Page 74 of Stolen Trophy


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GENEVIEVE

“We’re going to split up briefly,” Archer commands.

Brows furrowed, I turn in my seat to look at him. “What? Why? No one is chasing us.”

“It’s a precaution.” He shrugs, clearly not caring to tell me any more. Luckily for me, Eric takes pity on my confused state and explains.

“We split up in case someone somehow saw the single black car until we’re out of the city. The painting will be in the other car, so if this car gets pulled over, there’s nothing in here.”

Oh, that makes much more sense than I imagined. It gives the illusion of nothing nefarious happening to begin with.

With that thought in mind, I turn back around and look out the windshield as Booker drives the car into a dark multistorey carpark. It doesn’t look like one I’d have chosen on a good day. Most of the light from the bulbs overhead is flickering and sparse, and a good number of them are busted or out completely. It’s sketchy at best and downright dangerous at worst, but the others don’t seem perturbed by the location.

As Booker drives the car higher and higher, I take in all the empty spots and the few rundown vehicles on each level. On the third floor, Booker slows and pulls near a silver Jaguar that looks out of place in the dark parking garage. The moment Booker rolls to a stop, Archer jumps from the backseat. Eric follows on the other side, grabbing the painting from the boot and trailing after Archer.

“I guess I’ll just stay here,” I say, watching them move like the family they are. It’s clear they have been doing this together for a while. It’s like a choreographed dance—everyone knows their part, and no one needs to talk to know their role.

For a moment, I feel out of place, like a nuisance.

Booker opens his mouth to answer, but before he can, Archer calls from outside the open door.

“Genevieve, you’re with me.”

I blink but immediately unfasten my seatbelt and kick open the door, not wanting to hold up the plans.

“It’s just us?”

I sense Archer’s grin behind his mask. “It’s best to keep both of the stolen items together, no?”

Rolling my eyes, I climb into the passenger seat of the other car. I expect one of the others to climb inside the car with us, but when no one does, I frown. I expected teams of two between them, but I suppose they believe Archer will handle things just fine.

“Mask stays on,” Archer commands, leaving no room for argument. At the same moment, he adjusts his own mask and glances towards me before I do the same. He drops the car into reverse and leaves the parking spot quickly. The others have already pulled out, clearly knowing their role.

“Everything is so smooth,” I comment, fastening my seatbelt and settling into the comfortable bucket seat.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to make small talk the entire way,” he grumbles, and I sniff in indignation.

“No need to be an asshole,” I spit back. “I was just making an observation.”

“You’ve made it.” He pulls down to the ground floor and eases out onto the street. “Now sit back and be quiet like a good girl.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I do as he says for a minute, but the urge to rile his cool exterior hits me as we drive through the dark streets. It’s just Archer and me. He usually avoids this kind of circumstance, and now here I am, alone with him. A slow grin pulls at my lips as I realise I have a prime opportunity to seduce the man who tries his hardest to avoid me.

“You know—” I start, glancing at Archer.

“Spare me your conversation, Genevieve.”

“Don’t feel like talking?” I purr, and he glances at me in confusion. “Perhaps I could fill the time with something else.”

Heat flares in his eyes behind the glowing mask, which, for unknown reasons, only adds to his allure. “What are you getting at?”

With his eyes flicking between me and the road, I lean back in my seat, slide my hand down my abdomen, and slip it under the band of my trousers to stroke my clit. I’m already wet from watching them commit a crime as if it were nothing, but the thought of driving Archer mad only adds to my arousal.

When he realises what I’m doing, Archer’s eyes widen. He’s suddenly very focused on the road ahead of us, gripping the wheel so hard, it looks painful.

“Knock it off,” he rumbles.

I moan as I stroke myself inside my trousers, rubbing through my wet, aching folds. “What’s the matter, ringleader? You scared?”

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