Page 106 of Nest of Thieves
“I hate that nickname,” he says before climbing out.
We hold our breaths while he approaches the car. Lark was sure the keys would work, but I’ve never seen technology like this in action. I always stuck to stealing older cars. Vette touches the driver’s side door handle and the lights flash. He grins back at us and gets in, driving off. We’re all rendezvousing back at the shop.
“Like taking cake from a baby,” Lark whispers as Mac slips into the driver’s seat of the Raptor.
The navigation system leads us to the next address, and Mac’s target goes off without a hitch. I take his spot, watching the taillights disappear before glancing at Lark.
“Put me in, coach.”
He flashes me a smile and adds the next address to the navigation. I follow the directions and park behind the car, just like the guys had.
“Got your key?”
“Yup.” I show it to him.
“Good.” He messes with his gear for a minute. “Okay. You’re good to go.” I reach for the handle, but his hand on my arm stops me. “Be careful. Take this.” He hands me a small handgun.
“Aw, Riku, you worried about me?” I accept the weapon. Better safe than sorry.
“I never should have told you that name,” he grumbles.
“Does it bother you?”
“Not from you,” he says matter-of-factly. “When Mac and Vette say it, it’s annoying. When anyone else uses it, it pisses me off. Riku is the name the first family I lived with gave me. They were Japanese too and wanted me to feel connected to my heritage.”
“They sound nice.”
He grimaces. “They were the first of six foster families. The only link to my heritage I have is the name they gave me, though I guess it was a nice thought.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s in the past. Anyway, Riku is for family only. You can call me that whenever you want.”
I press my lips together and digest his words.
Family.
Not pack.
Family is more than pack.
Pack is tied together through a bond, but family is blood. Family is marrow. Family shouldn’t make me teary-eyed, but it does. Freaking hormones. My emotions have been all over the place, and while I know a large part of that is my own guilt eating away at me, another part is my approaching heat. I haven’t had any strong urges since that first shopping trip, but deep down, I know this is the calm before the storm.
I swipe at my damn cheek and say, “I should go.” I jump out of the car and walk toward the vehicle. The night is cool, and I pull my jacket a little tighter around me, scanning my surroundings. Heat forgotten, I take another step. My heart thuds in my chest, pumping adrenaline into my veins like a shot of heroin. I exhale a shaky breath, reveling in the flood of endorphins that follows the initial rush.
Better than a damn drug.
I hit the unlock button and the lights flash. I give Lark a thumbs-up and slip into the driver’s seat, placing the gun in the glove box. He waits until I’m down the street before pulling away from the curb. We take different routes back to be safe. I turn left and he turns right. The car runs perfectly, and before I know it, I’m halfway back to the shop. I idle at a stoplight, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel.
That’s when things turn to shit.
A bright green souped-up car pulls up beside me, revving its engine. I give him a look, because this is clearly not a car that’s going to race. Another set of headlights comes up behind me, and the yellow car fires its engine.
Gripping the wheel with one hand, I reach for the gun. I set it in my lap and grab my phone, dialing Mac, since he’s probably already at the shop by now.
“Kitten?”
“We’ve got a problem,” I say, eyeing the car in my rearview. It inches closer and closer until it bumps the back of the stolen car.
