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And I mean, the meter does need an upgrade. Fucking thing looks like it was last changed back in the 40s.
I’ve pulled this grift at least twenty times. Sometimes, I figure out quick it’s not going to pay out, but most of the time my eye is skilled enough to case the surroundings in the little time I have, disable security when necessary, get my eye on the door locks, safe, weak entry points and whatever other intel I need to set up the take, which I usually do a night or two after my initial contact.
Another skill that is critical if you are going to take on this life, is the ability to talk. I’m not going to be able to fight my way through three, four, five…hell, who knows, maybe ten hard ass MC club members, all with lightning rods up their asses because some chick almost took them for a hard ride.
The clunk of the deadbolt turns, and I lay my head down on the mattress, my throat tight and my mouth dry, as I try to clear my mind. The most prized skill I possess, is the ability to read people. Whatever happens in the next few minutes, could be the difference between me seeing another trip around the sun or seeing the lights go out for the last time.
As the door swings open, I’m blinded by the spotlight that is held in front of a group of at least four guys. I see the shapes of their heads before I wince and blink, turning my head away from the severity of the light.
“This girl?” I hear a deep voice bounce off the cold walls.
“Yeah. She was here Wednesday, not likely to forget her.”
There are shuffling feet, scraping on the hard floor. Some are behind my back, some toward my feet, and one closer, near where my head is on the scratchy, filthy fabric of the mattress.
I hear the snapping of a tongue in a cheek and let my eyes open a slit, taking in scuffed black boots, jeans, hands hanging down between knees as whoever it is crouches next to me.
Only, something happens.
The stink of the room disappears. A spicy, dangerous, scent…it’s exhaust but with a hint of sweat and an exotic cologne that turns my dry mouth to a salivating river but that doesn’t stop me from laying into him.
“My fucking hands are about to fall off. My feet too. Unless you want them turning gangrene you better loosen these fucking zip ties, assholes.” I blurt out, hearing multiple bursts of laughter from above, but not from the man that is making me dizzy with his scent.
Instead, he shifts forward, his knees on the mattress just in front of my face. A hand grips my shoulder, sending a wild rage of sensations down into my toes. He pulls me forward, pressing my chest into the mattress.
There’s contact with my hands. He squeezes my fingers, holds my shoulder down and I hear the click of what I’m sure is a switchblade. Suddenly I can’t breathe.
“Who the fuck put these on so fucking tight? Her hands are blue.” He sounds angry.
“What the fuck, man? She stole from us. Or she was going to…What the fuck do we care if her hands are blue. We should fucking cut her hands off—”
“Everyone out!” He snaps and I squeeze my eyes shut as I feel the cool metal between my wrists. I wait for the pain, but instead the pressure releases, my hands spring apart and the next thing I know, my feet are free too and I think I’ve found my new mark.
Chapter Two
Chain
Keep your shit straight.
Keep your shit straight.
“What the fuck, man?” Killian gives me a look. “She fucking tried to steal from us. No one steals from us.”
“I fucking know.” I bark back. “I’m the fucking treasurer, don’t you think I know that?”
It’s Killian, Ranger and Buzz down here with me, and they all look fucking confused and I get it. But, this is not just some girl who tried to pull a con on us.
“Just,” I start, keeping my voice low and steady. “I got this. Close the door. I’m going to figure this out and I’ll call you when I get what I need from her.”
They all give each other looks, but I need to be alone with her. She’s making my balls twitch laying there all defiant like some ninja in her black jeans and long sleeved thermal shirt. Everything just tight enough I get a good look at the curves making my mouth water. Her hair is the color of warm coffee that matches her eyes rimmed with long black lashes.
On her feet, are red Doc Marten boots, fairly new and I notice the tiny, gold owl earrings in her delicate lobes. She’s a mess of contrast and I can’t stop the feeling I want to know everything about her.
