Page 25 of Mile High Heist

I grunted, but my shoulders loosened at the familiar Scottish twang. Callum. Nothing ever got to him. He was as solid as a rock, stoic and gruff without ever being cruel.

“Everything sorted?” I asked him, mindful of the pink parasite attached to my side.

“Locked and loaded, Alpha.” He paused. “You sure about this?”

“Yes.”

“There is no going back. The lass will never forgive you.”

My fingers drummed restlessly on the bar. “I know.” I took a long drink, hoping to cool the heat brewing in my chest.

Cal and I discussed vague details until the connection grew patchy. I hung up and called Zola. She answered on the third ring, her voice tight with frustration.

I knew exactly who caused it. Nate.

“How is he?” I forced myself to ask. The words jammed up my throat.

Zola sighed. “Scooby is Scooby. A complete dumbass, like usual.” She hesitated. “Do you want to speak to him?”

“No.”

She didn’t push it. Not anymore. Nate was off-limits. He’d been part of my crew until he’d betrayed me during our last job. The rest of the hellraisers had forgiven him (except Madoc, who suggested using him as target practice), but I couldn’t. Not yet.

Call me a stubborn jackass, but family didn’t betray family.

“Why the long face, handsome?” A pink-taloned hand curled over my arm possessively.

Zola made a choking sound. “Um, who the hell is that?”

“Don’t ask.” I hung up before I could be bombarded with questions.

Martha gave me a kitten smile. Her eyes were smudged and glassy.

“You should go lie down,” I said, more a threat than a suggestion.

Her brow inched up in coy anticipation.

“Alone,” I emphasized. “Jesus, lady.”

She slipped off her barstool and wobbled. “I’ll come find you later, Noah. Don’t let me forget.”

I watched her stagger to the door of her suite and disappear with a wink. Finally alone, I shoved my knuckles into my eyes.

Over five hundred warm bodies on this plane and she had to single me out.

I’d be suspicious about it if it weren’t a common occurrence. Women chased me because they wanted the thrill of it. I wasn’t bring-home-to-the-parents guy. I wasn’t marriage-material guy. I was barely learn-his-name guy.

I was the roguishly attractive six-foot-two ex-con who’d bend you over the pool table. Or fuck you against the wall outside the bar. No feelings. No attachment.

That was my sweet spot.

As I picked at the wanky dish of olives, I thought about the last girl I’d fucked. Or almost fucked. Olivia was a problem because she blurred the lines. On the surface, she was like those girls at the bar, looking for a night off from their perfect little lives. Had we met under normal circumstances, I would’ve fucked her and never thought about her again.

But the island hadn’t exactly been normal circumstances. I’d learned who she was beneath the prissy princess act. Stubborn, iron-willed, stupidly brave. The kind of girl who shrieked at the sight of a spider, but then threw herself into a hail of gunfire to protect her sister. The girl who had everything—money, privilege, opportunity—and still chose to dance with thieves and crime bosses.

It was why I didn’t trust her. She didn’t make any sense.

Confusing, irritating, perfect problem.