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Huge love to our original street team from our other pen names, The Badass Brats, who are always there for us, every step of the way. They shout our books from the rooftops on release day, they comfort us through harsh reviews, they encourage us to write more, faster, and dirtier. Seriously, we wouldn’t be who we are today as writers without you ladies (and man).
Keep reading for a special preview of the next book from Sparrow Beckett, STEALING HIS THUNDER, available Summer 2016 from InterMix.
Energy buzzed through Addison as though lightning had invaded her bloodstream. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the dry Nevada night. Awkwardly, she held her body as close to the open window of the vehicle as she could without touching it. Her ass was dangerously close to bumping the car in the next spot over. She made a mental note to avoid crowded parking lots from now on, even if the ritzy apartment complex did have some of the finest engines she’d ever seen.
She’d already disabled the alarm on the silver Lexus and now her fingers worked skillfully as she slid the blank key into her hacking device and waited for it to upload the car’s computer information.
It was her first time using the new software—something she modeled after existing gadget thieves who actually had money could afford. It was hard to believe she’d gone from law-abiding undergrad student to criminal all because of a news segment on high-end car theft. The idea that it was now about hacking instead of hotwiring appealed to her inner nerd. Time to put her electrical engineering degree to the test. Busting her ass for her master’s degree was a waste of her time and potential when, in less than ten minutes, she could drive off in a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar Lexus.
So far, she hadn’t resold any of them to chop shops, or done anything that illegal. Ditching them on the side of the highway when she was done was enough to feed her adrenaline addiction. The whole thing was harmless and barely broke any laws. It was more of a prank, really. At least that was what she told herself as she went to sleep every night. She might have been slinking around in the dark, wearing black, stealing cars from rich people, but she had principles, damn it.
Eventually, she’d travel down the gold-paved path of organized crime, but she had a plan to keep her Karma scale in balance. She’d donate a large percentage of her income to charity. Steal from the rich, give to the poor. Like Robin fucking Hood.
And then there was her grandparents—the real reason she’d started down this path.
If she ever figured out how to sell what she stole, she could reunite them. The system sucked. What kind of world pulled apart a couple who’d been married for forty-five years just because one of them was too sick to live at home? Like her Gran was doing that much better?
The sight of the small, frail woman trying to transfer her husband back and forth from bed to wheelchair had been heartbreaking. Even respite workers hadn’t been enough—not when he started fighting Gran’s help when no one else was around. The fact that he rarely remembered the woman he’d built his whole life around was bad enough. Separating them should have been illegal. There just wasn’t money to have them together at the nursing home, though.
With desperation driving her, she’d been practicing hacking into cars, working her way up to the big leagues.
Just as the device finished uploading the code into her blank key, her phone buzzed in her cargo pants pocket. Shit. Rolling her eyes at the disruption, she pulled it out so she could turn it off. The name “Mama Drama” with a text message lit up on the screen.
Scrapbooking class starts in one hour, if you’re interested.
She sighed.
The woman had an obsession with decorating photos from every life moment with stickers and doilies and cheesy sayings like “a time to treasure” and “moments to remember.” After she’d finished all of Addison’s baby books, she went on to scrapbook family vacations, Addison’s graduation, and every major and minor holiday
. Didn’t think Labor Day could have a photo theme? Think again. Even their dog, Peanut, had his own scrapbook. And if her mom knew about her budding car theft addiction, she’d probably scrapbook the hell out of that too.
She typed back, Busy. Thanks anyway.
“Way to kill my high, Mom,” she grumbled. Not for the first time, she wondered if she was adopted. There was no way an adrenaline junkie like her could have come from two of the most boring people on the planet.
The sound of heavy breathing echoed through the parking garage, but quickly she realized it was her own. She had to hurry. She’d been sitting here too long already.
Excitement pulsed through her veins. The anticipation mixed with nerves and a sense of danger, collided in her belly, warming her insides and extending down between her legs. It was almost as good as an orgasm. In fact, one of her biggest fantasies was wild, hurried sex on a car she’d just stolen. God, she was such a perv.
With the upload complete, and the car alarm disabled, she opened the door and slid onto the plush leather seat. Grinning madly, she sat back and ran her hands over the steering wheel. Time for a ride.
The door creaked open wider and she turned just in time to see a fist flying toward her head.
* * *
Pain. So much pain. Like someone had bashed her head in with a brick.
A voice murmured distantly as she tried to force her eyes open. Her head felt too foggy, her body too weak to go on alert, like she knew she should be. What happened?
She finally managed to pry open her stubborn eyelids. Her temple throbbed in time with her heart.
Oh yeah. Fist to the head.
Had she been caught? Was this jail? She stared up at a ceiling, trying to process anything other than the ice pick in her skull. The distant voice dropped lower then disappeared. The white paint above her was smooth, not cracked and peeling. The air felt cool and smelled like leather.
No. This wasn’t prison.
She turned her head, groaning at the way it sent stabbing pain to her temple. If she had a mirror, she was sure she’d see a giant goose egg there. At least her hair would cover it.
