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ERIC
Genevieve’s hand is warm in mine as she stands at my side, her eyes on the less than habitable apartment building in front of us. The building should probably be considered historical, but it wasn’t properly taken care of because of its location. The brick is covered with tags of various gangs or just kids playing around. The pavement is stained with numerous colours, cracked, and sporting large holes where it has been chipped away. Laundry hangs out of the windows, and most of it looks threadbare. It’s not too far off from the situation Gage, Archer, and I grew up in. Booker’s situation was different, but no less traumatic.
This is what it looks like when the world throws you away.
An older woman sits out on the steps with material in her hand as she crochets. There’s clearly not enough yarn for whatever she’s attempting to make. It looks like a blanket of some sort, a small one, perhaps for a baby. A couple of men stand around, their shirts stained with grease and oil from work, eyeing us as we stand here.
Eyeing Genevieve.
We don’t look like we belong here. Not anymore.
Genevieve isn’t wearing her normal work clothing. Those sexy outfits are enough to have me offering to get under her desk and pleasure her. I’d kneel for only one woman, and she’s standing next to me. Today, she’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but she still stands out. She was born to. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to grow up constantly worried about someone taking notice.
As it is, no one approaches us today, not when she stands with four large men. No one catcalls or makes any comments. Hell, Gage’s glare alone would stop anyone from even acknowledging us if they knew what was best for them. Still, we look like we have money, and no one can dismiss us. When people with money show up, it’s usually not for anything good.
“This is it,” Genevieve says. “Apartment 6C.”
We don’t move to go inside. I don’t think Genevieve wants to walk inside again, and I don’t blame her.
“The sixth floor?” Archer asks, looking up at the building that could only be eight stories tall. “Almost a penthouse.”
Genevieve smiles softly and looks at him. “Almost.” Her smile drops. “It was barely big enough for one person, let alone two, but it was all my mum could afford. She did the best she could.”
“She would have been proud of the woman you’ve become,” I murmur, knowing full well she would be, despite never having met the woman. Genevieve speaks highly of her, despite the struggles of her younger years. She wouldn’t do so if she hadn’t been a good woman.
“I wish she could have seen it,” Genevieve murmurs. “I wish she could have met the four of you.” Her eyes crinkle. “She would have liked you. Well, she might have warned me away from Gage at first, but she would have come around.”
Gage sniffs. “Mums love me.”
Snorting at his words, I shake my head. “Fucking MILFs in the old days doesn’t count as mums loving you, big guy.”
Genevieve’s smile widens, and her fingers squeeze mine tighter. “I need more of these stories. I can’t imagine Gage wooing older women.”
“I can be charming when I want to be,” he grumbles as he winks at her.
Booker laughs. “Sure you can, buddy. Sure you can.”
We all fall into silence again and look up at Genevieve’s humble beginnings, at one of the places that shaped her and left a mark. We aren’t so different, this woman and us, and we never knew that a hit gone wrong could turn out so right. But here we are. Chaz is in prison, the police have stopped searching for the people who took Genevieve, and we’re able to move freely around her, though some of it is done in shadows. After all, we’re still thieves, and now we have the best inside woman on our side.
Even if she still calls us Robin Hoods.
“Do you want to go inside?” Archer inquires, but his eyes reflect the answer. He understands, just as I do, that this isn’t some type of therapy. This is Genevieve showing us where she came from, her beginnings, and how far she’s come since then. We don’t have to go inside to see the stained walls, shattered tile, and rat droppings to understand.
“No,” Genevieve answers with a smile. “No, I don’t need to see it again.”
You don’t forget living like that. It’s hard to forget the smells and feelings. Although Genevieve is no longer there and the memories have probably dulled, it’ll always remain a part of her.
Just as she’ll always remain a part of us.
“So what now?” Booker asks, his expression bright as he offers his arm to Genevieve. She takes it without hesitation, so she’s between him and me.
“Dinner,” Gage says. “I’m starving.”
“Agreed.” Genevieve nods.
Archer bumps his shoulder with mine, a cheerfulness in his eyes that hasn’t been there in a long time. “And then what?” he presses, asking the woman in our midst.
Our woman.
Our light.
Our stolen trophy.
She smiles brightly. “Then we do what we do best.” She leans up and kisses me. “Make money and help people.”
“Together?” I ask, my hand tight on hers.
She nods. “Together.”
