Page 10 of Saving the Last Heir
“Do you need anything, Mom?” I asked, my voice thick with emotion.
She nestled back down and rested her head on a pile of blankets. “I’m so tired. I think I’m going to take a nap.”
“Okay. I love you,” I said as I stood.
“I love you too, dear.”
Once I was out of the hatchery, I called my oldest and best friend, Christian Bauer.
“Hey, man,” he said as he answered, his voice contrite and apologetic. “How, uh, how are you guys doing? Have you got any leads on who took your sister?”
“I need your help,” I said. “It’s going to be dangerous, but I don’t have anyone else to call. Will you help me?”
There was a single heartbeat’s pause, and I worried he’d say no.
“Whatever it is, I’m with you, bro. I’d ride with you to hell and back if you asked,” Christian said.
I sighed with relief. “Good. Meet me at my place tonight. We need to make a plan.”
Shaking off the memory, I moved down the stairs stealthily, listening for any sound of approaching guards or a raised alarm. Even with the fear of discovery or capture, I moved fast, hoping my luck would hold out long enough to get through this. Everything relied on me now. As the alpha, I’d felt the stress and expectation weighing on me, but after hearing Joseph Anitoli’s voice on the phone, after listening to the drake tell me what to do and what the penalty would be if I didn’t succeed, the responsibility fell on me like a mountain. I hadn’t told Christian, but I was willing to die to make sure I did everything Joseph demanded. It was my only option.
I reached another door, which was thankfully unlocked. Inching through to the landing beyond, I paused at what I saw. My brows creased in surprise and confusion as I let the door close behind me.
I stood on a catwalk that ran twenty feet above the concrete floor below, the fluorescent bulbs high above shone brightly, the light shimmering off the metal, glass, and chrome below. There were half a dozen cars in this warehouse, all lined up as if on display. In the center was the one I’d been sent to steal. The sleek, rocket ship of a car looked like it would be more at home traversing the night sky between Earth and the moon than on the highway.
“It’s a Lambo,” Joseph said. “You know, a Lamborghini?”
“I’ve heard of them,” I growled into the phone. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Okay, okay, had to check. You know what they say about you winged dragons, right? Flying up in the air like that shrinks your brains. You guys got the wings, and us drakes got the brains—heh, and the big cocks too, but that’s another story. Anyway, the exact model is a Lamborghini Aventador SVJ. That’s what you’re stealing. Can you handle that?”
“Why the fuck am I stealing a car for you?”
“She’s a beauty. Candy-apple red, 770 horsepower, V12 engine, completely upgraded. I mean, this thing has the works. Full racing suspension, high-performance air intake and intercooler. A sport exhaust, and carbon fiber wing on the back for rear wheel traction. The thing’s top speed is 217 miles per hour, and goes zero-to-sixty in less than three seconds?—”
“Are you trying to sell me this fucking thing?” I hissed. “You sound more like a goddamn used car salesman than a mob boss.”
“You watch your fucking mouth, Jack. You know what’s at stake here. You get this car, you bring it to me, and then we may see about what we can do for you.”
“I suppose this isn’t up for negotiation.”
“You would be correct,” Joseph said. “And let me be very clear here. This is a one-chance job. There can be no fuckups. I want that car, and I want that car fucking perfect. If there is a scratch on this bitch when you bring it in, deal’s off. Shit, if there is a single smear of bird shit on the window, you’re done. Got it?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “I get it.”
“Good boy. I’ll send the details and address to this phone when I hang up. Oh, and Jackson?”
“Yes?” I said through gritted teeth.
“I want that car in a week or less. Don’t keep me waiting.”
Now, I was staring at the Lamborghini, shimmering red like a ruby. I wasn’t a huge car guy, but the others were familiar as well. A white Bentley Coupe, a jet-black Maserati, a classic sixties muscle car that looked like it might be a Camero, alongside a vintage Rolls Royce, and an eighties Ferrari that had probably been driven right off the set ofMagnum PI.
“Holy shit,” I muttered. The cars were worth nearly three million dollars. Of course, the shiny red apple I was here to pluck was the most expensive. The info Joseph had sent said that car alone was nearly a million dollars.
My internal clock screamed at me to hurry. Pushing away from the railing, I sprinted to the nearest ladder, my boot clattering on the steel mesh of the walkway. I didn’t care. Speed was more necessary than silence.
After descending the ladder, I rushed toward the car, only to find the door locked.
