Page 5 of Mile High Heist

“Incoming,” Ryle coughed beside me. The idiot was as subtle as a sledgehammer.

I waited two beats, watching the ice melting in my whiskey. The good shit. When long enough passed that I didn’t look like an overeager asshole, I dragged my eyes up and found her.

Olivia.

Fuck.

I knew the uniform would be a problem. It instantly scrambled my brain, blurring the line between want and blistering fucking rage. With that high perky blonde ponytail and those killer legs, those bright red lips, that tight, tight skirt—

My fingers tightened on my glass.

“She looks hot,” Ryle said, not even bothering to mask his glee. “This must be torture for you.”

I ripped my eyes away and pinned him with a glare. “Will you shut the fuck up?”

Ryle’s eyes widened, his grin stretching. “My mistake. You’re clearly fine.”

I took a drink, refusing to look at her again. After she was gone, I sat back in my chair and scrubbed a rough hand over my face.

Olivia was a problem. The little priss had always been a fucking problem. From the moment our paths had crossed on the last job, everything had turned to shit. She was the reason my crew was indebted to Preacher. She was the reason we’d been cornered into an impossible deal.

Work for me or die.

It had gone downhill from there.

My crew and I were once the best thieves in North America. We’d stolen everything, from hundred-million-dollar paintings to high-profile blackmail material. I’d been the first one recruited by Dr. Z, our former boss. Then the others had joined me, each of them with their own unique skill and unhinged brand of chaos. Together, we’d formed a crew that carved out a reputation among the sordid underworld.

We were the Crows. No job was impossible.

Then the island had happened, and Olivia happened, and that former boss, Dr. Z, decided to cut us loose. Except in our world, there were no second chances. You didn’t just walk away from this life.

Dr. Z had put a bounty on my crew, a collective three hundred million dollars. That meant we were hunted by every other crew in Dr. Z’s syndicate, from the Vipers to the Rangers.

Being Wanted criminals was one thing. Being wanted by other criminals was a whole other hemorrhoid.

“Are you going to talk to her?” Ryle pried, wiggling his eyebrows like a dork. “Or are you just going to glare at her the whole time?”

“The second one.”

I finished my drink and shoved it to his chest. “Get me another.”

That made him scowl. “I don’t see why I got stuck being your assistant. Nate said he could do it.”

Nate would do anything to get back in my good graces. But I was pissed at him, too.

“Just go,” I snapped.

With an exaggerated groan befitting his age, Ryle walked over to the bar on the other side of the lounge. I watched him order a drink, then immediately lean over the bar and swipe a handful of limes while the bartender’s back was turned. I shook my head. Once a petty thief, always a petty thief.

Then I felt eyes on me and my hackles rose. The premium lounge was full of suits. A whole sea of stiff pricks with stiff drinks. Zurich was hosting its annual trial lawyer summit, what Preacher dubbed as a “perfect cover”.

Yeah fucking right.

I had reservations, many of them. Not that Preacher gave a shit. We were just his dutiful soldiers, his cannon fodder. We were useful until we weren’t. Then we were expendable.

He needed us to work with Olivia and steal the prototype before it reached Zurich. We’d never pulled off a mid-air heist before. The old me would’ve relished the challenge. We’d gone underground, scaled buildings, once even infiltrated a top-secret military base. We’d never taken the sky.

But unlike those jobs, we weren’t getting a whiff of the score. Preacher kept it all, hoarding it under the guise of “the greater good”. I didn’t buy it for a second. He was a bad dude with bad intentions, just like every other fucking crime boss. Quoting scripture while pointing a loaded gun should be sacrilegious.