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I remember how many times Dean called me some food —cookie, cherry, cupcake, shortcake, honey and so many more— and this guy’s “peanut” is making me feel like I’ve eaten something rancid.
“That punk thinks he decides when he comes and when he leaves.” He puffs a solid ring of smoke toward me and I cringe. “But of course you know that since he left you all alone at the hotel to come here to me. Bet he wasn’t planning to come back.”
I pick up an old stapler and in one quick motion throw it at his head. I miss, but Tig didn’t even flinch.
He leans back and crosses his arms behind his head. “Get comfy, toots, neither of us are going anywhere and if you want to keep that pretty face the way it is, you better hope to God that Dean finishes this job so his ass and your ass can go on your merry way. Otherwise…” he puffs the awful cigar, his eyes narrow, “Your rebel will be the end of you both.”
10
Dean
I’m never anxious when I work. I have this switch I can just turn it all off. Tig taught me to do it. Nothing in the world matters while you’re working, no one and no thing. Except now I have Kenzie and she’s all I can think about it.
IhadKenzie at least. Will she still want me when this is over?
The biggest question is if Tig is going to be a man of his word and let me go. I don’t want to flip the switch and become a mindless thief. But for Kenzie’s sake I need to.
We’re out on a highway that’s off the beaten path and I’m starting to get antsy.
“What’s the job?” I grit out. Tig hands me a tablet and I flip through the pics. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
No wonder he wants me on this job. No one in his crew can hotwire a car like this. He wants me to nab him a Mercedes-Benz 300 SLR Gullwing Uhlenhaut. It isn’t just a beautiful, expensive car. It’s the world’s most expensive car.
“It’s the dream job,” Tig remarks, like we’re old buddies again.
“Where are you going to move a car like this? It’ll be hot the second you lay a finger on it.”
Tig brushes it off, “I’ve got a buyer overseas that wants this baby. But don’t you worry about the details.”
I look around and toss the tablet back to him. “How the hell are we supposed to secure the coupe?”
We’re on the side of the road, some stretch of the western valley outside Denver.
His smirk drives a chill down my spine. He nods toward the window and a semi-truck flies past us. “That’s how.”
The driver takes off, the tail end of the cargo van shaking as we race off hot on its wheels. I fear Tig expects me to hop out the sliding door and onto the truck. This isn’tThe Fast and the Furious, even if I’m as good looking as Paul Walker.
Tig motions the driver around him, so there is some mercy. “Run him off the road but fuck’s sake don’t make him crash!” Tig orders the driver.
I strap myself in, gripping the seat in front of me. I don’t get car sick, but I might with the way this muscle head drives, swerving in and out of the two lanes.
“Get up to the front where he can see you or you’re going to get us killed!” I snap. No wonder Tig wants me back. If these are the guys on his jobs, he’s got big problems.
“Do as he says,” Tig growls when the driver looks between the two of us.
Stepping on the gas, he passes the semi and nearly catches the grill as he slides in front of him. He brake checks the truck behind us, and the screech of the brakes and the smell of rubber fills the air as tires lock up, both ours and his.
The truck driver pulls over, hopping out of his cab, shouting and cussing up a storm. The driver pulls a gun on him and the trucker turns extremely compliant. Tig motions to me and I climb into the back of the trailer after I take a pair of lock cutters to the lock.
I whistle low, peeling back the protective tarp on the coupe. I might not want to be here but I can appreciate a $140 million, two-of-a-kind car. I slide into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel is only second to holding Kenzie in my arms. Behind me as I start to work the wires, Tig sets up the ramp.
“Yes!” I laugh as the engine fires up at my fingertips with a shock that numbs my hand. The door opens beside me. “What are you doing?” I ask as Tig slides in beside me.
He chuckles. “You’re on thin ice, buddy. You think I’m letting you drive off with my $160 million ticket? No way.” Of course he’d have a buyer for more than its last auction price. “Drive,” he demands with a side glare.
I have to be careful, backing it down the ramp, it’s probably millimeters of clearance. I put any scratches on Tig’s new car and it’ll only mean I have to do something to make up for it. It’s a vicious cycle. He warns me to get a move on as I put us in drive, and take the highway back towards the city, the Eisenhower Tunnel ahead. Behind us, and by quite a bit, because this baby can drive, is the driver and his trucker hostage. I feel bad for the man, and I hope Tig won’t do whatever it takes to tie up the loose ends.
“Faster,” Tig grumbles.
