pouted. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Menace.” I stepped forward and locked my arm around him in a chokehold. His laugh filled the space, chasing the ghosts away.